Shelter grows by nearly 1,000 beds

Stephen Curran

Tuesday, Aug. 27, 2002 | 11:09 a.m.

At first glance St. Vincent Plaza, with its tasteful brick facade and modest landscaping, more closely resembles a mid-priced hotel than a homeless shelter.

But for nearly 1,000 men and women in Las Vegas, this isn't a place to rest and relax. This is where they do the hard work of changing their lives, to move from homelessness to having a place to call home.

The mission of Catholic Charities' shelter is to provide dignity to those who have lost everything. With the opening of its emergency shelter Monday night, the St. Vincent's complex now has a new dignity of its own, after a five-year rebuilding project moved the shelter from its location in the Vegas Valley Shopping Center.

The emergency shelter, the final phase of the project, will accommodate 202 men on a first-come first-served basis, providing homeless men a bed from 8 p.m. to 5 a.m. the following morning, said Ed Skonicki, executive director for Catholic Charities of Southern Nevada, which runs the shelter.

"What this does is reopens the entire shelter," Skonicki said. "There's really not been a way to house all the people."

At 955 total beds, the completion makes the St. Vincent Plaza the largest homeless shelter in the Las Vegas Valley and fills a void that was left when it closed 175 emergency beds in January 2001 to begin the project.

The gap between available beds and the homeless who needed them widened this summer, as the MASH Village operators closed that shelter, eliminating another 250 emergency beds and 225 beds for homeless families.

The new shelter won't begin to fill the need of homeless families. It is primarily for single men, with some space for single women.

"There really are no family facilities in Las Vegas," Skonicki said.

St. Vincent's goal is to help its residents assimilate back into mainstream society by providing them with subsidized housing while they adjust to their new jobs, Allan Johnson, director of development for the shelter, said.

Assimilating into mainstream society is the goal for Jonathan Gonzales, who has been out of work and living on the streets since 1986, who was second in line at the shelter's opening.

He lost his job after a severe back injury left him temporarily paralyzed, Gonzales said.

"I just lost everything," he said. "I was forced into a different life."

Gonzales was one of 49 men who checked into the facility Monday night, a lighter load than was expected, said Bobby Ford, supervisor in charge.

Although Monday's numbers were lighter than expected, they should pick up once news of the opening spreads through the homeless community.

"The word isn't really out on the street yet," Ford said.

Much of the demand will be weather-related, as temperatures start to drop in the fall and winter months. Still Johnson was encouraged.

"That's 49 people that would've been on the street," Johnson said.

The emergency beds are free but for one night at a time.

Homeless men can also qualify for a bed to call their own in a dormitory setting while they look for work for $5 per night. They have to follow strict rules -- such as no alcohol or drugs and required bathing.

Once residents have found jobs and proved themselves successful, they can apply for one of 120 single-occupancy apartments for up to two years and pay up to $255 per month, depending on how much they can afford. The apartments are open to both men and women, Johnson said.

For Gonzales, moving into one of the apartments is his goal, he said.

"The whole idea is to give them dignity and keep their noses clean while they move back into society," Johnson said.

David Little, head cook for the shelter's dining hall, is one resident who made the move back to mainstream society.

Little, 34, came to the shelter in 2000 after being on the streets of Las Vegas and was hired to work for a stipend in the kitchen. From there he worked his way up and is now employed full time at the shelter, complete with health insurance.

He now lives in a two-bedroom apartment away from the shelter and credits the program's focus on independence for helping him readjust.

"It's up to each person," Little said. "If they want to better themselves, this is great."

Stories like Little's are fairly typical of the men that come through the shelter, Johnson said.

"These people aren't bums," Johnson said. "There's been some kind of crisis that sends them spiraling downward."