No place to shelter
A FEW DAYS AFTER HER 60TH BIRTHDAY, Constance Woodson took in the early-June sun on a bench in New York City’s Madison Square Park. Masked, except when she sipped her coffee, she reflected on her luck. The good news was that, in the midst of a pandemic, she had secured a job, as a contact tracer. She could do it from her home, with a company-issued laptop and headset. The bad news was that her current home was a room in a hotel—provided by New York City’s Department of Homeless Services (DHS)—where, she was informed, laptops were not permitted and wi-fi was not provided. Woodson had finally found a job that might get her out of her long struggle with homelessness, but she couldn’t do it, because she was homeless.
The DHS caseworkers at the Best Western Bowery Hanbee eventually told her she could bring in the laptop. But there was still the wi-fi issue, and then Woodson would have to figure out how to do a sensitive task with a roommate who liked to watch Disney cartoons day and night with the blinds drawn, and without chairs or lamps. They had been removed, she was told, because the hotel was being sold. “The system is not designed to move you forward,” she says. “I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, but it’s been heartbreak after heartbreak.”
At last
