Community leaders experience living in poverty

By Deanna Wheeler

ELDON, Mo. — The Locke family sits huddled together near the door discussing their next move. They have to buy groceries this week, but the refrigerator is still broken and needs to be repaired first.

Where is the money going to come from? Their 15-year-old daughter is out of school this week and can pick up extra hours at her after-school job.

The whistle sounds from across the room where the poverty simulation is being held. Dad jumps up and races to the bank to cash his paycheck. Daughter runs across the room to make it to work on time so she's not fired.

Mom and Grandpa are left behind wondering if they should sell one of their cars to help pay bills. The electricity is due and in danger of being disconnected. It's another $50 to reconnect if that happens.

Then a man walks by and hands them a bright orange eviction notice. It's devastating news for the struggling Locke family. The family paid its mortgage last week but didn't get a receipt.

Without any proof the family paid, there's nothing he can do, he says. He tells them to take it up with the mortgage company, knocking over chairs as he does. He's just doing his job.

The family winds up in the homeless shelter while trying to get a copy of the receipt.

The mortgage company won't give it to them even though she saw the canceled check sitting right there on the table, Mom said, sitting on a folding chair at the homeless shelter.

Frustrating is the best emotion to describe what the family is going through. And this situation is only pretend.

Grandpa, Dad, Mom and daughter are really Connie Kirkweg and Tracey Rayhart, professionals with family services; Bill Depew, a deputy with the Miller County Sheriff's Department; and Tena Riley, a district administrator for probation and parole.

Presented by the Missouri Ozarks Community Action Agency, the poverty simulation was a glimpse into the lives of low-income families.

Days were broken down into 15-minute increments. Resource officers and volunteers played the roles of mortgage firms, bankers, pawn dealers, police officers and school teachers. The list of actors goes on.

Social Services caseworker No. 1 tells the fictional Rita Rogers to hurry up, others are waiting to be helped. Rogers is 20 years old and a full-time student with a baby. She has no job and lives with her father, who receives food stamps but not enough for both. She's just looking for a little bit of help, maybe day care vouchers so she wouldn't have to take her 1-year-old baby with her to class. It's her third time back filling out the same paperwork, standing in the same lines.

"I skipped school last week to wait in line," she said, holding a plastic baby doll. "This whole process would drive someone crazy."

She then heard there's nothing social services can offer and the caseworker calls for the next person waiting.

Kris Harwood, the woman who played Rogers, said she got the runaround.

"I'm not blaming the services because I'm sure they're doing everything they can, but I realize why people feel jaded and angry after all this," she said. "They reach out for help and get pointed to one person who points back to the first and the whole time I'm still not getting the help I need."

That "ah-hah! moment" is exactly what MOCA is looking for in every participant's eyes, organizers said. It's designed to help people become more sensitive to the feelings and needs of low-income families and individuals.

By Week Four, Big Dave's Pawn Shop was lined with cameras, rings and microwaves people had sold for cash. The shop also had armed itself with water guns after being robbed. As it ran low on money, the pawn shop was low-balling customers, offering $30 for a ring valued at $100.

People were taking it so they could buy groceries or pay bills that week.

There were hardly any kids in school. The corner that served as the elementary through high school had few supplies, one teacher and one teacher's aid who sat at the desk and colored.

The jail was packed, as was the homeless shelter. Drugs also became prevalent. Someone would buy and turn around and sell the drugs at a higher price. Anything for money became the name of the game.

"I always knew that it was stressful, but I never knew it was this stressful," Riley said. "I can see why some turn to alcohol or drugs. It's to escape, but it's also to keep going."

She said she often sees people on parole having trouble paying their bills and maintaining a set standard of living.

"We tell them they may have to get a second job to make all the ends meet, but working two jobs, I see now how some may resort to taking something to stay awake and stay going," she said. "In the end, they aren't going to succeed if their lives are stressful like that."

Depew said he often comes into contact with people who need a little extra help.

"I've always suspected the shuffling, I just didn't know it was that bad," he said.

Family services workers Kirkweg and Rayhart said they see the impact of poverty every day on families.

"In our jobs, fortunately, we do see people trying to pull themselves out of their situation," Rayhart said. "But, unfortunately, we also see people who are trying to take advantage of the system. There's nobody like that here."

Kirkweg said: "This just shows the frustration. Everybody is running around trying to pull themselves out of the situation and nobody is getting very far. We're stuck in the homeless shelter because we don't have a receipt to prove we paid. We never thought of asking for a receipt."

MOCA director of community services Pat Thieman said the poverty simulation is designed to be difficult, but not so hard people give up and head out the door.

A woman now working for MOCA went through the simulation and finished with bills paid and kids in school.

It just wasn't extraordinary luck, Thieman said. In real life, the woman and her five children lived several years in poverty. Even though she dug herself out, she still remembered the lessons she learned. The simulation was a refresher for her.