Page One

It never occurred to Anne Marie Foley that she could end up homeless.  

That was something completely alien to her, growing up in suburban Alameda County. But five years ago, when her alcoholic husband became abusive, Foley took their four children and left.  

Relatives and friends either couldn’t or wouldn’t help. “I think my family thought if they didn’t help me, I would go back and be a good wife,” Foley says.  

Eventually, the 35-year-old homemaker found herself living with her kids, aged 4 through 15, in a homeless shelter. “I never thought it would happen to me.” 

Foley’s ordeal lasted five months. She moved from place to place, since shelters allow residents to stay only 30 days at a time. Some nights the shelters were full – once, she was told there was room for only two of her children. “What was I supposed to do with the other two?” she asks rhetorically. (That night, they found an acquaintance who let them all sleep on the floor of her house.) 

Today, Foley is self-sufficient, living in a rented home in Alameda and working an office job. Her oldest daughter is in college, and the children are all doing well.  

Foley credits this turnaround to a number of factors, including her own strength and determination.  

But there is one special place she remembers that helped get her through her darkest days – the Women’s Daytime Drop-in Center in Berkeley.  

Since 1989, the WDDC has served women and children who are homeless or in crisis, providing them with meals and a safe place to come during the day. The center serves an average of 150 women and children each month. One client calls it “the most compassionate and honest agency dealing with homeless people.” 

Housed in a cozy brown-shingled bungalow, the home at 2218 Acton Street is situated next to a tot park in a quiet, safe-feeling West Berkeley neighborhood. The living room has a large, comfortable sofa. A playroom is stocked with toys. 

The center serves breakfast and lunch each weekday. Volunteers and clients together prepare meals and clean up.  

Children can play and women can chat, read the paper, or get counseling.  

But this is not just a place to hang out – staff members are on the premises to work individually with each client to assess her needs and try to connect her with the services available. Many of the women are struggling with drug or alcohol problems. Some have fled domestic violence. Others have disabilities or mental illnesses. Even those who are not clinically ill are likely to be suffering from depression due to their circumstances. 

“Everyone who walks in here is in crisis,” says WDDC activities coordinator June Cummings. “I tell them, ‘You know what? We’re going to help you with everything.’”  

The first priority is trying to find permanent shelter. The center staff draw on numerous resources to find out if clients are eligible for one of several government assistance programs. Clients can use the WDDC phone to search for jobs, contact a doctor, or make other appointments. 

While some may wonder if getting a job first isn’t more important, Cummings has seen firsthand what homelessness does to a person’s life and psyche. 

“Lose your home and you lose everything,” she says. Without a phone, there’s no way to call or arrange a job interview. Without a shower or laundry, it’s hard to be presentable. If you have dependent children, the crisis is magnified.  

Just as renters and home buyers have been driven by escalating housing costs out of San Francisco to the East Bay and out of the East Bay to points north, so are the homeless being pushed from place to place. “We have people coming over here from San Francisco. The shelter systems are flooded with people. If you call the shelter hotline, three out of five days there are no spaces available,” says Cummings.  

The housing crisis is intensified among lower-income residents, as formerly-housed people are forced out into the streets and the homeless ranks swell. 

“A lot of people who were making it before are not making it today,” Cummings observes. Nationwide, the fastest-growing segment of the homeless population is women with children.  

A lot of WDDC clients “are not the people you see out on the streets,” says Lisa Spinas, who coordinates children’s activities at the center. “They’re trying to keep their kids safe, and lots of times there’s nowhere to go during the day.” 

On a recent morning, the WDDC is filled with women of all ages, with and without children.  

A new client, a young mother with a baby and two more young children in tow, keeps to herself, shy but dignified. They have left an abusive home in Arkansas.  

The children are clean and neat as pins.  

The oldest, a six-year-old girl, wears her hair in tidy ponytails fixed with matching barrettes. Spinas takes the girl and her brother out to play so their mother can feed her baby without distractions. 

In the living room, women gather. They don’t talk much; some peruse the newspaper, others gaze vacantly into space. It’s hard to get a good night’s rest at a shelter, or sleeping outdoors in a park.  

Now and then, signs of stress erupt without warning. In the hallway, a woman who has been conversing calmly with a friend suddenly breaks down in sobs. 

It’s understood that the WDDC is a safe haven.  

Clients are not allowed to enter the house if they are under the influence of drugs or alcohol, but some come here between fixes, knowing they are accepted while they wait to get into a treatment program. 

While many women pass through the drop-in center only briefly, others are regulars, coming back for months, even years, as they ease their way into a more stable life. Patrice, 47, is a Berkeley native who started using drugs as a teenager.  

“We were dropping reds at University and Ninth in junior high!” She began coming to the WDDC five years ago, when she was homeless, jobless, and fighting addiction.  

Today, although she still lives in a shelter, she’s been sober for six months and she holds down a data entry job.  

She is friendly and gracious, welcoming newcomers to the house on Acton Street like a hostess.  

“Sally,” a simple, open-faced woman who prefers that her real name not be used, first came to the drop-in center four years ago. “It’s nice, clean, safe, and everybody’s friendly,” she says. “There are no scary people coming here.”  

Sally became homeless after a series of mishaps that included moving in with some people in Vallejo who stole her belongings and threatened her. “I thought they were friends, but they turned out bad.”  

Sally now has her own place at the Lakehurst Hotel in Oakland. When she turned 50 last month, Patrice baked a birthday cake for her.  

“In a year, maybe, I think I will look back on this as one of the richest experiences of my life,” says one client.  

“There is a connection with the other women and it’s from the heart.” 

Those who work at the drop-in center say they witness victories every day, and that out of the despair can come unparalleled joy. “I’ve seen some real miracles,” says counselor Maryann Schwink-Mathews.  

“I get to see people go from living in hell to having all the doors open they never thought could open and all the things happen they never thought would happen.”