Locked out

It’s not a memory Carrington Forbes enjoys recalling: a tension in his midsection just above his empty pockets, tears cascading down his cheeks as he frantically searched Chico for a place to go—to relieve himself. Forbes, who suffers from Crohn’s disease and irritable bowel syndrome, was homeless at the time.

“I [would] be literally crying, a full-grown man crying, just running down the streets looking for a bathroom,” recalled Forbes. “If you don’t have your own bathroom and you don’t have the money to pay for something at a store and all the bathrooms are locked down, you have no option other than to just literally crap your pants.”

Forbes, 25, now lives with his girlfriend and tends her family’s orchard, but he spent six years living on Chico’s streets, working multiple jobs while going to community college and trying to stay sober. During that time, he, like many others in similar circumstances, had no access to restrooms at night.

That’s because all the city’s public restrooms are closed overnight. For the roughly 430 unsheltered people living here, it often comes down to a choice between finding a bush or a tree, or, as one homeless man told the CN&R, trying to alter his biological rhythm so the urge to go doesn’t happen when restroom doors are locked.

Opening a round-the-clock facility has been discussed in some fashion by City Council members for more than two years, and even included an 80-day trial of leaving the restrooms at City Plaza open 24/7. However, the panel has yet to land on a permanent solution, despite the human toll, threat to public health and repeated lobbying by local homeless advocacy groups, merchants and other citizens fed up with the inaction.

The city’s Greater Chico Homeless Task Force is one such group. In February, its members sent a memo to the council and city manager, asking that a 24-hour restroom be included in the 2018-19 budget, and calling for portable toilets to be installed in the meantime.

Councilman Randall Stone, chairman of the task force, said the city has plenty of money to install a 24-hour restroom, and is frustrated that the issue hasn’t been high on the its list of priorities.

“It’s not a priority because we haven’t made it a priority,” Stone said. “The thought of trying to fix people’s bathroom needs, especially a population that is already marginalized and dismissed by the larger community—it’s not a sexy thing to solve that bathroom problem.”

For those on the streets, it’s dehumanizing, said fellow task force member Jennifer Barzey. Performing bodily functions in a safe, clean manner is a basic, everyday need, like food and shelter, that “certainly shouldn’t be on the back burner.”

“Nobody wants to use the sidewalk or street corner,” said Barzey, program manager for Sixth Street Center for Youth. “We have had youth show up that have defecated on themselves or had to use dumpsters. It’s very embarrassing to them. … The youth want people to realize that, when that happens, there’s no other option.”

Trial, error and success

Before City Plaza’s restrooms were temporarily opened 24/7, downtown business owners had grown weary of finding urine and human excrement near their storefronts regularly. Some reported that their private restrooms were being misused as well. People would line up to get into the downtown Starbucks’ restrooms in the morning, and then use them as a place to clean up, recalled Melanie Bassett, Downtown Chico Business Association executive director. As a result, the coffee shop installed locking keypads. Something needed to be done, business owners told the DCBA.

In November 2015, then-Councilwoman Tami Ritter requested the city address the issue and associated health and safety concerns. Eventually, after some back and forth at council and Internal Affairs Committee meetings, the city embarked upon an experiment in January 2017. The City Plaza restrooms were renovated and the doors were secured open 24/7 for a planned 90-day trial.

Costs climbed quickly—two months in, maintenance workers from the city and DCBA were overwhelmed by the trash and personal belongings left behind by people who sought shelter within the restrooms. They spent three hours per day cleaning the facilities, Public Works Facilities Manager Jason Bougie told the committee, and also dealt with vandalism—walls were scratched, written on and burned.

Staff abandoned the trial a week early, on April 17—and a year later, access to public restrooms has changed only slightly: City Plaza’s restrooms now open at 5 a.m. instead of 7 a.m. That facility closes at 9 p.m. All other public restrooms in the city, located downtown or in Bidwell Park, either open later or close earlier.

Ultimately, city staff concluded that the rigid design of the plaza restrooms made the location less than ideal for 24-hour access, despite a $19,000-renovation project that included stainless steel stalls, walls with graffiti-resistant coating and LED lighting. Maintenance for the trial ended up costing more than $15,000—$2,500 went to the DCBA’s now-defunct Clean Up Brigade for additional cleanings, while vandalism repairs and additional city staff time racked up $13,000. (According to a public works official, $3,000 went to repairs made by city contractors, while $10,000 covered the average “fully burdened” pay and benefits costs for more than 200 hours of city staff time.)

Chico’s best bet, according to city staff, was to install a Portland Loo restroom, a stainless steel facility with a compact design to deter vandalism and camping, or something similar elsewhere in the city. But, given a lack of funding for the structure, the idea was shelved.

Despite the costs, however, the experiment was considered a success on the commercial front: during that time, businesses reported experiencing less wear and tear on their restrooms and saw less urine and feces outside their shops, according to Bassett, who accompanied Team Chico, the Chamber of Commerce’s outreach group, during business walks to assess the effectiveness of the trial.

Mona Hymel, manager of Gabrielle Ferrar Diamonds & Exceptional Jewelry (on Main Street near West Second Street), told the CN&R that the trial made a difference at her store, where they didn’t have to spend as much time cleaning up urine. She added that she was dismayed to see how the plaza restrooms were treated.

“[People] need access to public restrooms that are clean and sanitary that they’re not afraid to use,” she said. “I don’t know how to teach these people that, ‘Hey, you should clean up,’ or ‘Hey, if you vandalize, you’re going to have to do community service.’”

Though Steve O’Bryan says the trial didn’t seem to make a difference for Pullins Cyclery, his bike shop located three blocks from the plaza, the longtime downtown business owner believes better access to public restrooms is needed. He deals with urine, feces and litter cleanup, as well as folks who are passed out, outside of his store several times a month.

“I’ve found piles of poo in the doorway. One of my employees goes, ‘How do you know it wasn’t a dog?’ and I go, ‘Dogs don’t have an opposable thumb to use toilet paper,” he said. “If you don’t provide the facilities, then you’re going to have people peeing and defecating all over the place.”

An epidemic

Public health officials know that the matter has much more serious implications than just the cleanup.

Last fall, San Diego County health professionals flooded the streets, attempting to vaccinate the region’s homeless population during an outbreak of hepatitis A. Portable toilets and hand-washing stations were erected, and the sidewalks were pressure-washed with bleach three days a week.

Typically, hepatitis A spreads when small, undetected amounts of fecal matter from an infected person are ingested by another from contact with contaminated objects, food or drinks, but it can also spread from close personal contact with an infected person, such as through intercourse or through caring for someone who is ill. In San Diego, most folks who contracted the virus were homeless and/or illicit drug users exposed to “fecally contaminated environments,” according to the San Diego Public Health Department.

Since then, Los Angeles, Santa Cruz and Monterey have also reported outbreaks of the highly contagious liver disease, and scrambled to address emergency health crises as they unfolded. So far, hepatitis A infections have killed 20, infected 588 and hospitalized 403 people in San Diego.

Nationwide, the epidemic is considered the “largest person-to-person hepatitis A outbreak” since the vaccine became available in 1996, according to the California Department of Public Health, and prompted Gov. Jerry Brown to declare a state of emergency. It took more than a year to get the situation under control, with the state agency demobilizing its response as of April 11—the first patient was reportedly cared for in San Diego in November 2016.

While the North State hasn’t seen an outbreak, Cassie Miracle, a senior health education specialist in Butte County, told the CN&R that diseases have no boundaries.

With a homeless population of nearly 2,000, according to the Continuum of Care’s 2017 point-in-time census, the county is home to cities that lack what Public Health considers important preventative measures: public restrooms, running water and soap that is accessible 24 hours a day. Contamination of food or water is more likely to occur in areas where there are poor sanitary conditions or poor personal hygiene, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

As part of its prevention efforts, Butte County Public Health started offering free vaccines to the homeless communityin January. So far, 58 people have been inoculated across the county, Miracle said, with clinics held at the Hope Center in Oroville and Torres Community Shelter and Jesus Center in Chico.

Public Health representatives also have provided educational resources, including basic information about the virus, its symptoms and how to prevent it, to Oroville and Chico city governments and their parks and recreation districts, as well as sober living communities and homeless service providers.

“We’re telling these [homeless] folks, ‘Wash your hands, wash your hands, wash your hands.’ It’d be great if they could do that 24/7,” Miracle said. “They may have access during the day, but in the evenings, you still need to wash your hands, too.”

As evidenced through the experiences of communities in Southern California, once an outbreak reaches a certain size, it’s all reactionary, Miracle said. The cost for San Diego County ended up surpassing $10 million, according to The San Diego Union-Tribune.

“We’re trying really hard to not put ourselves in that [position],” she said. “We are making sure the folks that may be the most affected know what the resources are and know what the risks are. We want to make sure we have everything in place to protect us.”

The human toll

Siana Sonoquie has advocated for homeless individuals in Chico for the past couple of years, serving as a volunteer, housing consultant and now the outreach director for North Valley Housing Trust. A few weeks ago, she gave a spare pair of pants to a homeless woman who was on her period and had soiled the jeans she was wearing.

“Imagine waking up in the morning and your nearest bathroom is 10 blocks away and you don’t have any transportation,” Sonoquie said. “It’s a human rights issue. It’s a health issue. People need access to a place to go to the bathroom.”

Sonoquie said she expected the city to keep coming back to the drawing board with new ideas after learning from the trial, getting creative and exploring other options, whether it be installing a Portland Loo or gathering input from neighborhoods about multiple new restroom sites.

One of the factors she believes is a roadblock to action is a perception among some that extending restroom hours invites folks to congregate and enables them to stay on the streets. At its core, she said, the real problem is a lack of housing, low-barrier shelter beds, a day center and mental health and substance abuse services.

“These arguments, if we are providing too much food in one space, if we build a bathroom they will come … it’s just such a limited view of what the real problem is,” she said. “Imagine if you did this at a college, if your grades weren’t good enough and you weren’t progressing … they stopped feeding you and you wouldn’t get to use a bathroom. … That’s not a way to move people forward. That’s a way to put more stress into their lives.”

Indeed, this was evident in the CN&R’s many interviews with members of the homeless community.

On the sidewalk outside the Jesus Center, Ashley Henson, 22, popped open a can of food for her pup, Turbo. She’s been on the streets off and on since she was 18, following the death of her grandmother and her father’s arrest and imprisonment.

“I’ve held it so long that it hurts so bad. I’ve held it over 24 hours,” she said.

Menstruation is especially problematic. Henson said she often doesn’t have anything to use to keep clean, and just has to “sit there” or wait until morning, when she can get some toilet paper to place in her underwear or a change of clothes.

Henson said she’s miserable, and she knows nobody cares. She’s tired of getting in trouble for camping, for having no place to go. She’s lost any hope that things will change in Chico.

“I know it’s because some homeless people do drugs and drink and are filthy, but not all of us are like that,” she said. “The cops say we’re just an eyesore … the only thing that’s different is that we don’t have a house or place to lay our head.”

From where she sat on the curb near Henson, Mona Basinger, 68, remarked that she has a hard time getting around because she suffers from many health issues, including chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and a prolapsed bladder, and wears adult diapers because it’s difficult to get to an open restroom. She has been homeless for nearly four years, she said, ever since her husband died and she was evicted from their home.

Chico is going through a transition, added homeless artist Lee Wright—homelessness isn’t going to go away, and people need to work together and understand each others’ perspectives. “There’s a problem with elitist-mindedness here,” he said.

Wright, 48, left his most recent home after experiencing what he described as emotional heartache. Living on the streets holds a comfortable familiarity for the former foster youth, who struggles with anxiety and has lapsed in and out of homelessness for 20 years.

It’s smart to consider a restroom like the Portland Loo, he said, which should be monitored so it isn’t abused. “When perfectly sophisticated people who happen to be homeless need to hide behind two dumpsters and cardboard walls and go into a plastic bag or go between bushes … that’s a big flaw.”

Still unfunded

Since the City Plaza trial ended last year, a 24-hour restroom has been added to what’s essentially a wish-list of unfunded city projects within the Public Works Department.

Erik Gustafson, Chico director of public works-operations and maintenance, said there are multiple high priorities for the general fund, like public safety, streets and building a financial reserve. City staff are working on other projects until they get direction from the council to shift gears.

“We understand the need is there,” he said. “However, providing 24-hour restrooms is a very costly endeavor.”

City staff and the Greater Chico Homeless Task Force seem to agree upon a Portland Loo-style facility as a favorable option. The structure runs about $100,000, with an additional $20,000-$30,000 cost to hook up to utilities and at least $10,000 per year for maintenance, Gustafson said.

The restroom, first installed in Portland in 2008, is exposed at the top and bottom, making a person’s feet visible while in use. This helps law enforcement monitor the facility and prevent crime. Because it is made of stainless steel, it’s easy to clean, and hand-washing stations are placed on the outside.

But the City Council has thus far balked at the suggestion. At its March 20 meeting, the panel considered what to do with $40,000 from the Chico Community Grant Program. One idea was to create a community-wide capital benefit project—City Manager Mark Orme used a 24/7 restroom as an example of what could be funded. That proposal went nowhere—instead, the panel voted to delay a decision until the budget is finalized in June.

At yet another meeting, on April 17, Councilwoman Ann Schwab requested that Orme be directed to explore a partnership with another public agency that could fund public restrooms. It was pitched as having the potential to be cost-neutral, but exploration of the concept was shot down along party lines. (Orme declined to discuss any details when contacted by this newspaper.)

“We’ve been down this road before, we did it right across the street, and it was an unmitigated disaster,” Mayor Sean Morgan said at the meeting. “While I am not at all opposed to public restrooms if we could find a place and area they worked and they weren’t abused by drug addicts and others, I would rather see that be part of the larger discussion with the consolidated services center … ’cause otherwise, to me it’s another Band-Aid.”

When the Jesus Center consolidation plan came back around to the City Council chambers on May 1, however, the panel did not include restrooms in the discussion.

Angela McLaughlin, a homeless advocate who volunteers with Chico Friends on the Street and Safe Space, said she is especially concerned with the panel’s inaction because of the hepatitis A outbreak in Southern California. “They’re not showing any concern about public health,” she said. “If they were, I think they would be frantic at this point.”

McLaughlin has started rallying support through a Change.org petition, which demands that the council take immediate action for the health and well-being of all Chicoans. More than 100 people have signed so far.

“I was just incredibly frustrated that they wouldn’t even have a discussion of the bathroom issue or the possibility of free bathrooms … it just seemed so outrageous to me,” she said. “Whatever this shapes up to be, it’s going to have to be citizen-led if we want any changes.”

‘A hardship’

Though he’s no longer on the streets, Forbes told the CN&R it took him about seven years to break the cycle of homelessness. He’s not exactly where he wants to be, but he’s getting there, he said, and he has many reasons to offer a quick smile. Chief among them: He has paid off $7,000 in debt that accumulated while he was homeless, related to citations for camping, trespassing, loitering and other offenses.

During a recent interview, he recalled the trauma of life on the streets, including being physically attacked. Being denied access to a restroom leaves a psychological impact that is “heartbreaking,” Forbes said.

“It damages our psyche,” he said. “It makes us think that we’re not even worthy of being able to go to the bathroom. People look down at us so much that we can be crying in pain and they won’t even show us sympathy.”

Homeless people aren’t all addicted to drugs, he added. Many lost their jobs, lived through a family tragedy or are just a victim of poor circumstances. When some people fail, they get second chances, or they have a safety net on which they can rely. But others aren’t so lucky.

“The public doesn’t really understand the issues, or they just see the results,” he said. “They see the homeless leaving their trash, they see them crapping in front of businesses and things like that, but they don’t understand the whys.”

And everybody’s “why” is different.

All that John Shaw has left of his material possessions are contained in two briefcases. On a recent afternoon at City Plaza, the 78-year-old unclasped one with his cigarette-stained fingers, revealing charcoal and pencil drawings he drew more than 50 years ago, along with a few old photographs—in one, he’s a blond 20-something in a burgundy suit. Another is a fading snapshot of One-Mile’s Sycamore Pool.

Shaw used to work at a nonprofit that provided services to homeless people. Now he knows what it’s like to be the one in need, finding himself homeless last summer after a living situation became unstable. When nature calls and the plaza restrooms are closed, he goes to the downtown Jack in the Box if he has enough change to buy a coffee. If he doesn’t, he tries to hold it. “I try not to drink liquids in the evenings,” he said.

Shaw recalled a time when he had diarrhea and couldn’t make it to a restroom in time. He had no choice—though he was afraid of getting in trouble, he had to squat behind a tree.

Richard Muenzer, listening to Shaw’s accounts, chimed in that he relates: He’s attempted to train his biological rhythm to feel the urge to go only when restrooms are available. He expressed frustration over the city’s lack of 24-hour restrooms, adding that he doesn’t want people causing a mess and monopolizing them either.

“It’s not a place for shooting up, for rolling a bowl,” he said. “It’s a place to do personal things and leave.”

Shaw said that, to him, the city doesn’t seem to care. The restrooms aren’t available 24/7 because “they want to kick the homeless people out of town.” But “when Mother Nature calls, she calls,” and when those doors are locked, it can really cause “a hardship on the homeless people.”