As Johnson County debates shelter, Project 1020 plans for ‘same time next year’

The sun is setting on March 30 as unhoused men and women slowly filter into the Project 1020 Cold Weather Shelter near downtown Lenexa.

Homeless clients arrive by shelter van and personal cars to the shelter, situated in the back of Shawnee Mission Unitarian Universalist Church. Many head straight for dinner and to clean up. Some watch TV, while others chat up volunteers. It looks like any other night. But it’s far from that.

It’s Holy Saturday and the convergence of calendar and liturgical dates weighs on the minds of volunteers. The shelter must close every year on April 1. This spring, it means clients can spend Easter night at the shelter. But the following morning, the doors would lock behind them until Dec. 1.

“Hallelujah, Christ is risen. Now go find a place to sleep,” says Nancy Pauls, a pastor at Old Mission United Methodist Church and volunteer, summoning up a bit of sarcasm before reverting to her usual benevolence. “It’s been really disturbing to me.”

She’s hardly alone.

The shelter has a clear goal of saving lives, specifically during winter weather. Still the gravity of locking the doors at an emergency shelter while celebrating the resurrection of Jesus – the central tenet to Christian faith – was not something many volunteers were willing to make peace with anytime soon.

“It disturbs me if it’s Easter or not,” adds shelter founder Barb McEver as she overhears volunteers talk. McEver can’t finish the thought because her phone rings again – another in a stream of calls for the unpaid director, who manages the only emergency shelter in Johnson County for single men and women. She and a friend opened the shelter when no one else would take it on. Back in 2015, they walked through the woods looking for people on freezing days.

A reckoning

Volunteer Tim Walker, a Johnson County native, was among the homeless staying at Project 1020 until finding an apartment last year. He looks at McEver and worries about the constant calls she receives from the homeless, area police looking to get men and women off the street, hospitals and many others. He wonders how long she can do it.

“She’s patient with everybody,” he says.

However, as the doors closed this year, volunteers have some hope that things will change.

Johnson County has found itself at a reckoning with its increasing homeless population. The county has embarked on an ambitious proposal to buy a former La Quinta Inn & Suites near Interstate 35 and 95th Street in Lenexa and turn it into a year-round homeless shelter. The plan calls for as many as 45 emergency housing beds and about 40 rooms to be used as transitional housing. It would include wraparound support services for mental health counseling, employment training, health screenings and much more.

The county selected reStart , a well-established Kansas City, Missouri, homeless services provider, to run the facility. It expects clients to stay for 90 days. They will not be required to leave during the day as at Project 1020, where clients leave at 8 a.m. and return every evening. In turn, they would be expected to participate in the facility’s programming, which could include everything from addiction and health counseling to workforce training, employment and more as of press time.

But there’s a big hurdle to clear. On Aug. 26, the shelter plan will come before the Lenexa Planning Commission, which will consider a 10-year special use permit that the shelter would need to operate. If approved, the county would purchase the hotel and renovate it for about $10.5 million. But city staff is recommending denial of the land-use permit that would allow the shelter to operate.

The money for the project would come from federal pandemic relief funds rather than local taxpayer dollars. The county then would step back as reStart takes over the operation.

The nonprofit expects operational costs to be $1.5 million annually. ReStart CEO Stephanie Boyer says its strategic funding plan includes asking county and local cities to help fund a third of it. More financial support caused county commissioners to bristle. But local government financial support is important, reStart believes, to leverage foundations and individual funders that reStart relies on.

Foundations typically ask “Where’s the cities? Where’s the county?” she says. And with good reason. If governmental entities are not on board, foundations are less likely to be generous.

‘Does nothing for citizens’

As social service agencies build momentum for the facility, not everyone is rolling out the welcome mat in a county known for stringent zoning regulations and a not-in-my-backyard attitude. A homeless shelter doesn’t fit into a carefully curated master plan for any Johnson County suburb. If the initial meetings are any indication, building support will be an uphill battle with some residents.

Among the concerns: Some Johnson Countians fear they will be footing the annual operating costs.

“The project does nothing for citizens. Nothing but beget further social, health and criminal issues for the county,” Lenexa resident Jeff Lysaught wrote to Johnson County commissioners.

Others think the shelter will destroy home values. Although the property is bounded by Interstate 35 and commercial businesses, it sits about 250 feet from the closest Lenexa homes. Not surprisingly, Lenexa city officials began receiving complaints from concerned homeowners months before they received an application for the shelter.

“I personally have received several citizen concerns for the proposal, which are widely varied in their details but include things such as crime, impact to the neighborhood and area businesses, and the cost to the city, both in terms of increased calls for service and the loss of tax revenue associated with the proposal,” says Lenexa City Manager Beccy Yocham.

Boyer expected the discussion. She’s offered to speak to neighborhood groups and residents, and wants to hear concerns.

“This is an investment of taxpayer dollars into a really critical issue in this community, so we want people to ask questions. We’re here to answer questions,” Boyer says.

Quantifying the challenge to Johnson County residents is essential, says Pastor Lee Jost. He’s often asked if homelessness is really a problem in Johnson County.

“We need to stop answering just with what feels right and simply answer with data,” says Jost, executive director of the nonprofit NCircle and co-leader of a feasibility study on a homeless shelter.

Not just an inner-city problem

Johnson County, well-known for sprawling parks, academic achievement and wealth, counted 235 unhoused individuals last winter during its federal p oint-in-time homeless count . That represents a 24% increase from 2019. Of those, 50 people were found outdoors, be it in vehicles, tents or other locations not meant for habitation, when canvassers looked for the homeless on Jan. 25, according to United Community Services of Johnson County .

But many believe the number of homeless is woefully undercounted. The total includes those in transitional housing, emergency shelters, cars, tents and outside. It doesn’t include people who are temporarily doubling up with friends or couch surfing.

The county’s Coordinated Entry System also offers insight to the challenge. The system tracks requests for help related to homelessness. In 2023, 685 people connected with the system, representing 342 households. Of those, 63% had one or more sources of income, which averaged $1,427 a month.

About 40% of those experiencing homelessness in Johnson County were employed. Thirty-nine percent were fleeing domestic violence, and 40% were households with minor children. Emergency shelters exist within the county for families, those fleeing domestic violence and even adults involved in the justice system, according to United Community Services of Johnson County.

Social service agencies have long sounded the alarm on the increase in homelessness within the county’s borders and the lack of help for those finding themselves without shelter. Homelessness is often thought of as a problem relegated to the inner city. But even on a casual visit to the county, the problem is becoming more obvious. Johnson County Mental Health hired six new case workers this year in part to help serve the homeless.

As the county’s homeless population increases, many advocates believe offers of help have never been greater. The Good Faith Network , a consortium of local faith-based groups, started sending members to County Commission meetings to push for more housing. Churches also stepped up to provide shelter when brutally cold temperatures arrived in January.

Softening opposition?

Never in recent Johnson County history has affordable housing been so prominent in the public discourse.

“Driving around the community, I see people now who are homeless. You see these folks in our libraries. We see them in our parks. Businesses are having some challenges with folks camping and other things nearby,” says Megan Foreman, Johnson County housing coordinator.

The phenomenon comes as housing and rental costs have increased substantially, and businesses struggle to fill low-wage positions because employees can’t afford nearby housing. It also comes as fewer landlords agree to accept housing vouchers intended to help those in need receive shelter, Foreman says.

Years ago, McEver felt like Project 1020 was practically forced out of Olathe after the city created constant roadblocks. A lawsuit forced Lenexa’s hand too, though the city and shelter have operated peacefully since then.

She wonders if community sentiment has softened slightly over the last five to 10 years.

A few years ago, a Lenexa art group called McEver to tell her that Project 1020 would be the recipient of its peace pole fundraiser. McEver, near tears at the time, says she didn’t care if it brought in one penny. It marked a sea change for her.

She likes to think that Project 1020 has also prodded residents to realize they can’t look away forever. McEver receives abundant volunteer support, be it through people coming to the shelter to work or the hundreds of people who pitch in to make home-cooked dinners every night for four months. The meals come from businesses, families of former homeless clients, a group of young mothers at a nearby church, book clubs, neighborhood groups and more. All but a few dates fill up almost immediately after the online sign-up sheet is sent out each fall.

‘You never know what makes people homeless’

The assistance has helped many shelter clients exit homelessness to housing. Walker is among them. Now he spends five to six nights a week volunteering.

“You never know what makes people homeless,” he says.

Addiction, financial woes and wrong decisions are part of it. Many, he says, lack a social network checking on them.

McEver and other volunteers try to fill that role when possible. It’s complicated work without a one-size-fits-all solution. Housing is only one component.

“Stability is, I think, really important, but I don’t think plopping someone in an apartment is the answer either,” McEver says. “You’ve got to walk alongside that person for quite a while for hopefully it to be successful. Especially someone who has been homeless for a while. There are a lot of things that go on that they need help with. It’s an adjustment for them.”

McEver helped Walker find an apartment, just as she has with many others. He admitted to McEver that once he had an apartment, he didn’t know what to do next.

“I used to spend my whole day wandering from place to place, and that took up my whole day,” he told her.

The wraparound services and employees who truly care will be the linchpin of the new shelter, many say.

Johnson County provides many of the essential resources to help, Foreman says, but the new shelter would provide a centralized hub where providers could serve a critical mass of people.

United Community Services points out that success is achievable. The Salvation Army Family Lodge in Olathe reported to the nonprofit that 98% of families who receive their help never again come into contact with homelessness services.

Countering myths and easing fear

Boyer knows the first challenge will be battling negative perceptions. It’s hard to counter TV images of homeless shelters where men and women are leaving at all hours and wandering area neighborhoods.

That won’t be the case here, she says. The shelter is likely to be full the first day it opens. Rooms won’t turn over daily and the facility will not accept walk-up clients.

“Folks do not line up at the door,” Boyer says.

Many will go to jobs.

“People are going to be busy during the day. Forty percent of our homeless people now have some sort of income and are often employed,” Foreman says.

The shelter will use Johnson County’s Coordinated Entry System to serve residents, employees and others who spend their days in the county.

County commissioners have heard from many residents who say they don’t want the county to become the hub for the metro area’s homeless population. They want assurances that clients come from or have strong ties to Johnson County.

Commissioner Charlotte O’Hara questioned how the center could take federal funds and exclude anyone, including “illegal aliens.”

“I understand targeting, but when the real world comes knocking on your door, you cannot limit who you accept on a geographical basis,” O’Hara told reStart.

Project 1020 works with the Coordinated Entry System to ensure clients have Johnson County ties so they can access services, are close to jobs and have a chance to regain housing.

At times that system has been tested, McEver admits. Hospital employees in Independence, Missouri, discharged a homeless patient and paid for a car service to shuttle the individual to Project 1020 despite being told the same evening that the shelter was at capacity.

Such efforts may be well-meaning, volunteers agree, but it threatens the entire shelter’s existence if it morphs into a drop-in facility.

McEver must then find shelter elsewhere to keep the guest from wandering around Lenexa.

It’s also not good for individuals, says McEver.How is anyone supposed to hold down a job if they’re in a shelter 30 minutes from their work without transportation?

“What am I going to do at 8 o’clock in the morning because they’re in an unfamiliar place?” she says.

Project 1020: A continued presence

Still the answer isn’t to stop providing shelter on freezing nights, she says. It’s to use local resources to keep men and women near their jobs, families and places they know. Project 1020 clients are picked up and dropped off throughout the county or elsewhere if needed.

She urges policy wonks and residents alike to remember respect as they talk about the homeless.

On any given day, McEver has someone call begging and crying for a bed. Police officers know her cell number and often turn to her to help men and women whom they’ve discovered in freezing temperatures without coats or proper shoes. McEver is haunted by the ones they didn’t find in time.

Yet when an Overland Park police officer called her one day last winter, she had to turn down the appeal for help.

“The police are not used to me saying no,” she says.

McEver had no choice. Her facility was at capacity and she didn’t want to jeopardize its existence.

“You can get caught up in the numbers,” McEver says. “But those are human beings. It’s heartbreaking. It’s wrong.”

Even she occasionally finds herself strategizing about dropping clients at the Waffle House or thinking about whom she might move to another location to make space.

“I catch myself and I think, ‘What the heck are you doing?’ These are people. These are not dominoes that I can shuffle around. They’re people in despair. They’re in crisis. It’s horrible,” she says, near tears.

No matter what happens with the new facility, Project 1020 doesn’t expect to close. It has shown the need after years of work.

And if asked, volunteers aren’t shy in pointing out that while opponents of the new shelter might succeed, homelessness will persist.

“I think they think that because they don’t want it, that then it just goes away,” says volunteer Kelley Korb.

McEver has attended meetings for years listening as nonprofits, government officials and volunteers discussed ideas. She’s usually in the back, sitting alone and listening.

“We have meeting after meeting. Let’s get off our ass and do something,” she told The Journal at one gathering last year. It might not be perfect but she says, “The people that we’re serving can’t afford to wait.”

County Commission Chairman Mike Kelly suggested this spring that the county stop thinking solely about what a permanent shelter would cost and start considering the cost of doing nothing.

“One thing we must consider when we think of the cost of partnership is also the cost of not partnering,” Kelly says. “Of not having the homeless services center and what are the costs that would be entailed for law enforcement or mental health and other services that the county and municipalities and state provide.”

As darkness fell on March 30, the Saturday night kitchen managers – Heidi Hellwig and her son, Hawk Hellwig, a junior at St. James Academy – departed with a cheery farewell wrapped around a somber pledge: “Bye everyone.

“Same time next year.”

A version of this article appears in the Summer 2024 issue of The Journal , a publication of the Kansas Leadership Center. To learn more about KLC, visit http://kansasleadershipcenter.org . Order your copy of the magazine at the KLC Store or subscribe to the print edition.

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