by Lin McNulty

Today marks the state’s official headcount of  homeless. It’s not conducted by lining them up and calling off numbers, nor by a request that they report in to make their status known; the count is conducted purely through hearsay “evidence.” By contacting local organizations and agencies that come into contact with homeless members of the community, San Juan County’s Health & Community Services Department will come up with what can best be described as a “guesstimate.”

The annual count was mandated by a state law passed in 2005 which seeks to reduce homelessness in the state by 50% by the year 2015. Last year the number of homeless individuals counted in San Juan County increased from 79 in 2010, to 110 in 2011, an increase of thirty nine percent.

Interesting numbers. But what about the man—the actual person—who has lived more than three years in a makeshift tent, frequently moving to avoid detection?

We’ll call him Mario. He’s intelligent, skilled, a great musician, talented artist, and loves to read. These traits do not necessarily translate to a job in the present economy. He spends his days at the library, or trying to connect with potential employers at a local tavern.

Mario became homeless a few years ago after his employment ran out and he was no longer able to make his rent payment. He’s not been in a situation, since, he says, to have enough money to get an apartment and pay all the deposits required.

The situation became even more grim after someone found and trashed his hiding place. His identification was stolen. (In the current Catch-22 milieu, in order to get picture I.D., you need picture I.D.)

“I am disappointed in myself,” he sighs, “but isn’t just me that’s keeping me here. I keep thinking there must be a way out of this.”

He purchases food on food stamps. He eats a good meal once a week at the Orcas Community Church. He occasionally finds a few days of work as a laborer. He maintains a sparkling sense of humor.

During the recent storm, he was able to sleep on the couch of a friend.

Questions that will be asked of people identifying themselves as homeless include approximate age, gender, whether they have dependent children who are also homeless, if they are chronically homeless or if they have a temporary living situation with friends or relatives.

Will Mario, a chronically homeless male, age 55, with no dependent children, be counted? Who knows. The system sees him and his ilk as statistics.

“Depression,” he says, “cuts the options when one is homeless.”