Perceptions

The philosopher George Berkely once wrote “esse est percipi”, or “to be is to be perceived”.  True enough.  Yet sadly, and more often in the cultural, social and legal world, it’s really “percipi est esse”, or “to be perceived as a thing, is to be that thing”.

Take sober living homes and shelters in general.  There are many in Springfield.  There is the Salvation Army’s Adult Rehabilitation Center.  There is Helping Hands.  There are many Oxford Houses.  

All cater to those who suffer from alcoholism, addiction, or even just plain old homelessness.  All offer a place to stay.  All are run by what are known as “not for profit corporations” or sometimes “non-profit corporations”.  Even if they are church run, they are still incorporated or registered under the laws of the State of Illinois as non-profit corporations.

This makes things easy for them.  When someone there is wanting to use drugs or drink booze or start fights or destroy property, they need only tell that person to leave.  And if that person does not, then they can call the police and have them made to leave.  

No “eviction proceedings”.  No courts.  No “wait thirty days on the court while the homeless guy steals you blind and destroys the place”.  

After all, most such local charities do pay some kind of taxes, if only property taxes, and those police are there to work for them.  

And besides, paying taxes or not, the job of the police is to uphold the law, and the law concerning homeless shelters and sober living homes is clear.

And to top it all of?  These places are charities, doing good for others at cost, or below cost.  Why make them suffer for trying to help others?  Hence the laws being wrote to exempt them from eviction proceedings in the first place.

If only it were that easy for us.

You see, our own Liahona Mission has something in common with all those other places.  That is to say, we have EVERYTHING in common with them, being incorporated as legally as they, registered and listed as clearly as they, and doing charitable outreach same as they.

Well, with one small difference.  Perception.  We aren’t “known”.  At least not as well.

Oxford Houses are known, even by regular street level cops.  Salvation Army and Helping Hand are giant facilities with signs and parking lots and staff.  Everybody knows them.

What difference does that make?

Quite a bit.  You see, one of the frustrating things that those who don’t have lawyers on retainer have to deal with is “cop justice”.  Cop justice is where there is a dispute between two or more citizens and the first cop to arrive gets to decide it any way he likes, based upon the best of his knowledge, or in the absence of knowledge, whatever seems right in the immediacy of the moment.  

Often times, it boils down to whichever person tells the better story, or speaks first.  If a cop hears a story first, and it is understandable to him, then no other side, no matter how well expressed, is going to change his mind.  And then for that moment, that day, and even weeks, until you can hire an attorney and in consultation with a DA or Police Chief or City leader get it cleared up, you’re stuck with that cop’s decision, even if it is blatantly and crushingly wrong.

Such was what I almost had to deal with yesterday.  And why perception is the essence, that what we are - or are not - perceived as, is what then a random cop can believe we are.  Or aren’t.  In this case, he “perceived” us as landlords who could be compelled to accept an alleged former tenant.

Background.  We had a sober living house guest who stayed two months for free in exchange for putting in a shower base incorrectly, breaking a shower drain and then fixing it again, but without the trap that would stop sewer gas from coming up, and correcting leaks that still leak.  He did however get one toilet working, and that has at least been handy.

His son, a heroin addict, came to visit and - well, where or if he stayed I’ll be coy about for legal reasons, but suffice to say, I spent almost three months trying to aid this 25 year old “man”.  Some of the things I helped him with were getting a job that he promptly lost.  An opioid addiction will do that to you.  I helped sign him up for an Army that will decline him as soon as he takes the physical.  I gave him free rides.  We had him over for Thanksgiving.  And Christmas.  As to whether I also provided for the entirety of his livelihood for almost three months for free - as HE claims! -  I’ll decline to confirm or deny that.

You can see this coming, I’m sure.  One day, about three months after whatever relationship I had with him was started, he was using opioids again.  Or still.  I waited until he was away and then gathered his stuff, that for whatever reasons I happened to have around.  Maybe I was storing it for him.  When he got back, I offered him a ride anywhere, as I always do.

Even to Decatur or Pana, as he was thinking about that.  But his father convinced him by phone, while I was driving him and his stuff, that the kid had a legal right to be in our sober living home.  The son thus declined my offer to drive him to family out of town, so I had to drop him off at Helping Hand instead.  Where he told me that his dad knew a lawyer through AA meetings and that he’d be coming to live at our sober living home within the hour.  Whether “again” or not, I’m not saying.  But I explained to him that it was not going to happen.

Back at our sober living home, I reviewed the physical and legal threats that were coming in by text from he and his father, neither of which have paid any money at all to be here.  The son in particular had not only paid no money, but had not even had any agreement to stay.  He was also the one I had gave my old iPhone6 to, which I’ve heard from others was more of a gift than I thought it was.

Amazingly, some older woman claiming to be a lawyer, some old flame of his dad’s, drove him to our sober living home.  And had the police meet them there.  I was at an utter loss.  I mean, we’ve had the police out before to remove guests, so I know that they know we’re a sober living home....but then, oops, these cops didn’t know anything about that!

And one cop was confused and thought that others had been out here before on this but I knew that was not the case.  Yet every time I tried to explain, he’d yell me down - loud enough that Katie heard from inside - and I’d remain silent till he let me speak again.  Then when I started to explain again, he’d yell again.

“I don’t know why you keep saying ‘sober living home’, if he stayed there he has a right to be there and he can break down the door and go in for all I care!  I’ve wasted enough time on this!”

He’d been there for a minute at that point.  The addict now looked very happy.

Asking for our 14th amendment rights to "equal protection".

I know cops, though.  And I am a reformed alcoholic who well knows that yelling back is never going to end well.  I over and over got in bit after bit of what I was trying to say as softly as I could.  The kid’s “lawyer” aided me because when the cop told her to step back, she got mouthy and said it was a public sidewalk and she could stay.  This gladdened my heart, as cops hate those who in any way challenge them, even if the challengers are right.  

Especially if they’re right.

Now, instead of me being the perceived challenger, she was.  See how that perception thing pops up again?  I continued to speak with the soft and conciliatory voice usually reserved for dealing with strange dogs.

I also took that opportunity to respectfully offer the cop the application that actual guests fill out and pointed out the part where it shows that we are covered under Federal law.  No landlord/tenant relationship.  No rent.  No evictions.  

I explained that it was not my house, but a sober living home run by a non-profit.  

I’d like to say my calm reasoning won the day, and perhaps it helped a little.  I think they were at least starting to wonder and looking for a reason to gracefully back off of their previous insistence that he go in.  Which probably did have something to do with me speaking gently and the “lawyer” being uppity.  

I knew I’d won when the cops then qualified to the kid what they had “meant”.  That is, they told the kid that he could go in, even breaking the down door, but only IF he had proof he lived there.  His “lawyer” was not very happy.

For of course, there was nothing there inside of his.  Nor did he have a key.  Or a lease.  Or even an agreement like the other guys.  Then the other cop saw that the attorney had all of the kid’s belongings in her car.  Which ended it.  If his stuff was there, it could not be in the house.  Ergo, he didn’t live there.  

But wait, a last clutching at a straw from the other cop!  If the addict had a piece of mail addressed to the sober living home address, he could stay!  My heart sank, as I often let people I aid use the address for jobs and mail and ID.  Whether they stay there or not.  A practice that thanks to the Springfield PD and their spotty ability to know the laws they enforce, I’ll have to re-evaluate.  

I’ll not confirm or deny whether that kid may have ever had any mail sent there, but I’ll say that I was concerned.  Fortunately, he could produce no such piece of mail, and the cops told him that “Sorry, if you had one, that’d be different, but…”

Later, after they had all left, I was trembling from delayed reaction.  And sick to my stomach.  I didn’t list out all the details, just enough so that you reading this could see that for a bit, there was an actual chance they were going to let the addict move in.  A heroin addict who hated me.  Who would have had that place stripped down and sold, pawned and fenced in 24 hours.  If not 12.  My appliances and fixtures would have been craiglisted out from under me.

Insurance?  Sure!  Having got the second house fixed up enough to accommodate another guest meant that for the first time ever we were able to afford insurance.  Yeah, we put the “non” in “non profit” and this month, to our joy, was the first month we could afford it.  You can guess how excited and relieved we were to get that last week!  But ask me how they’d respond if I had to file a claim within the first thirty days!

Pacing back and forth in my living room, five minutes after everyone had left, I looked out the window to see a police car pull up again.  I nervously went out.  He approached me, and where before he had pointedly not shook my hand, this time he did.  And said, “Hey, I’m sorry, you’re right, we had not been out on this before, it was something else!”

I was very relieved.  And grateful.  Very nice of him, really.  I was impressed.  He advised that I get some kind of paperwork, he knew not what kind, that could be something I could show any future cop.  I’m a bit nervous again, as there is no extra paperwork that we have not already got.  

I discussed this with Katie, and all we can think of is to get copies of the titles that show the houses are owned in the corporation’s name, and a certificate of good standing from the state - which both of those will cost - and maybe have the guys fill out even more strenuous paperwork saying over and over the same thing.

Yet we cannot help but notice that in this case, the addict that we almost had to watch break in with police approval had no lease, no agreement, no application, no nothing, and had never ever paid a dime to us.  I wonder, if I mailed a piece of mail to the Mayor’s house, would the police let me break down his door and move in?  Less dramatically, could I get mail at Helping Hand or Salvation Army and thus be allowed to stay there against their rules until those charities paid to evict me?

Of course not.  The police know who the Mayor is, and they know who Helping Hand and the Salvation Army are.  

Perception is how you then are.  Or are not.  We have figured that we need a sign.  A nice sign, big enough for any cop who comes by to read, “The Liahona Mission” and maybe underneath, “Faith Based Sober Living Homes”.  And maybe underneath that, “Established 2008”.  Just for the perception.  Maybe spot lit.  Heck, maybe a pic of a liahona!  

And no, I’m not kidding.  Katie and I looked at prices of this late last night, it’s not like we got to sleep very soon.

And again and always, we need to be members of the Chamber.  I have to believe that such a sticker of membership will convince the newest cop that letting an addict kick down the door of a local charitable business is not appropriate!  

What else can we do?  I mean, the parole and probation officers all know we’re a sober living home, they have agreements, signed by us, that they can enter and search any time they like!  I am truly at a loss as to how perception can play so large a part in this, that even in the face of every filled out form and application, and after every fee is paid, that a lone addict can threaten us, and the law can favor his false claim over a local charity’s legal status.

I was up all night watching over things.  After having bought a locking gas cap for Katie’s car.  But there could have been no danger at night as frightening as two policemen in broad daylight telling an addict that he has a right to live in our sober living house against our will.