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`I'd be happier with a bed' photos by Bob Pennell Bela Keenan, 15, and his skateboard have found a temporary home with Ashland resident Alice Drysdale and her skateboard-riding sons. He is among an estimated 400 teenagers that outreach workers believe are homeless in Jackson County at any given time. Homeless teens search county for avenues of safety, warmth By Dani Dodge of the Mail Tribune ASHLAND -- In the summer, homeless teens have better choices. They can sleep in their cars if they have them. They can covertly camp in the Ashland Watershed if they aren't caught. Parents are away on vacations and friends invite them over -- even during the week. But in the winter, it's different. It's cold. Options are fewer. "It became apparent that if I didn't take Bela in, it was going to be dangerous for him," says Alice Drysdale, right, with Bela Keenan. "Sometimes I have to pick up a dirty sock or towel, but I have to do that with my own kids." Bela Keenan, 15, considers himself lucky. Nine months ago, he broke house rules at his mom's and can't go home. So after hitchhiking to Eugene to get into a teen shelter there, sleeping in stairwells, getting in trouble with the law, he's been staying for a while with his friend's family, sleeping on an extra mattress on the floor. "It pretty much feels like living with my family, except I have three siblings instead of one," Bela said. Except Bela doesn't know where he'll go next. Although the Drysdale family adores the bright, freckle-faced skateboarder, he can't stay indefinitely in their cramped three-bedroom mobile home. "I'll just try to find another friend -- I'm not old enough to live on my own," Bela said. "If worse comes to worse, I'll crash under a bridge. "It's not the end of the world if I end up on the streets, but I'd be happier with a bed." Youth advocates estimate 400 teens are homeless in Jackson County at any one time. They are largely invisible to most, except maybe during an Ashland summer when they sometimes congregate in the downtown and become vocal about their plight in hopes of a few spare quarters. Usually, though, they are "couch surfing" -- going from home to home in search of places to sleep at night. People like Alice Drysdale, a 42-year-old single mother of four who took in Bela, lets them sleep on her floor. "It became apparent that if I didn't take Bela in, it was going to be dangerous for him," said Drysdale, who works in a restaurant. "Sometimes I have to pick up a dirty sock or towel, but I have to do that with my own kids." Jackson County doesn't have any shelters that take in homeless kids 17 and younger except in special circumstances such as physical abuse, drug addiction or pregnancy. Even then, it's short-term. A group called YouthFocus is working to develop a shelter for teens in Ashland, but still has a long way to go before the dream is a reality. In a world where one night means sleeping on a flowered velvet couch and the next on a lumpy rollaway, instability and uncertainty are constant. And sometimes, after a while the invitations stop coming. "This is the most desperate situation I've ever been in," said one homeless teen who asked that his name be changed to Mike for this story. "I was appalled to see how easily I was turned down by people." Mike's been on his own since last January. But unlike Bela, he hasn't had a stable place to stay. He had to leave home after a "misunderstanding" with his mother. Then, she moved away. He didn't want his age printed in the newspaper, even though his real name wasn't being revealed. Counselors say homeless teens often face so much rejection that they have a hard time trusting anyone. Because he was homeless, it was hard to find a job. He had no phone for employers to call. He had no work experience. No alarm clock. "I went all over," he said. "I went to more than 50 percent of the businesses in Ashland and said, `Give me anything."' But he feels fortunate because shortly after he became homeless he met Veege Ruediger, 23, a street outreach advocate who works for Community Works. When Mike had no food, she handed him Clif Bars from the back of her battered Nissan Sentra. When he didn't have a warm sweater, she provided it. She helped him sign up for food stamps. Most important, Mike said, when he needed someone to talk to, a friend, she was there. Despite the frustration and repeated rebuffs, Mike kept going back to businesses until he secured a job in November. But he hasn't yet been able to save the money he would need for first and last month's rent and deposit on an apartment. So he continues spending one night at a time wherever he can. Ruediger also has been helping Bela get by during his homelessness. She's gone with him to his appointments with his probation officer and picks him up from school and takes him for haircuts. She hangs out at places where the kids go and meets them on their turf. Then she tries to help them find the resources necessary to help them survive. Sometimes, she encourages reunification with the family. But not always. "I don't always think home is the safest place for kids," she said. "Sometimes the kids make decisions they need to make for themselves because sometimes they are fleeing for good reasons." About 70 percent of kids who run away have experienced domestic violence in their homes, Ruediger said. The Community Works street outreach program has two full-time counselors and a few volunteers and helped at least 240 teens last year. The staff runs a drop-in day center in Medford where teens can make phone calls, wash their clothes and grab a meal. Staff members try to provide some of the necessities of life. "These kids learn early on what it's like to be on their own," Ruediger said. "I have to remember there's only so much I can do." She said the most frustrating part of the job is that there's no drop-in shelter where teens can sleep in this area. "So there's very little I can do in the way of shelter," Ruediger said. "We brainstorm. `Do you have a relative? A friend?"' Kristen Jordan, 28, the outreach worker in Medford, estimates that 50 to 70 percent of the kids she works have no relationship at all with their parents. Often the parents are in jail, addicted to drugs, or prefer the kids fend for themselves. About 5 percent of the kids she works with are sleeping on the street tonight, despite the temperature. Both Jordan and Ruediger occasionally deal with the teen who is simply rebellious and doesn't want to stay at home anymore. With those kids, they encourage the families to work on communication. But for most of the kids, like Mike and Bela, home is not an option anymore. And when the teens are thinking only about where their next meal will come from, they rarely take the time to consider college or other goals that might provide them with better opportunities. When Mike is asked where he will be in 10 years, he gives an incredulous look. "Homeless people don't look 10 years ahead," he said. Bela is reluctant to guess where he'll be in 10 years, although he's still optimistic enough to have a dream. "I want to be a professional skateboarder with lots of money and a girlfriend," he said. "I'd be pretty happy then, but it's just as likely I'll be flipping burgers at McDonald's and sharing my one-room apartment with my roommate Bubba." For now, he's happy with a floor to crash on. Mail Tribune Copyright � The Mail Tribune 2000, Medford, Oregon USA