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An Endless Search For Housing For Oregon's Working Poor

In this series we bring you stories of Oregon’s “working poor,” — those who are living below 200 percent of the poverty line. For many families, housing eats up the biggest portion of limited budgets. In Central Oregon the rental market is especially challenging for low-income workers.

When Alaina Campos is overwhelmed, she has a habit of saying a single, breathy word: “Wow.”

That’s something the 32-year-old single mother and McDonald’s worker says in response to both the highs and the lows of her day. On the phone with an elementary school worker, trying to get her daughter enrolled even though the family has no address: Really? Wow. So this school system is not very good. Wow.”

When Lexi, Campos' 6-year-old, unexpectedly solves a difficult math problem from the back seat of the car: “Wow, baby, good job. That’s a hard one.”

While scrolling through Craigslist at the public library, looking at a house for rent: “Wow. Look at how nice that is. Wouldn’t that be cute to decorate for Christmas?”

Lately, most of Campos’ “wows” have been in response to yet another piece of bad news. She's been living in one bedroom of an emergency shelter in Bend since June. The shelter only has enough beds for three of her children, so one of her four daughters has to stay with a friend. For a while, Lexi slept at a friend’s house. But she soon felt abandoned. So now, 14-year-old Alyssa stays with a friend.

“She’s older and she understands the situation,” said Campos.

Since it’s still summer, a typical day for Campos involves a two-hour bus commute, sometimes with an extra hour of walking to her job at McDonald’s; shuttling her 5, 6, and 7-year-old girls to day care; and long hours at the library scouring property management websites and Craigslist for a rental.

Campos has been searching for housing since April. The rental she was in was sold, so she spent a few months bouncing between friends' houses with all four of her daughters in tow.

She’s submitted dozens of applications, and she tracks Craigslist like a hawk. She’s often the first caller to inquire when a property becomes available.

But a background check is quick to reveal her poor credit rating, and all of her applications so far have been rejected. Campos has had trouble with debts, including a student loan, a traffic citation, and unpaid utilities that mar her credit.

“I’ve got my hopes up a couple of times,” said Campos. “Nobody wants to give me a chance with bad credit.”

Central Oregon has the one of the tightest rental markets in the state, with a vacancy rate of less than 1.5 percent. In Bend proper, it’s even lower: 0.5 percent. That means that, of all the possible rental properties in the city, less than 1 percent of those houses and apartments are available.

With rentals in such high demand, property managers have little incentive to bring on tenants with any kind of black mark on their record — whether that mark is bad credit, a prior eviction or a criminal record.

“Landlords can be a little bit pickier in their screening guidelines. They’re less likely to make exceptions for past history,” said Kenny LaPoint with Housing Works, an agency that helps people find affordable housing.

Endless Search

On a recent day off, Campos made two appointments to view rentals. As she stepped inside the second one, her expression shows immediate disappointment. The living room is dark, and there’s a musty smell throughout. Half of the kitchen is consumed by a yellowed fridge that doesn’t seem to be working. The bedrooms are tiny, and Campos needs a lot of space for her children.

“Wow, this place is $1,150?” said Campos, under her breath, as she peeked out the back door that leads to a weedy backyard. “The one we looked at this morning was way nicer.”

Her two youngest daughters liked it. "Wow! This is awesome. I wish I had this," said 6-year-old Lexi.

“I like the other one better,” said 7-year-old daughter Lily, loudly.

“Sh-sh-sh,” said Campos to Lexi, smiling at the rental agent. The woman asked Campos if she had any questions.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Campos.

She can’t afford to be picky. There’s a good chance that even if she wanted this place, or the one she looked at in the morning, she wouldn’t get it.

At first, Campos thought her rent subsidies would make her a more attractive applicant. She’s in a program to help homeless families with kids move toward self-sufficiency. NeighborImpact, a local nonprofit, will cover her rent for a year. The goal is that by the end of a year, she’ll be back on her feet and able to pay the rent herself.

But even with the guaranteed rent, she’s been rejected over and over again. Each $25 or $30 application fee is essentially money down the drain.

“They take our money for the apps even though they know we're not going to get it,” Campos said about the the local property managers.

And she doesn’t have the cash to spare. She knows exactly how much she has in the bank: $156 that has to last a week and a half until payday. That’s for food, bus fare, gas for the car she borrows from a friend, and anything else that comes up. If she decides to apply for the rental with the broken fridge and the strange smell, she’ll have to deduct the application fee from that total.

Increasingly, low-income workers across the state are having a hard time meeting income requirements as rents go up. According to the National Low Income Housing Coalition, the average rent for a two-bedroom apartment in Oregon is $846 per month. To afford the rent, a worker must earn $16.28 per hour and work full-time.

Campos earns minimum wage and works about 13 hours per week at McDonald’s. She's asked for more hours, but since she can’t work nights without child care, her manager says she can’t schedule her for any more hours.

“I feel like I'm spending more in my bus passes than I'm making in my paycheck,” said Campos.

Her youngest daughters don’t really understand the hardship. But Campos worries about her oldest.

“Alyssa is 14 and I can't get her school clothes or new shoes,” said Campos. “She’s going into high school. That's embarrassing.”

In front of Alyssa, though, she puts up a brave front. On the first day of high school, Campos borrows her friend’s car so she can drop her oldest off at school. On the way, Campos and her daughter argue about Alyssa’s electives. Campos wants her to take dance, but Alyssa wants to do yearbook.

“But you’re good at dance,” said Campos. When Campos pushes her, Alyssa reveals why she doesn’t want dance: One of the students made fun of her because her family was homeless.

“Her friends all came up to me and surrounded me and said, ‘I’m so sorry,'” said Alyssa, imitating the mocking tone of the other students.

“About our living situation?” said Campos, her face hardening. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that, basically I let down my team,” said Alyssa, explaining that most of the dance team went to a summer camp. Campos couldn’t afford to send Alyssa.

Campos sighed. ”You can just tell them, ‘Yeah, you know what, we did have a situation but we’re doing great now. But thank you for caring, that’s so nice.'”

Campos keeps a tight reign on her daughter, in part because she wants her to take a different path than she did herself. “When I was 18, I was so sheltered. I just went out there and explored and then I got pregnant,” said Campos. “Now I have four kids and I'm a single mom.”

Only one of the two fathers pays child support, said Campos. “They don't want to help out, and they don't even want ,” she said. “So I do it alone.”

The following day, Campos is supposed to hear back about her application for a three-bedroom house. She expected another rejection, but was hopeful.

This particular rental felt almost perfect. The house is two stories, and she liked that all of the bedrooms are on the second floor — it felt safer to her. She decided to overlook the peeling exterior paint, the fact that there’s no backyard for the little girls, and the big Kool-aid stain on the carpet. If she didn’t get this place, she said she'd put in an application for the other house with the dingy smell.

But after her four-month search, she finally got good news.

“Your credit was really really bad,” the property manager told her. “But we’re gonna give you a chance.”

They can move in the following week, said the woman. Campos was overjoyed.

Alyssa will be able to walk to high school. Now that she has a permanent address, she can enroll the younger girls in school. And she can finally focus on her next goals, like finding a better job.

“I get to rest my head tonight,” said Campos. “I’ve always said that we’ll be fine if we’re all together, but this is a big help. I need to be stable. We're all we have, just me and my girls.”

<p>Lance Toler is the owner of Detail Kings, a car-detailing shop in Bend. As the owner of a small business and someone living paycheck to paycheck, Toler finds himself in a strange position. "People say to me, 'You own a small business, you have to be making money' and I say, 'It doesn't really work like that.'" Toler says his overhead is around $4,000 to $5,000 a month for his business. Come winter, when his business is slow, Toler says he struggles. "I made it through last winter, on the tax return of having a newborn," Toler said. "It kept my doors open."</p>
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Lance Toler is the owner of Detail Kings, a car-detailing shop in Bend. As the owner of a small business and someone living paycheck to paycheck, Toler finds himself in a strange position. "People say to me, 'You own a small business, you have to be making money' and I say, 'It doesn't really work like that.'" Toler says his overhead is around $4,000 to $5,000 a month for his business. Come winter, when his business is slow, Toler says he struggles. "I made it through last winter, on the tax return of having a newborn," Toler said. "It kept my doors open."

<p>Estella Nieto de Moncada&rsquo;s 15-year-old daughter hopes to go to art school for illustration. &ldquo;But it&rsquo;s very expensive,&rdquo; said Nieto de Moncada. &ldquo;I told her, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll try to make it happen. I&rsquo;ll work very hard, maybe take up another job.&rsquo;&rdquo; Nieto De Moncada has worked at a hotel in Ontario for seven years. During that time she says she is still is only able to work around five to six&nbsp;hours a day during the summer &mdash; and half that in the winter. Between her and her husband&rsquo;s work in the onion fields, she says her monthly take home is around $2,500 in the summer and $1,000 in the&nbsp;winter.</p>
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Estella Nieto de Moncada’s 15-year-old daughter hopes to go to art school for illustration. “But it’s very expensive,” said Nieto de Moncada. “I told her, ‘I’ll try to make it happen. I’ll work very hard, maybe take up another job.’” Nieto De Moncada has worked at a hotel in Ontario for seven years. During that time she says she is still is only able to work around five to six hours a day during the summer — and half that in the winter. Between her and her husband’s work in the onion fields, she says her monthly take home is around $2,500 in the summer and $1,000 in the winter.

<p>Maria Guerrero is grateful to have a good boss. The 31-year-old farmworker and mother of two has another baby on the way, and was recently prescribed bed rest by her doctor because of complications with her pregnancy. Her supervisor says she can come back to work after the baby is born. &ldquo;A lot of field bosses won&rsquo;t let you come back if you take time off,&rdquo; she said.</p>
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Maria Guerrero is grateful to have a good boss. The 31-year-old farmworker and mother of two has another baby on the way, and was recently prescribed bed rest by her doctor because of complications with her pregnancy. Her supervisor says she can come back to work after the baby is born. “A lot of field bosses won’t let you come back if you take time off,” she said.

<p>At 21, Gabriela &ldquo;Gaby&rdquo; Hernandez says she has gone through a lot and needs a break. Gaby is a single mom, and she works in Latino Services at the Redmond Public Library. She takes home $1,800 per month, and she&rsquo;s $28,000 in debt from school. Last March, Gaby was diagnosed with stage two breast cancer. &ldquo;I never quit working and I never quit school. I don&rsquo;t know where I had the strength to do it, truly,&rdquo; she said. Gaby would receive chemotherapy on the weekend, so she could &ldquo;sleep it off,&rdquo; and then, start her week again each Monday morning.</p>
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At 21, Gabriela “Gaby” Hernandez says she has gone through a lot and needs a break. Gaby is a single mom, and she works in Latino Services at the Redmond Public Library. She takes home $1,800 per month, and she’s $28,000 in debt from school. Last March, Gaby was diagnosed with stage two breast cancer. “I never quit working and I never quit school. I don’t know where I had the strength to do it, truly,” she said. Gaby would receive chemotherapy on the weekend, so she could “sleep it off,” and then, start her week again each Monday morning.

<p id="docs-internal-guid-0eaa0e17-7ff4-6b98-a7c7-18220d225c08" dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;">Jennifer Parker is a single parent. With five kids (the three oldest live with her and her best friend), a car and phone payments&mdash;money can get tight. When her car broke down, she had to get creative. She traded her 80-inch television with her old landlord to get a used Dodge Neon. Parker has been working at Dairy Queen for eight months. She likes it and sees potential to move up. Right now, she says she&rsquo;s making around $1,000 a month.</p>
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Jennifer Parker is a single parent. With five kids (the three oldest live with her and her best friend), a car and phone payments—money can get tight. When her car broke down, she had to get creative. She traded her 80-inch television with her old landlord to get a used Dodge Neon. Parker has been working at Dairy Queen for eight months. She likes it and sees potential to move up. Right now, she says she’s making around $1,000 a month.

<p>Dolores Martinez is doing some preview shopping for back-to-school purchases with her 7-year-old daughter, Emily. Right now they&rsquo;re just browsing, but they&rsquo;ll come back after Martinez&rsquo;s payday to make a purchase. Martinez gets paid every other week for her work as a cleaner at a local hotel. She and her husband, a farmworker, both earn minimum wage. &ldquo;We have to plan for this kind of shopping and make a budget but it&rsquo;s OK,&rdquo; she said.</p>
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Dolores Martinez is doing some preview shopping for back-to-school purchases with her 7-year-old daughter, Emily. Right now they’re just browsing, but they’ll come back after Martinez’s payday to make a purchase. Martinez gets paid every other week for her work as a cleaner at a local hotel. She and her husband, a farmworker, both earn minimum wage. “We have to plan for this kind of shopping and make a budget but it’s OK,” she said.

<p>Ricky Karle and his fiance are living in a tent on BLM land just outside of Redmond. They&rsquo;ve been there since April as they&rsquo;ve searched for an apartment, which is difficult because of his felony record. Ricky recently started a new job doing maintenance for the Jack-in-the-Box restaurant in Bend. He says money is very tight. &ldquo;With the gas situation, and driving here from Bend, and [with apartment] application fees and dumping money into that, it&rsquo;s getting hard to save. We have probably $100&nbsp;to our name right now,&rdquo; he said. In the past month, Ricky and his fiance have started sleeping half the week in their pickup truck to avoid the commute back and forth from Redmond. <br /><br /></p>
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Ricky Karle and his fiance are living in a tent on BLM land just outside of Redmond. They’ve been there since April as they’ve searched for an apartment, which is difficult because of his felony record. Ricky recently started a new job doing maintenance for the Jack-in-the-Box restaurant in Bend. He says money is very tight. “With the gas situation, and driving here from Bend, and [with apartment] application fees and dumping money into that, it’s getting hard to save. We have probably $100 to our name right now,” he said. In the past month, Ricky and his fiance have started sleeping half the week in their pickup truck to avoid the commute back and forth from Redmond.

<p>Tim Martin and his partner, Angelica&nbsp;Alfera, have four kids and live in a small house in Ontario. Martin earns minimum wage as a teacher's assistant at a preschool while Alfera stays home with the kids. They'd love to save up and buy a house, but it's not possible on their income. "We&rsquo;re not creating a foundation for our future we&rsquo;re just cruising along," said Martin. "We&rsquo;re just working to survive. There&rsquo;s no grand finale. It doesn&rsquo;t seem to be the American Dream." At the same time, the parents love that their work and their home life allows them plenty of time to spend with their kids. "This is a really special time for them, and I'm glad to have the time, " said Martin.</p>
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Tim Martin and his partner, Angelica Alfera, have four kids and live in a small house in Ontario. Martin earns minimum wage as a teacher's assistant at a preschool while Alfera stays home with the kids. They'd love to save up and buy a house, but it's not possible on their income. "We’re not creating a foundation for our future we’re just cruising along," said Martin. "We’re just working to survive. There’s no grand finale. It doesn’t seem to be the American Dream." At the same time, the parents love that their work and their home life allows them plenty of time to spend with their kids. "This is a really special time for them, and I'm glad to have the time, " said Martin.

<p>&ldquo;My husband and I are doing better than most,&rdquo; said Susan Smith. He&rsquo;s a night custodian at a grocery store and she&rsquo;s a bartender at a Denny&rsquo;s restaurant in Ontario. They both earn minimum wage, but they managed to save enough to buy a house in the small town of Vale. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t mind working,&rdquo; said Smith. She also says she&rsquo;s glad to have a minimum wage job in Oregon, rather than just over the border in Idaho. Oregon&rsquo;s minimum wage is $9.10; Idaho&rsquo;s is the same as the national wage: $7.25 per hour.</p>
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“My husband and I are doing better than most,” said Susan Smith. He’s a night custodian at a grocery store and she’s a bartender at a Denny’s restaurant in Ontario. They both earn minimum wage, but they managed to save enough to buy a house in the small town of Vale. “I don’t mind working,” said Smith. She also says she’s glad to have a minimum wage job in Oregon, rather than just over the border in Idaho. Oregon’s minimum wage is $9.10; Idaho’s is the same as the national wage: $7.25 per hour.

<p>&ldquo;We have to buckle down and budget,&rdquo; said Deedee Tolman, a 51-year-old grandmother who lives in Vale. Her husband works in the family dairy, and she works part-time in a local day care and takes care of her grandkids. After paying the bills each month, she says they sometimes have just $300 left to spend on food for the month. Fortunately, because her husband works in the dairy, they don&rsquo;t pay for milk or beef.</p>
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“We have to buckle down and budget,” said Deedee Tolman, a 51-year-old grandmother who lives in Vale. Her husband works in the family dairy, and she works part-time in a local day care and takes care of her grandkids. After paying the bills each month, she says they sometimes have just $300 left to spend on food for the month. Fortunately, because her husband works in the dairy, they don’t pay for milk or beef.

<p>Tara Henderson and her fiance moved to Bend last year for the outdoor lifestyle, dog-friendly atmosphere and great cycling. But they didn&rsquo;t anticipate just how hard it would be to a find good job. Tara has a new full-time job at Labor Ready, a staffing agency, but she makes less than $1,400 per month. The rent on their home eats up half of her and her fiance&rsquo;s combined take home pay.</p>
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Tara Henderson and her fiance moved to Bend last year for the outdoor lifestyle, dog-friendly atmosphere and great cycling. But they didn’t anticipate just how hard it would be to a find good job. Tara has a new full-time job at Labor Ready, a staffing agency, but she makes less than $1,400 per month. The rent on their home eats up half of her and her fiance’s combined take home pay.

<p>Berta Hernandez works as the meal director for a school in Ontario. In the winter, her husband Moses is seasonally employed at an onion processing facility. But come summer, Berta's six-person family relies on her paycheck. She takes home about $1,500 a month, or $18,000 a year. &ldquo;We can&rsquo;t save,&rdquo; said Hernandez. &ldquo;Not at this point. If it&rsquo;s not one thing it&rsquo;s another. Like, the bathroom light doesn&rsquo;t work.&rdquo;</p>
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Berta Hernandez works as the meal director for a school in Ontario. In the winter, her husband Moses is seasonally employed at an onion processing facility. But come summer, Berta's six-person family relies on her paycheck. She takes home about $1,500 a month, or $18,000 a year. “We can’t save,” said Hernandez. “Not at this point. If it’s not one thing it’s another. Like, the bathroom light doesn’t work.”

<p>Alaina Campos comforting her daughter Lexi outside the library in Redmond.</p>
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Alaina Campos comforting her daughter Lexi outside the library in Redmond.

Copyright 2014 Oregon Public Broadcasting