Changing face of homelessness

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By Michael Drost

Today's global financial crisis has spawned massive dislocations of many new and surprising types. The current economic downturn, unlike others in the past, is hurting not just the already-poor but also people who were considered safe and well off. Once mighty banks have been brought low -- or destroyed. And millions of people who were living the American dream -- as homeowners -- are heading for the street.

Literally.

The images of homelessness -- sunken-cheeked men railing against imaginary voices -- now include the specter of the family next door -- former homeowners and the recently unemployed. These once middle-class folks now have been tossed into desperation by the international credit crunch.

And much of it is happening in the shadow of the U.S. Capitol.

Raymond Winbush, an unemployed emergency-room technician who likes to read Shakespeare, looks at the other homeless men at the Central Union Mission in Northwest and wonders aloud how his life has come to this.

"I was raised with the idea that if you had a job, that if you did it well ... you could make it. You didn't need to worry," says Mr. Winbush, 61, who said he left a steady job at the Maimonides Medical Center in New York to help his sister in Virginia Beach.

Realizing he could not help save her home from foreclosure on the low wages paid in the Tidewater area, Mr. Winbush headed to the District to find work at one of the city's many hospitals.

He said Howard University Hospital made an offer but couldn't follow through with a job because of financial reasons. Attempts to find work at Georgetown University, Providence and Sibley Memorial hospitals resulted in similar outcomes.

"This is the first time in my life where I can't find a job," says Mr. Winbush, who keeps his interview clothes and other belongings in a rented storage locker. "I don't know what's going on. Every time I get close, something happens and I have to start all over again."

Mr. Winbush feels compassion for the other folks staying at the 80-bedroom shelter, but for himself he feels only shame.