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SUNDAY, OCTOBER 21, 2018 • SANTA ROSA, CALIFORNIA • PRESSDEMOCRAT.COM

Broken
VOTE 2018

5 seek
seats on
SR City
A YEAR IN THE LIFE Council
Now elected by district,
candidates give views on
Loyalty and devotion held a homeless couple together for
housing, homelessness
nine years, but the relentless struggle for survival on the streets By J.D. MORRIS
left them with a more uncertain future THE PRESS DEMOCRAT

For the first time, Santa Rosa

voters this year are electing City
Council members by district,
but citywide issues remain at
the forefront of the two contest-
ed races.
Housing, homelessness and
the recovery from the October
2017 wildfires are among the top
priorities of candidates running
to represent the three newly
formed districts up for election
in this cycle.
The candidates, all Demo-
crats, generally agree Santa
Rosa needs to reduce homeless-
ness and increase housing con-
struction, particularly in light
of the more than 3,000 homes de-
stroyed in the city in last year’s
fires. But the differences among
the contenders, including polit-
ical alliances and experience,
vary and could prove decisive to
the races’ outcomes.
The Nov. 6 election marks
the first round in a complete

TURN TO COUNCIL » PAGE A14

TWITTER

Saudi trolls
besieged
journalist
Steve Singleton and Michelle Last huddle in February 2017 beneath Highway 101 along Fifth Street in downtown Santa Rosa. It was one of a
dozen places the couple lived within one year.

B
By MEG McCONAHEY THE PRESS DEMOCRAT | PHOTOS BY ERIK CASTRO FOR THE PRESS DEMOCRAT By KATIE BENNER
AND MARK MAZZETTI
ehind a metal door in a crawl space under Highway 101, Steve FIRST OF NEW YORK TIMES

Singleton and Michelle Last huddle in hiding. A spear of light TWO PARTS
Each morning, Jamal
from a thin, open seam between a wall and the underbelly of the Khashoggi would check his
ABOUT THIS
highway reveals their tent perched atop a steep earthen slope. It PROJECT: Home-
phone to discover what fresh
hell had been unleashed while
smells of mold and damp dirt. But the couple would rather be in less camps have he was sleeping.
this grave a few inches beneath the eerie thrum of traffic than risk Steve emerged into raw He would see the work of an
view on Sonoma
going back to jail. County’s streets in
army of Twitter trolls, ordered
to attack him and other influen-
It’s a short reprieve. the past year — a tial Saudis who had criticized
Two days later, police complicated and the kingdom’s leaders. He some-
find the hideout and persistent problem, times took the attacks person-
arrest Steve for failing underscored by ally, so friends made a point of
to appear in court on drug use, violence calling frequently to check on
a misdemeanor tres- and filth besetting his mental state.
passing charge. He one locale after “The mornings were the
was popped when the another. As public worst for him because he would
pair took cover in an compassion began wake up to the equivalent of
empty office, fearful to wane, photogra- sustained gunfire online,”
after a homeless man pher Erik Castro set said Maggie Mitchell Salem, a
was stabbed to death out to chronicle the
on the streets not far lives of homeless
couple Michelle TURN TO TWITTER » PAGE A2
from where they were
sleeping. Last and Steve
Alone, Michelle packs Singleton, who he
met on Valentine’s INSIDE
up the blankets and
loads the tubs of cloth- Day in 2017. Teamed
ing, food and gear onto up with writer
their bike trailer and Meg McConahey
moves to a leaky under- and editor Corinne
pass in downtown Santa Asturias, Castro
Rosa. Being homeless reported a textured
means being constantly on the move. And Steve Singleton and Last pack their belongings after a and intimate story
and Michelle have it down to a science. They can February 2017 sweep by Santa Rosa police closed a of the couple’s daily
tear down and be on the road in a half- hour. homeless camp beneath Highway 101. existence — jobs,
Michelle and Steve aren’t legally married but illness, home-build-
refer to each other as husband and wife. They tory of domestic violence. In addition to misde- ing and family life.
met at a Santa Rosa homeless shelter about nine meanor drug possession charges and a felony Their parallel world
is all but invisible to 150 YEARS OF SANTA ROSA:
years ago after Michelle, 48, fled a bad relation- conviction for stealing a truck, his criminal Today’s special section
ship with a drug dealer. As she tells it, the last record includes three convictions for misde- those living in con-
ventional housing looks at how a once sleepy
straw was the day she stepped out of her room meanor domestic violence and one conviction frontier town became a
and found two police rifles pointed at her face. for misdemeanor spousal battery in Sonoma and nearby. But in pho-
tos and words, their Wine Country hub and
Before becoming homeless, Steve lived in El Dorado counties. center for creativity.
Forestville with a wife and two young sons and But at the age of 52, he finds himself taking on troubled relation-
worked for a towing company among other jobs. a new role as “shot caller” and conduct-enforcer ship emerges, along
with the realization SANTA ROSA
But at some point about 18 years ago, he began within the loose community of homeless that High 76, Low 44
spiraling into a life of drugs, petty crime and in Sonoma County has reached emergency pro- that shelter from
ever-sketchier living situations that bottomed portions. He and Michelle condemn other street the streets does not THE WEATHER, C8
out on the streets. people who aren’t productive and live in filth. guarantee a happy
He’s been in and out of jail many times, They also are protective of those who are trying ending. Business E1 Nation-World B1
mostly on misdemeanor and failure-to-appear Classified E5 Nevius C1
warrants. Steve also has a short fuse and a his- TURN TO YEAR » PAGE A12 Crossword T7 Obituaries B4
Forum B11 SonomaLife D1
Lotto A2 State news A8
Movies D6 Towns T1
This story originally
appeared in the September-
October issue of Sonoma
magazine.
©2018 The Press Democrat
A12 THE PRESS DEMOCRAT • SUNDAY, OCTOBER 21, 2018

BROKEN | A YEAR IN THE LIFE

After a police sweep closed another homeless camp in February 2017, Michelle Last and her companion, Steve Singleton, moved into a crawlspace beneath
Highway 101. When discovered a few days later, Singleton was arrested for failing to appear in court on a misdemeanor trespassing charge.

“I’m hurting bad and I can’t work right now, I can’t do nothing,” Steve Singleton tells physician assistant Luis Garcia during an exam of his right shoulder. Singleton tore a rotator cuff
during winter rainstorms while lugging wooden pallets he planned to use to raise a tent off the ground.

Last searches a recycling bin with the hope of adding a few dol-
lars to their meager income. A good night may yield $70.

Left, Michelle Last comforts Steve Singleton after his shoulder

injury.

YEAR
CONTINUED FROM A1
and the most vulnerable — the
elderly and the young — some
of whom call them “Mom” and
off the streets.”
Michelle, a quiet counterpoint
to her gregarious partner, gets
increasingly exasperated, how-
ever, and desperate for a roof
and four walls. Michelle also
has spent time in jail. In 2010,
she was convicted of credit card
T
heir relationship is alter-
nately tumultuous and
tender. Despite frequent
fights and breakups, a fierce
loyalty and devotion has held
them together amid a relentless
struggle for survival.
On the streets, they uphold a
ward to help, they bicycle from
their campsite across the street
to fetch him takeout. Michelle,
in scrubs, quietly lingers as
Vinny moans in pain, even as
it stirs painful thoughts of her
mother’s death from cancer
when she was just 7 years old.
up their own — sausage and
eggs, pork chops and steak —
prepared on a propane burner
that has gotten them into trou-
ble with police. The two sleep
on a stack of soft blankets —
they refuse hand-me-downs —
and bicycle to the portable show-

“Dad” and look to them for help
and leadership.
Steve is boisterous and a
tease. When he gets to talking, it
is nonstop, whether recounting
a story or ranting about how the
city disregards the homeless.
He’s made a certain peace
with the streets.
“I went through a phase
where I was embarrassed to be
living on the streets, “ he con-
cedes, “but now I realize we’re
OK with our situation. We’re
comfortable with where we’re
at and maybe that’s why we
haven’t made a big effort to get
forgery and felony possession of
a controlled substance.
Both want society to give
them another chance. Steve
says many people on the streets
at one time “took a left turn,”
but are trying to make their way
back.
“Whenever you traveled down
that highway — a year, two
years, three years ago — you got
to travel all the way back down
that road to get on the right turn
again … it’s a long goddamn
road to travel back. The thing is,
you can’t give up.”
code of conduct that includes
no panhandling, no booze and
a militant refusal to relinquish
their civility amid the trash,
noise, drinking, fights, poverty,
drug abuse, danger and grind-
ing disrespect that comes with
living on the ragged edges of
Wine Country.
Steve and Michelle have a soft
spot for others suffering in the
shadows of a society that snubs
them. One is Vinny Hayes, an
old acquaintance dying from
cancer at Memorial Hospital.
When Vinny asks for Chinese
food and no one else steps for-
T
hey have fond memories
of their former lives when
they worked as carneys,
living in the bunkhouse while on
the road and gaining a following
operating “The High Striker”
strongman game. But Steve,
for all his charm, is a hothead.
When he got into a clash at the
carnival, he was forced to leave;
Michelle reluctantly followed.
The couple doesn’t scrounge
for food. They appreciate meals
at St. Vincent’s Dining Room in
Railroad Square near the under-
passes. But they prefer to whip
ers run by the Redwood Gospel
Mission and Catholic Charities,
a chore that can take hours.
Sometimes the showers are out
of commission. They’ve scoped
out plugs in hidden public places
to charge their cellphones and
hit the laundromat weekly. Steve
decries the homeless who filch
free clothing, wear it once and
dump it on the street.
Steve and Michelle have
mixed feelings about their peers
on the street, variously protec-
tive and furious.
TURN TO YEAR » PAGE A13
THE PRESS DEMOCRAT • SUNDAY, OCTOBER 21, 2018 A13

BROKEN | A YEAR IN THE LIFE

“Look man, I live on the streets, too. I’m just like you. Can’t you see I’m trying to help you?”
STEVE SINGLETON, as he tries to move a homeless man sleeping on a Santa Rosa sidewalk

On a walk back to his tent in the Ninth Street underpass near downtown Santa Rosa, Steve Singleton encounters a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk in front of a house. The
encounter becomes emotional as Singleton tries to get the man to his feet. “I can’t just walk on by. I had to do something. The people in that house don’t want a homeless man sleeping in
front of it and children walk down this street on their way to school,” he said. Singleton has taken on the role of “shot caller” and conduct-enforcer within the homeless community.

Always looking to help those left behind by society, Michelle Last visits Vinny Hayes, an old acquaintance dying of cancer at Memorial Hospital.

YEAR ing with the garbage. A soft rain

CONTINUED FROM A12
“I can’t let that guy sleep
begins to fall. “That guy doesn’t
understand it,” he laments, he
voice choking up. “If he’s drunk
and he sleeps in the rain, he’ll
die out there.”
hard to live on the streets as the
effects of age set in. Michelle
has colitis, back problems and
a torn shoulder from lifting the
hammer of The High Striker.
In April, Steve severely tears a
stressful,” said Steve, who was
born and raised in Sonoma
County and then Lodi after
his parents divorced. “I love
my wife dearly. We are clean.
We don’t do the things half the
tra he repeats often.
“It really got to me,” he
reflects on a March morning
as a chill wind rips through the
concrete tunnel between Santa
Rosa’s east and west sides. “It

there, he’s making us all look
bad,” Steve says one day as he
spots a man sprawled beside a
row of garbage bins in front of a
small house beyond the under-
pass. Crouching down he yells at
the man to get up, grabbing him
by the collar as he struggles to
lift him. Steve’s voice is shaking
and his eyes well up with tears.
“Look man, I live on the streets,
too. I’m just like you. Can’t you
see I’m trying to help you?”
He offers to carry him to the
underpass for safety but the
man asks to be left alone. Defeat-
ed, Steve heads back to his tent,
stopping to look back down the
street where the man is still ly-
A
t the start of 2017 Steve
has a full-time job,
pedaling five mornings a
week on a nearly new Special-
ized bike to the Sonoma County
Fairgrounds, where he works on
a maintenance crew. Michelle
sweeps away the dirt and trash
outside their tarp-covered tent
and checks rental listings that
might by some remote chance
meet the criteria for a hous-
ing assistance program. The
futility of her tasks leaves her
alternately angry, defiant and
depressed, her flashing moods
reflected in her deep-set eyes.
Both find it increasingly
rotator cuff during the winter
rainstorms while lugging wood-
en pallets he planned to use
to get their tent off the muddy
ground. He has already had
multiple surgeries, including a
heart stent, and suffers chronic
diverticulitis. Years ago, he had
all his teeth removed and chose
not to get dentures.
Yet he says he’s healthier
than he has been in years after
weaning himself off a load of
prescription medications that
he said were only making him
sicker. Both smoke pot but claim
they are otherwise clean after
years of drug use.
“We have hard times. It’s
other people do. And people
respect us.”
People on the street, that is.
One day Michelle is pelted by
loose change flung from a car
window. Steve is awakened in
the middle of the night by a
drunk in a Mercedes calling
people sleeping in the under-
pass “worthless.” Disheartened
that no one else would stand up
to preserve their dignity, Steve
confronts “the gentleman,”
knocks him down and delivers a
lecture on respect.
“No matter what these people
have done, they may be drug
addicts or alcoholics, but they’re
human beings,” he said, a man-
made me sad they’d gotten to
the point where they couldn’t
speak up for themselves. Society
has shut the door on them so
many damn times.”
It was a galvanizing moment
for Steve. That and the five
days in jail on the trespassing
warrant during which he stared
at a message posted on his cell
wall: “Use this time wisely, to
think and to figure out the right
thing to do.”
Coming Monday: The highs and
lows of Michelle and Steve’s search for
housing weigh on their relationship as
winter closes.