Ballard finds its services strained by influx of homeless

Roasted turkey was fragrant in the air as Patrick Ferraro edged through a crowd toward the coffee pot during a special holiday lunch at the Ballard food bank. He was still cold from a night huddled in the doorway of a nearby industrial building but thankful for passing a peaceful night.

Ballard is a much better place to be homeless than downtown Seattle, Ferraro said as he sipped his coffee: There's little violence, and plenty of secluded spots to spend the night. Downtown, it can be tough, very tough, to get shelter space, and the shelters themselves can be intimidating.


		Scott Eklund / P-I
	Patrick Ferraro couldn't find a place to sit inside the Ballard Food Bank, so he ate on the sidewalk out front. He says the Ballard neighborhood is a better place to be homeless than Seattle is.

"It's quiet out here," Ferraro, 53, said. "If you stay in doorways, people don't really bother you. It's mellower out here."

And that may be the reason why Ballard, Seattle's venerable Nordic neighborhood, appears to be experiencing a healthy increase in the number of homeless seeking refuge there, apparently more so than other neighborhoods.

In October, the region's annual one-night count of the homeless showed a jump in the neighborhood from 109 last year to 253 this year. In part, that's because more experienced people were sent out to canvass Ballard for people living on the streets or in cars. But that certainly doesn't explain all of the difference, according to agencies that work with the homeless.

Some Ballard residents might be surprised by the news, said Dan Wise, co-chairman of the Seattle-King County Coalition for the Homeless.

"I live in Ballard, and I don't think many people associate Ballard with homelessness," she said.

Wise said many of the homeless moving into the neighborhood are living in vehicles, and she has several theories as to why Ballard is experiencing an increase.

"We have industrial areas here, where it's easier to park and not bother neighbors," she said. "I also just think as the downtown gets more built up and the police presence is greater, people are moving out."


		Scott Eklund / P-I
	With the Ballard Food Bank crowded for lunch, Phillip Williams finds a corner to eat. In the past year, the number of lunches the food bank serves has jumped from 300 or so a week to 450. The food bank is now low on money.

For Richard Sykes, who is homeless and sometimes sleeps under the Ballard Bridge, the reason for being in Ballard is simple.

"I grew up here," said Sykes, 42, who had just been discharged from the hospital for what he said were serious liver problems. "This is my home."

In addition to the homeless count last month, other indicators of homelessness in Ballard are up.

In the past year, the number of soup-and-sandwich lunches served at the Ballard Food Bank three times a week, primarily to the homeless, has jumped from 300 or so a week to 450.

And more people, from babies to seniors, are relying this year on the agency's food and clothing bank, including the so-called no-cook food boxes, which contain meals that don't need a kitchen for preparation.

Those rising numbers, in turn, are stressing social-service programs in the neighborhood -- programs already strained by the region's sluggish economy and high unemployment rate.

"There's a whole forgotten society here," said Brian Norvell, operations manager for the Ballard food bank. "It's sad, I tell you. There's no jobs, no prospect of jobs, and no health care for those folks. There's no dignity."

Meanwhile, the food bank, which also provides clothing and emergency financial assistance, "is sucking air" on funding, Norvell said.

The food bank looks on track to pass out about a million pounds of food this year, he said. And while it has adequate food supplies, it's getting dangerously low on money needed to put gas in its vans, power its freezers and purchase non-food necessities, such as personal hygiene supplies.

Tim McKenzie, board president of the food bank, said there are other, unofficial signs of increasing homelessness among their clients. More people need to use the food bank's address as a mailing address and more toothbrushes, razors and other personal supplies are lining the shelves in its restrooms.

Unfortunately, there are no shelters or personal hygiene centers in the neighborhood where the homeless can go to shave, shower or wash their clothes.

McKenzie, who began volunteering at the food bank after retiring from the telecommunications industry, has a few theories about the increasing number of homeless people in his neighborhood.

"It's scary living on the streets downtown," he said. "Another thing about this area, there's a lot of good camping places."

Those places range from pockets of greenery to the bluffs and areas around the railroad tracks, he said.

And adults aren't the only ones being served, McKenzie said: Plenty of young people have been coming through the food bank's doors as well. About 23 percent of its clients so far this year have been children, from infancy through age 18.

As if on cue, a young couple walked through the doors of the food bank as McKenzie spoke, pushing a blond and dimpled baby girl in a stroller.

The couple carefully scooped jars of baby food off a shelf and found a small, colorful toy with bells that the baby immediately began shaking with happy shrieks.

It's not uncommon these days for families living in a car to come for assistance, he said, smiling at the baby.

"We had a family with two kids come from Texas," McKenzie said. "They used their last five bucks to buy gas in North Bend. The dad had a job on a (fishing) boat that had left or the job disappeared.

"We got him a ticket to Alaska, where he got a job. ... The kids are now enrolled in school."

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