Many renters, and landlords, know the pain that instability brings. It's a feeling that more tenants than ever - most of them single moms - are familiar with.
By JOSH ZIMMER
Published October 29, 2004
UNIVERSITY NORTH - Credit Donna Wright for having one of the warmest front porches in the St. James Place apartment complex off 127th Avenue.
Many residents decorate with plastic chairs and an occasional barbecue grill. Wright softened up the cold metal and concrete exterior with potted plants. Spirited Halloween figures enliven the door and windows.
Inside, the simply furnished two-bedroom apartment is neat and orderly. She moved here in July with three daughters and two granddaughters after a bad experience at another complex across the street. Their monthly income of $1,354 pays for rent, food, utilities and the rest of life's necessities.
But experience has taught Wright, 41, not to relax. Styling her hair in front of the television on a recent afternoon, she wondered how long the good fortune will last.
"I'm praying God will let me stay here," she said. "It seems every time you're comfortable, something happens."
Wright should know. Since 2000, her family has changed homes five times. Except for once, they moved among the low-rent apartment complexes in this economically depressed neighborhood west of the University of South Florida. Three of the moves were the result of evictions.
Wright and others like her are poverty's migrants. Poorly educated and with low-paying jobs, they struggle every month to pay the rent. Losing the roofs over their heads is a constant fear. For thousands of Hillsborough County residents every year, it becomes reality.
Most of those caught in the vicious cycle of evictions are single, minority mothers with children, said Harriet Scott, local director for Positive Spin, a state program that provides financial help and family planning assistance in the 33612 ZIP code. It's one of the neediest areas in Hillsborough County.
Countywide, evictions increased from 9,657 in 2001 to 10,679 in 2003. At the current pace, this year's total will approach 12,000.
"It's a part of life," Scott said. "We have an average of three to four requests a week for money to keep from being evicted. That's a lot."
Two women interviewed for this story lost jobs in recent years. Soon after, they had to move.
Property managers say they try to work with struggling tenants. Before accepting an application, they scrutinize incomes in hopes of avoiding an eviction. Some, like Fredericksburg Apartments property manager Patricia Crane, say they give people breaks by allowing them to pay late, sometimes for months, or use emergency sources of money from churches, friends, relatives and social service agencies.
But despite her sympathy for many of the tenants, Crane ends up seeking lots of evictions anyway, she said. One problem is that past evictions don't always show up during the application process.
Kicking someone out isn't a pleasant process.
"I don't like to evict," Crane said.
* * *
Once property managers decide to remove a tenant, they send a three-day notice. It's not impossible for tenants to dodge the threat at this point, said Hillsborough County sheriff's Sgt. Jimi Walker, an officer in the court processing section. The tenant can pay back rent or fix whatever led to the notice, such as making too much noise or keeping an unauthorized pet.
If the tenant doesn't satisfy the landlord or respond, management files for - and normally obtains - a five-day evictions summons, Walker said. By filling out the paperwork, a tenant can get a hearing before a judge. Otherwise, the landlord typically applies for a writ of possession, which goes to the Sheriff's Office to serve on the tenant.
Falling behind on rent and late fees is the most common reason a tenant is evicted. Some tenants are simply irresponsible, said Lucious Davis, director of the county's Department of Health and Social Services office off N 22nd Street.
When a person comes to the office seeking emergency rental assistance - usually no more than $430 a year - social workers want details.
"We'll sit down and talk with that individual and ask if they've had a talk with their landlord," said Davis, whose office provided assistance to more than 1,200 people in the USF area in the most recent reporting year. "Normally, when you get to an eviction situation, that means you probably have encountered more than one month in past-due rent and that's a concern. We want to know the reason why."
For Scott, the goal at all costs is to avoid homelessness. Working with agencies, churches, friends and relatives, Scott and her staff explore all available options. That can mean working out a second chance with a landlord, moving in with family, doubling up with another family in a new apartment, or staying in a hotel.
Instead of providing financial aid, Positive Spin might buy beds, she said.
"Again, it's lack of money," she said. "You always end up going to the poverty factor."
Tracey Moore, 36, hasn't been a steady paying tenant for years. With three children, including a 17-year-old daughter with cerebral palsy, and a resume of jobs at places like McDonald's, Save-A-Lot and University Square Village, she has found it a challenge to keep her head above water.
"I just went from place to place because I needed shelter for my children," she said. "So now I have this real ugly record."
* * *
Moore's troubled tenant history speaks volumes about poverty's downward pull.
She has trouble counting all the evictions. County court records show she has lost five places since 1998, including an apartment at Fredericksburg Apartments. Crane, the property manager, said she sneaked back into the apartment after being evicted in late 2003.
The troubles began after an uneventful, decade-long run in the federal government's Section 8 program, which pays landlords to offer deep rental discounts to the poor. Moore, who has spent much of her adult life in the University North area, said the landlord demanded she make repairs she couldn't afford. Late fees piled up. Finally, the landlord told her to leave.
She tried splitting rents, once with a longtime girlfriend, another time with a relative, who moved back to North Carolina.
Attracted by move-in specials - anything from reduced first month's rent to no security deposit - Moore often applied, "thinking I could afford the rent." But that didn't work out either.
She fell behind or was shown the door.
"When you get an eviction on your name, it's a plague," she said. "You either pay a high security or you just get turned down."
Moore was accepted at Fredericksburg last summer. Crane, who manages the 184-unit complex off N 22nd Street, said she made exceptions for Moore.
"They are told from the very beginning they cannot move in if they do not put the electric (bill) in her name," Crane said. "I had to charge her for that. Her first payment was late. Her second payment was late. I don't think she had a zero balance from the day she moved in. I kept working with her."
In late October, Moore received a five-day eviction notice. Court records show Crane had sent her several warnings of past-due rent and fees, including a three-day eviction notice saying she owed $680.90.
Moore wrote a letter to the judge pleading for extra time. She said she was trying to get back on her feet with a new job at the University Village retirement center.
It was too late. Moore was evicted.
Or so Crane thought. When the maintenance man didn't change the locks, Moore moved back in, she said. Crane gave Moore another chance. But Moore still didn't pay her rent and the landlord soon filed another set of eviction papers.
The final sum of back rent, along with damage to the refrigerator, carpet and blinds, amounted to about $9,000, Crane said.
The case isn't isolated, said Crane, who was busily making arrangements last week with seven delinquent tenants. Some of her poorer residents pay on time. Others do not. Sometimes they skip out before the eviction process begins.
"Unfortunately, we really have to stretch," Crane said. "I keep saying one of these days I'm going to learn. The more you help them, the more they expect you to help them. And I've had case after case after case of this."
* * *
The struggle to stay afloat is depressing, said Wright, the St. James resident.
"You torture yourself for 30 days," she said. "Are you going to have enough money to pay for the rent? How can I pay for the light?"
The social workers at Positive Spin found her an apartment at a reduced rent - $600 a month - and put her on a strict financial plan. The organization also gave her a job cleaning the office, which is based in St. James. For that, she earns $192 every two weeks.
Moore recently caught a break, moving to Sherwood Lake Apartments off 127th Avenue. With all the evictions to her name, she feels lucky to have a decent place for herself and her children.
Sherwood Lake's management initially rejected her application, she said. The property manager then allowed Moore's older daughter, who works, to sign for all of them. The manager included the daughter's salary in their overall income.
Her Social Security reimbursement doesn't always cover the bills. "It's just really, really hard," she said.
Wright's 16-year-old daughter, LaToria Casey, bears the emotional toll of her family's scattered existence.
The family lived in a hotel for a while. That was particularly embarrassing, Casey said, because it was near Van Buren Middle School. Classmates could see her leave the hotel and would make fun of her.
Another time, the family moved in with Wright's sister. In 2002, they also rented a nearby house on Linebaugh Avenue. Wright said the price was good - $425 a month - but the house had rats. Candles took the place of lights at one point, Casey recalled.
They were evicted early last year. St. James is their third home since then.
"During it all, I learned you just have to try to just deal with it," Casey said. "You can't let what people say affect you."
- Josh Zimmer covers Temple Terrace and the University of South Florida area. He can be reached at 813 269-5314 or zimmer@sptimes.com
