Like Rain on Parked Cars, Chapter 14 – A Roof Over Her Head

“If one of your brethren becomes poor, and falls into poverty…then you shall help him, like a stranger or a sojourner, that he may live with you” (Lev. 25: 35).

Aretha had problems keeping a roof over her head.  After leaving the group home, Aretha lived alternately with her sister, at least one aunt, her mother, and in apartments Aretha rented, herself.

There were difficulties with each of these arrangements.  Aretha’s sister, Shantice, had since purchased a house in West Philadelphia she shared with her husband.  Though the marriage did not last, the two continued to live together.  There were, also, now four children.

The real issue was not space or even upheaval in the marriage.  Aretha’s brother-in-law had made advances toward her.  She kept this to herself, but did not feel entirely safe around him.

Both Aretha’s mother and the aunt on whose couch Aretha slept could be volatile personalities, likely as not to ask her to leave on a moment’s notice.  Aretha wanted a stable place to raise her son.  The house Aretha’s mother owned when I first met her was later condemned as uninhabitable.

Section 8 Housing

This left Aretha with the option of Section 8 housing, more formally known as the Housing Choice Voucher Program.  The term “Section 8” refers to the US Housing Act under which this federal assistance program is authorized.

Administered by the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), the program subsidizes low-income housing, with tenants paying about 30% of their own rent, and federal funds the remainder.

While a state’s Public Housing Authority can link a portion of tenant vouchers to specific apartment complexes (in my day known as “the projects”), the program allows eligible families to lease in privately-held buildings, as well.  Participating landlords are subject to a rental cap determined by HUD for Section 8 tenants, and must meet federal housing quality standards.

That, at any rate, is the theory.

In practice, many inner city landlords do not adhere to the mandatory housing standards unless or until taken to court.  Some view the resulting fines as a mere cost of doing business.  Tenants, also, at times damage these apartments, though they can be evicted for doing so.

Despite this, the waiting list for Section 8 housing in most areas of the country is thousands of families long.  The delay for vouchers can easily run three to five years.

Aretha experienced this first-hand.  Though she searched hard for livable conditions, Aretha occupied apartments that had serious plumbing and electrical problems, sometimes lacked heat, were all without air conditioning.

Aretha fought cockroaches, rats, mold, garbage accumulation, chronic leaks, and the stench of backed up sewage.  She lived with drafty windows in winter, and the sweltering heat of Philadelphia summers.

Finding my way to Aretha’s various addresses was a constant challenge for me.  One night, I headed out without directions, sure I would remember the way to her latest apartment, having already been there several times.  Instead, I wound up lost in West Philadelphia.

Again, I had no phone on me, and no chance of locating one.  I drove haplessly up one deserted street and down another, praying something would look familiar.

Finally, at a total loss, I pulled over and stopped altogether.  “Well, God,” I thought, “this is up to You.  I can’t find it, for the life of me.  Unless Your angels drive, I’m not getting there tonight!”

At that point, for no reason I can explain, I turned the car around and drove directly to Aretha’s door.  I guess the angels knew her address, even if I didn’t.  Aretha and I laughed about it later, over cake.

Barbecue

The summer of 2004, I helped Aretha prepare for a barbecue at one of these apartments.

I had on a previous occasion spoken with Aretha’s downstairs neighbor about her landlord/tenant situation.  The young African American woman, her hair in a kerchief, her entire aspect worn, listened wearily as I outlined her few legal options.

Several children gathered curiously in the doorway, around her.  As it happened, I had with me a number of children’s books intended for Jonathan.  The children were irresistible, and so eager that I left a couple of the books with them.  Their mother was immensely grateful for that small kindness.

This particular day I went up and down the narrow flights of stairs, accompanied by a young neighbor boy, excited by the prospect of hotdogs.  Together, we carried out the charcoal, lighter fluid, and tongs, along with miscellaneous items with which we planned to clean the grill.  He was anxious to help.

Within moments, two or three other children appeared, all interested in the goings on.  Merrily, we had at the grill, removing ancient grime.

When I had to leave, a little girl of about five asked if she could sit in my car.  Her approach was so plaintive, I opened the rear passenger door, and let her take a seat, leaving the door ajar.

“Can I go with you?” she asked.

“No, honey.  You want to stay here or you’ll miss the barbecue.”

“Can I go with you?”

“What would your Mommy think?  She’d miss you, sweetie.”

“Can I go with you?”

“No, honey.  You need to stay here.”

I wanted to rescue all these children.  They seemed to me fragile flowers amid the debris of a war zone.

Copyright © 2010 – Present Anna Waldherr.  All rights reserved.

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https://avoicereclaimed.com