Latest news with #CentralInn
Yahoo
23-05-2025
- Yahoo
A missing bench comes to symbolize missing solutions to homelessness
John Paul Shanks sits for a photo outside the Central Inn in Central City, April 27, 2025. (Kentucky Lantern photo by Austin Anthony) This is the final story in a Lantern series about homelessness in Western Kentucky. Read the earlier articles here. CENTRAL CITY — Sitting on his bed at the Central Inn on a bitterly cold January day, John Paul Shanks had already handwashed his clothes, after pre-soaking them in Gain detergent, and hung them to dry. Living outdoors in this Western Kentucky town has given him a lot of experience in making do. 'I'm probably one of the only people you'll see that can just sit there and lay on a piece of concrete with a pillow or nothing and go to bed,' Shanks said. 'That hardens you up.' Gwen Clements is why 41-year-old Shanks, his red beard long and his head shaved, had a motel room that day. Clements also knows about making do. She's a leader in a loose coalition of the compassionate, working to help her homeless neighbors in a place that offers them few formal resources. She met Shanks years before when she took a job at the Perdue Farms poultry processing plant in Ohio County around the time of the Great Recession. He was a production line leader. It's unclear to Clements what put Shanks on the path to what she describes as being 'chronically homeless.' But as she began seeing him walk the streets she started checking in with him and asking if he needed anything. On days when she wanted to find Shanks, she would make sure to get up early to drive around town and check a few of his haunts. Outside the Central Inn. Inside the local Wendy's. On a bench next to a local bank where people driving by gave him money, food and sometimes clothing. 'The only people that know him are the people who stop and talk to him, people that know him from the past,' Clements said in January. With deadly cold in the forecast that January week, Clements, through a Facebook group she started in early 2024 focused on homelessness, had urged her neighbors to send her money so that she could put people up in the motel and keep them safe overnight. Finding Shanks during severe weather and making sure he had shelter had become a priority for her. It was easy for Clements to check Shanks into a motel room for the night. Finding help for his deeper issues is not. Clements said that's true of other people she helps, some of them grappling with what seem to be untreated mental illness and addiction and living without permanent shelter. 'People like John Paul, there's no help for them. You can make all the appointments you want for him. He's not going to go,' Clements said. 'He doesn't have transportation if he did decide to go.' Shanks said he injured his back years ago when on the drive to work the vehicle he was in hit a patch of black ice that 'flipped the car.' The nerve pain was so intense, he said, it could take him 30 minutes to dress. In the motel room, he also described grappling with addiction and using prescription opioids, cocaine and methamphetamine. According to court records, Shanks has been arrested a number of times. Once he was screaming and throwing rocks from a train track. Shanks told police he hadn't realized one of the rocks had almost hit a woman. Another time he was arrested for disorderly conduct for allegedly yelling obscenities at a local IGA grocery store. In 2022, a Central City police officer and Chief Jason Lindsey found Shanks at a strip mall where Shanks had previously trespassed, according to an incident report. Shanks had allegedly told a minor 'he would take him out back and beat his brains out.' Shanks told law enforcement the minor 'had said things to him about him being homeless and getting a job.' Shanks was arrested and banned from entering the strip mall property. Tammy Piper, the director of business development for the city, told the Lantern last year the city had tried to help Shanks multiple times by putting him in a hotel room or offering work. Piper said in one instance, Chief Lindsey drove Shanks to live with family members several counties over and had secured a job for Shanks, only for Shanks to return to the Central City streets. In the fall of 2024, the city removed the bench next to a local bank where Shanks often sat, sometimes dozing or asking passing drivers for money. The move sparked debate on social media and made television news in Evansville, Indiana. Central City Mayor Tony Armour told the Evansville station the bench was removed because Shanks made people uncomfortable. The mayor also said the city has tried to offer Shanks work. Shanks, in the motel room in January, disputed that the city had offered him a job. The bench took on larger significance for some, including Clements, who saw its removal as a symbol of apathy and, at times, disregard by local officials and police for people who are unsheltered and struggling. 'That was just a small part of how our homeless are treated in this county and this city,' said Clements. Clements said Shanks and other people dealing with homelessness need more than a bench where they can spend their days or even a roof over their heads. She sees a need for mobile mental health services that can meet people where they're living outside, considering that homelessness can deteriorate mental health. 'He's suffered a lot of trauma from being unhoused. I don't think people understand that,' Clements said about Shanks. 'They just want to think that, 'He's lazy and a druggie, and he needs to get a job, get off drugs and he'll be fine.' It's much more than that. 'The warming shelters and stuff is the 'more.' John Paul needing mobile crisis mental health — that's part of the 'more.' It's just so much more than the bench being removed,' Clements said. When Shanks was asked in the motel room if he believed others in Central City cared about people experiencing homelessness, he said: 'I think they worry about others. I think there's just a lot to worry about.' Clements replied to Shanks: 'The problem is too big, and they don't know how to handle it.' Paramount among the needs is more housing and temporary shelter, according to Clements and others in the band of helpers pushing to address homelessness in Muhlenberg County. The Muhlenberg County Economic Growth Alliance, the economic development arm for county government, retained an Ohio-based housing research firm in November 2023 to better understand the local housing market. The study found a need for more than 300 additional rental units and more than 700 additional owner-occupied homes through 2029. The report noted the need for affordable rental units would continue because of persistent poverty in the county. But the path for creating more housing or even temporary shelter remains unclear. Kelsey Rolley, who has helped the loose coalition at times through her work at Pennyrile Allied Community Services, said some of the divisions among the community spring from fear of the unknown. She imagines questions from local 'higher ups,' such as who else might come into the county to seek shelter if more were available and whether it might attract more crime. When Armour, the mayor, raised concerns about a church's plans to turn the Central Inn into efficiency apartments to help homeless people transition into something more permanent, he worried his community could be 'destroyed' by an influx of people drawn by the assistance. 'It's going to take a village, and until that village can be formed, created and run properly, all of us work together — I feel like it's just going to keep us stuck,' Rolley said. The loose coalition is persisting, though. Clements and others recently visited Somerset to see how a nonprofit shelter and resource hub were started just a couple years ago, and Clements has been considering buildings to potentially start her own version of that nonprofit in Muhlenberg. The way forward to stable housing remains strewn with challenges and struggles for the people who talked about their experiences of being homeless in this series. Shanks remained on the concrete stoop of the Central Inn in May, waving at passing cars. He mentioned he needed a shower, a pair of socks and maybe another stay in a motel room. 'You gotta appreciate everything about everything,' he said. Courtney Phillips, who slept outside the Abundant Life Church for weeks, is still piecing together what she wants her life to be. The church has provided her a room to sleep in. At her nursing home job, she's working long hours and building relationships with residents who deal with mental health disorders including dementia. She wants to save money for a car — what she calls a 'baby step' toward where she wants to be. She made it to the top of a waiting list for a rapid rehousing program and hopes it will help her find an apartment soon. She's also been carrying on without her dog, Joker, who cuddled with her while she was sleeping outside. Joker died earlier this year; a wooden urn with Joker's ashes sits in her room at the church, and Joker's bed is still beside her bed. 'It's real different, but he's still with me,' Phillips said. Mallie Luken, who slept in the church parking lot before Clements helped her find housing, was anxious for weeks leading up to a hearing on her possible eviction from the apartment Clements had helped her find. After police left Luken in her wheelchair outside the Abundant Life Church on a stormy night in September, Clements came to her aid, helping her secure an apartment at the Greenville Housing Authority. But her housing situation was uncertain yet again by this month. Luken, 70, was served an eviction notice because of alleged complaints from neighbors about her behavior and inappropriate language that they said was directed at them. Clements, who admits Luken can be her own 'worst enemy,' also said the housing authority alleged Luken hadn't paid rent, something she said wasn't true. The stress of her predicament had Luken exhausted and apprehensive. 'Somehow or another I keep falling through the system,' Luken said weeks before the hearing. Earlier in May, in front of a district court judge, Luken with the help of a Kentucky Legal Aid attorney was able to come to an agreement with the housing authority: She can stay in her apartment until another apartment opens up at a housing authority in Beaver Dam, next door in Ohio County where Luken previously lived. Clements said Luken has friends near there, potentially a support system. In Muhlenberg County, Clements played a large role in Luken's support system. Their relationship has grown over the months they've been together. 'I can't imagine what she's done for other people,' Luken said in praise of Clements' generosity. Leaving Luken's apartment earlier this year, Clements told Luken she loved her. Out on the sidewalk, Clements, in a voice choked with emotion, said, 'I can't imagine my mother being in that predicament. I just can't.' Introduction Part 1: Homeless often means 'invisible,' but not to everyone in this small Kentucky town Part 2: After living outdoors for weeks, she got a place to sleep, a shower — and a job Part 3: A church called its vision for housing a 'Beacon of Hope.' The mayor had concerns.
Yahoo
23-05-2025
- Yahoo
A missing bench comes to symbolize missing solutions to homelessness
John Paul Shanks sits for a photo outside the Central Inn in Central City, April 27, 2025. (Kentucky Lantern photo by Austin Anthony) This is the final story in a Lantern series about homelessness in Western Kentucky. Read the earlier articles here. CENTRAL CITY — Sitting on his bed at the Central Inn on a bitterly cold January day, John Paul Shanks had already handwashed his clothes, after pre-soaking them in Gain detergent, and hung them to dry. Living outdoors in this Western Kentucky town has given him a lot of experience in making do. 'I'm probably one of the only people you'll see that can just sit there and lay on a piece of concrete with a pillow or nothing and go to bed,' Shanks said. 'That hardens you up.' Gwen Clements is why 41-year-old Shanks, his red beard long and his head shaved, had a motel room that day. Clements also knows about making do. She's a leader in a loose coalition of the compassionate, working to help her homeless neighbors in a place that offers them few formal resources. She met Shanks years before when she took a job at the Perdue Farms poultry processing plant in Ohio County around the time of the Great Recession. He was a production line leader. It's unclear to Clements what put Shanks on the path to what she describes as being 'chronically homeless.' But as she began seeing him walk the streets she started checking in with him and asking if he needed anything. On days when she wanted to find Shanks, she would make sure to get up early to drive around town and check a few of his haunts. Outside the Central Inn. Inside the local Wendy's. On a bench next to a local bank where people driving by gave him money, food and sometimes clothing. 'The only people that know him are the people who stop and talk to him, people that know him from the past,' Clements said in January. With deadly cold in the forecast that January week, Clements, through a Facebook group she started in early 2024 focused on homelessness, had urged her neighbors to send her money so that she could put people up in the motel and keep them safe overnight. Finding Shanks during severe weather and making sure he had shelter had become a priority for her. It was easy for Clements to check Shanks into a motel room for the night. Finding help for his deeper issues is not. Clements said that's true of other people she helps, some of them grappling with what seem to be untreated mental illness and addiction and living without permanent shelter. 'People like John Paul, there's no help for them. You can make all the appointments you want for him. He's not going to go,' Clements said. 'He doesn't have transportation if he did decide to go.' Shanks said he injured his back years ago when on the drive to work the vehicle he was in hit a patch of black ice that 'flipped the car.' The nerve pain was so intense, he said, it could take him 30 minutes to dress. In the motel room, he also described grappling with addiction and using prescription opioids, cocaine and methamphetamine. According to court records, Shanks has been arrested a number of times. Once he was screaming and throwing rocks from a train track. Shanks told police he hadn't realized one of the rocks had almost hit a woman. Another time he was arrested for disorderly conduct for allegedly yelling obscenities at a local IGA grocery store. In 2022, a Central City police officer and Chief Jason Lindsey found Shanks at a strip mall where Shanks had previously trespassed, according to an incident report. Shanks had allegedly told a minor 'he would take him out back and beat his brains out.' Shanks told law enforcement the minor 'had said things to him about him being homeless and getting a job.' Shanks was arrested and banned from entering the strip mall property. Tammy Piper, the director of business development for the city, told the Lantern last year the city had tried to help Shanks multiple times by putting him in a hotel room or offering work. Piper said in one instance, Chief Lindsey drove Shanks to live with family members several counties over and had secured a job for Shanks, only for Shanks to return to the Central City streets. In the fall of 2024, the city removed the bench next to a local bank where Shanks often sat, sometimes dozing or asking passing drivers for money. The move sparked debate on social media and made television news in Evansville, Indiana. Central City Mayor Tony Armour told the Evansville station the bench was removed because Shanks made people uncomfortable. The mayor also said the city has tried to offer Shanks work. Shanks, in the motel room in January, disputed that the city had offered him a job. The bench took on larger significance for some, including Clements, who saw its removal as a symbol of apathy and, at times, disregard by local officials and police for people who are unsheltered and struggling. 'That was just a small part of how our homeless are treated in this county and this city,' said Clements. Clements said Shanks and other people dealing with homelessness need more than a bench where they can spend their days or even a roof over their heads. She sees a need for mobile mental health services that can meet people where they're living outside, considering that homelessness can deteriorate mental health. 'He's suffered a lot of trauma from being unhoused. I don't think people understand that,' Clements said about Shanks. 'They just want to think that, 'He's lazy and a druggie, and he needs to get a job, get off drugs and he'll be fine.' It's much more than that. 'The warming shelters and stuff is the 'more.' John Paul needing mobile crisis mental health — that's part of the 'more.' It's just so much more than the bench being removed,' Clements said. When Shanks was asked in the motel room if he believed others in Central City cared about people experiencing homelessness, he said: 'I think they worry about others. I think there's just a lot to worry about.' Clements replied to Shanks: 'The problem is too big, and they don't know how to handle it.' Paramount among the needs is more housing and temporary shelter, according to Clements and others in the band of helpers pushing to address homelessness in Muhlenberg County. The Muhlenberg County Economic Growth Alliance, the economic development arm for county government, retained an Ohio-based housing research firm in November 2023 to better understand the local housing market. The study found a need for more than 300 additional rental units and more than 700 additional owner-occupied homes through 2029. The report noted the need for affordable rental units would continue because of persistent poverty in the county. But the path for creating more housing or even temporary shelter remains unclear. Kelsey Rolley, who has helped the loose coalition at times through her work at Pennyrile Allied Community Services, said some of the divisions among the community spring from fear of the unknown. She imagines questions from local 'higher ups,' such as who else might come into the county to seek shelter if more were available and whether it might attract more crime. When Armour, the mayor, raised concerns about a church's plans to turn the Central Inn into efficiency apartments to help homeless people transition into something more permanent, he worried his community could be 'destroyed' by an influx of people drawn by the assistance. 'It's going to take a village, and until that village can be formed, created and run properly, all of us work together — I feel like it's just going to keep us stuck,' Rolley said. The loose coalition is persisting, though. Clements and others recently visited Somerset to see how a nonprofit shelter and resource hub were started just a couple years ago, and Clements has been considering buildings to potentially start her own version of that nonprofit in Muhlenberg. The way forward to stable housing remains strewn with challenges and struggles for the people who talked about their experiences of being homeless in this series. Shanks remained on the concrete stoop of the Central Inn in May, waving at passing cars. He mentioned he needed a shower, a pair of socks and maybe another stay in a motel room. 'You gotta appreciate everything about everything,' he said. Courtney Phillips, who slept outside the Abundant Life Church for weeks, is still piecing together what she wants her life to be. The church has provided her a room to sleep in. At her nursing home job, she's working long hours and building relationships with residents who deal with mental health disorders including dementia. She wants to save money for a car — what she calls a 'baby step' toward where she wants to be. She made it to the top of a waiting list for a rapid rehousing program and hopes it will help her find an apartment soon. She's also been carrying on without her dog, Joker, who cuddled with her while she was sleeping outside. Joker died earlier this year; a wooden urn with Joker's ashes sits in her room at the church, and Joker's bed is still beside her bed. 'It's real different, but he's still with me,' Phillips said. Mallie Luken, who slept in the church parking lot before Clements helped her find housing, was anxious for weeks leading up to a hearing on her possible eviction from the apartment Clements had helped her find. After police left Luken in her wheelchair outside the Abundant Life Church on a stormy night in September, Clements came to her aid, helping her secure an apartment at the Greenville Housing Authority. But her housing situation was uncertain yet again by this month. Luken, 70, was served an eviction notice because of alleged complaints from neighbors about her behavior and inappropriate language that they said was directed at them. Clements, who admits Luken can be her own 'worst enemy,' also said the housing authority alleged Luken hadn't paid rent, something she said wasn't true. The stress of her predicament had Luken exhausted and apprehensive. 'Somehow or another I keep falling through the system,' Luken said weeks before the hearing. Earlier in May, in front of a district court judge, Luken with the help of a Kentucky Legal Aid attorney was able to come to an agreement with the housing authority: She can stay in her apartment until another apartment opens up at a housing authority in Beaver Dam, next door in Ohio County where Luken previously lived. Clements said Luken has friends near there, potentially a support system. In Muhlenberg County, Clements played a large role in Luken's support system. Their relationship has grown over the months they've been together. 'I can't imagine what she's done for other people,' Luken said in praise of Clements' generosity. Leaving Luken's apartment earlier this year, Clements told Luken she loved her. Out on the sidewalk, Clements, in a voice choked with emotion, said, 'I can't imagine my mother being in that predicament. I just can't.' SUPPORT: YOU MAKE OUR WORK POSSIBLE
Yahoo
20-05-2025
- Yahoo
Homeless often means ‘invisible,' but not to everyone in this small Kentucky town
Mallie Luken, 70, remembers thinking of her parents as she tried to sleep outdoors in the parking lot of Abundant Life Church in Central City. She sat for a photo in her home in Greenville on April 27, 2025. (Kentucky Lantern photo by Austin Anthony) This story is the first of a series. CENTRAL CITY — Pastor Jennifer Banks was still a relative newcomer to this Western Kentucky town on the night in September when she watched through a security camera as a police officer brought a woman in a wheelchair to the church and 'dumped her in our parking lot.' Banks' husband, Zachary, rushed to the church in time to talk to the officer. 'He's like, 'Man, I'm sorry. We didn't have anywhere for her to go. We knew that y'all wouldn't trespass her here, and we didn't want to see her go to jail,' Zachary Banks recalls. Mallie Luken, 70, a widow, was down to her last few dollars. She had asked her former pastor to drive her from the nearby county where she was living to Muhlenberg County because she remembered an old ad for the Central Inn, a motel in Central City, and thought she could afford a night there. Jennifer Banks had met Mallie Luken the day before after getting a call from police about a 'homeless woman' outside Arby's. The officer told the pastor the woman had trespassed on multiple properties and asked if she could do something. Banks gathered a plate of food and headed to Arby's. She found Luken sitting outside in a wheelchair next to her dog Blaze. They prayed together. At that time, Banks had yet to consider using the Abundant Life Church as a shelter. The congregation was barely a year old and still buying the building from the Central City government. 'I had to leave her there, because I didn't have anywhere for her to go. And then the next day was when they dumped her in our parking lot,' Jennifer Banks said. Banks' community was ill-prepared to respond to that kind of housing emergency. That realization has served as a catalyst for the Bankses and others in Muhlenberg County who want to fill gaps they see in services and housing. They have met resistance and support, as the Lantern will report over the next few days. But on that night eight months ago, all Zachary Banks could do was take Luken a blanket. She stayed there on the pavement under a stainless steel table, an experience made even worse because she was separated from Blaze after he bolted from an earlier thunder clap. As storms rolled through Luken thought of her parents. 'To know that that's your child laying under a stainless steel table,' Luken said. 'I could have gotten electrocuted.' Looking back recently, she said, 'I just didn't care if I woke up in the morning,' mentioning how worried she was about Blaze. Luken thinks her search for the dog had prompted more calls to police about trespassing. Seeing Luken in the parking lot, Zachary Banks thought of his mother. 'It just broke my heart to see her just dumped out there and for us to not be able to have any resources to be able to do anything.' An officer wrote in an email to church leaders that Luken was dropped off at the church at her request and that the local police department 'currently does not have any type of resources to assist her.' The officer in his email asked the church for assistance to make sure Luken didn't get into further legal trouble. Zachary Banks said he urged the officer to 'stand up' for the church before the Central City city council and for the work the church was doing to help people experiencing homelessness. The officer told Zachary Banks he would try. Luken soon found shelter thanks to help from Gwen Clements. Using money given by a concerned neighbor of the church, Clements checked Luken into the Central Inn. Within about a week, calling around to her connections, Clements found Luken an apartment at the public housing authority in Greenville, the Muhlenberg County seat. She contacted Luken's daughter in North Carolina who wasn't aware of her situation and learned the mother and daughter have a strained relationship. Luken was united with Blaze, and they are still together. In a rural county with few resources for people without shelter, Clements is part of a loose coalition of people who see a growing need to help those experiencing homelessness. Clements grew up in Muhlenberg County and believes it is not unlike other rural communities suffering a shortage of housing. Earlier in 2024, Clements had started a Facebook group to advocate for more resources to help people struggling to secure a safe place to live. Clements, who moved back to Central City in the early 2000s, had a vision for what she wanted for the county: a community space that could serve as a warming center, shelter and kitchen, largely inspired by efforts of a nonprofit in Somerset. 'In this county, if they would just open up more affordable housing. Most of the problems would be eliminated,' Clements said. 'If we had public transportation for people to get the documents they need — nobody wants to take these people so that they can get the hand up and get on with their lives just by having a few pieces of paper in hand.' Clements says her own experiences make her want to help. 'I feel for these people. I've been in their situation, not knowing where I was gonna go next,' Clements told the Lantern earlier this year. 'I want to be the person I needed during my dark times. I want to give hope to those who feel hopeless, show them someone cares about their needs.' 'Sometimes it's draining. Sometimes I leave my house at seven o'clock in the morning and don't come back till it's dark,' Clements said. 'If you're making a commitment, you gotta follow that commitment through till you're done.' 'While homelessness is often considered an urban issue, the number of unsheltered homeless individuals has rapidly risen outside of Lexington and Louisville, going from six hundred fifty (650) in 2019 to more than one thousand (1,000) in 2024. 'While homelessness has many causes, the Deputy Executive Director of Housing Programs for the Kentucky Housing Corporation stated that the lack of housing was a contributing factor, likening the housing situation to a game of musical chairs where certain people would simply be left out due to the lack of supply. 'Those already vulnerable to homelessness, including seniors, people with disabilities, and those with low income, could be pushed into homelessness as a result of the housing shortage and rising home prices and rents.' — Final Report of the Kentucky Housing Task Force, Nov. 12, 2024 She helps people fill out birth certificate requests so they can get an identification card. Her Facebook group has become a clearinghouse connecting people who say they need help to those who want to provide it. She often fields several messages a day asking for food, clothing or enough money to stay at a local motel. Sometimes people she helps are dealing with unstable housing situations, getting close to the precipice of living without shelter. Some who need help grapple with addiction and other mental health issues. Some work or struggle to find work, having limited or no transportation to get them to a job. The county has a limited supply of affordable rentals amid a worsening housing shortage that is common across rural Kentucky. 'Housing as a whole is very hard to come by, whether it's affordable, whether it's appropriate, whether it's up to code, whether or not they get in there. I mean, it's just hard all the way around,' said Kelsey Rolley, a services coordinator at Pennyrile Allied Community Services in Greenville. 'It's that much harder when you're in a position like mine, where people come to you for help and then you don't have any resources to refer them to, or you don't have the means to be able to help immediately at that moment.' Muhlenberg County, once bolstered by coal mining and famous for producing musicians, has an aging and declining population similar to other rural communities. Poverty rates are higher than the national and state averages, according to the U.S. Census. Central City has a population of a little more than 6,000 residents. About 1 in 4 of them live in poverty. Michael Howard, the CEO of the regional ARCH Community Health Coalition in Western Kentucky, said finding a way forward beyond coal mining has been difficult and the housing shortage makes fostering new industries and jobs even more challenging. But, he said, the vast majority in Muhlenberg County would reply 'No' when asked if homelessness is a local problem. 'They don't realize that they're already there. You know, they're invisible,' Howard said. They're not invisible to everyone, though. Next in the Lantern's series: Jennifer and Zachary Banks and Abundant Life Church have a plan, backed by others in the loose coalition.
