BEING DOWN AND OUT IN THOUSAND OAKS IS COLD REALITY : HOMELESS COUNT DAYS UNTIL WINTER SHELTER CLOSES.

Byline: Gloria Gonzales Daily News Staff Writer

The 17 men waiting outside the double glass doors of the church auditorium look with suspicion on any newcomer. Some wander away when a strange face approaches; others just turn their backs.

They are sober, if not perfectly groomed. They range in age from a wizened 56 to a youthful 27.

And they all need a place to sleep.

And so this night, like many others since it opened Dec. 1, the Conejo Winter Shelter will be where they finally rest.

``These guys are all regulars,'' said Kara Brandt, who works as a screener at this shelter.

``They have to be sober. We don't let them if they appear to be drunk or on drugs, or if they seem to have a mental problem we can't deal with here.'' Brandt checks in each guest, while other volunteers prepare dinner inside. Several men from the church congregation will watch over the group until morning.

The shelter rotates among different churches or temples every night of the week through the end of March, making it less likely that a single neighborhood can complain about the homeless taking up residence in their area, said Karen Ingram, director for the Winter Shelter program and vice president for Lutheran Social Services.

Since opening in 1990, the shelter program has counted on donated funding and food, as well as space inside churches, to stay open. Ingram said $1,600 is spent each year on paper goods for dinners. Donations also are needed to buy supplies, such as cots, blankets and even bus passes. Ingram noted that donations also cover the $180 seasonal bill the shelter pays for an answering service.

Last Wednesday night, a church in the middle of a wealthy suburb hosted the less fortunate.

Eventually more than a dozen men and several women spend the night on cots in the church auditorium. The women arrive during dinner of macaroni and meatloaf, and their cots are set up in a separate room.

The group makes up a portion of the homeless population in the Conejo Valley. The nearest shelter is in Simi Valley, but the homeless tend to stick to their regular haunts. Most have lived in Thousand Oaks for several years, and some say they lived here before becoming homeless.

The overnight lodgers disagree about how many homeless may be camping in the hills or under the freeway that night.

``I think at least as many guys are camping out,'' said Ken, 31, whose family moved to Thousand Oaks when he was 3. ``And there's guys down by the freeway, too.''

Others guess that only 10 or so men are camping out.

``We'll all be sleeping outside come March 31,'' when the shelter closes for the season, said Lee, whose hair has gone completely white, though he's only in his early 50s.

A place to call home

Alcohol has taken its toll on Ken, who admits that he was arrested three times when he was 20 for drunk driving. He says that he's at the shelter tonight only for a meal.

``I have a key to my father's garage. I have a microwave and a bed in there - I don't have to sleep here if I don't want to.''

Ken pulls out pictures of his brother, a Stanford University law school graduate, he says, and his sister, who recently married.

``And my dad lives in a seven-bedroom house just above Janss Road,'' he adds. Ken admits that his father moved his belongings to a storage locker three years ago, after Ken had spent years in and out of jail on drunk-driving and petty theft charges. He has been homeless off and on since then, depending on how he is getting along with his father and stepmother.

On any given night, 25 to 35 people are homeless in Thousand Oaks, said Sgt. Harold Humphries, director of the Thousand Oaks Police Department's Community Oriented Policing and Problem Solving Unit.

``And that includes people sleeping in the shelters. We don't run into many families; it's mostly men on their own,'' Humphries said. ``We're not insensitive to the homeless. We want to develop partnerships with other agencies to help those who need help.''

According to shelter officials, 99 people stayed in the shelter from Dec. 1, 1995, to March 31, 1996, with about 30 being return clients. The remainder are transient homeless passing through the city.

Enforcing acceptable behavior

Humphries, along with two deputies, wrote three laws that received preliminary City Council approval last week. They prohibit camping or storing goods in public places, sitting or lying in public places in a way that discourages normal use, and aggressive panhandling.

``Now we can approach a homeless person if we've had a complaint from a citizen,'' he said. ``If a citizen calls and complain about a guy dragging three shopping carts tied together through their neighborhood and urinating in public, we can approach the person and talk to him.''

But at the shelter, the men and women say the laws just give police more ammunition for harassment.

``Nobody's willing to say anything. We won't give our last names or go to the City Council meeting because we're afraid of the police,'' Lee said. ``These laws just give the police more license to roust us out of cars when we're sleeping or tell us to move along.''

Ed, a 56-year-old homeless man spending his third season in the shelter, disagrees.

``I respect the police; I know they have a job (to do),'' he said. ``I try to act like a normal person - that's acceptable behavior. When I walk down the street, the police don't know that I'm homeless, so they don't bother me.''

But Ed believes the laws will be a problem for mentally ill homeless people.

``They can't act normal. They don't know what acceptable behavior is,'' Ed said, who has lived in and out of shelters for the past five years. ``Jail is not the solution for people who are sick. It's not taking care of the problem. How does it help to incarcerate someone like that for 30 days and then cut them loose again?''

The police say the laws will help them urge the mentally ill to get help.

``This is not an enforcement tool so much as it is a way to get these people started on some help,'' Humphries said. ``Very frequently - especially those that are mentally ill - become victims themselves. They are robbed, attacked, harassed.''

Getting more help

If guided to a shelter, men and women can be referred to counseling, public assistance agencies, employment assistance agencies, health care agencies and rehabilitation programs, Ingram said.

On Wednesday, a doctor visits the shelter and meets with guests on request. Lee exits the doctor's makeshift office with a new bag of medication.

``This is my third year in the shelter, and as soon as I get my teeth taken care of, my glasses and some clothes, I'll be out of here,'' Lee said. Lee said he had been homeless for about four years. He says he became homeless after divorce, and then loss of a job derailed his life. He is missing his left incisor, though otherwise he is well-groomed.

``After my divorce, let's just say I gave up,'' Lee said. ``It was just easier to give up. Now, some people in here have mental problems or alcohol problems or they're just bums. I'm not a bum. Once I'm finished with my list, I'm out of here. Glasses, new teeth, new clothes and a job - that's what I need.''

But Lee is well into his fourth year of homelessness, and his health is failing. He recently got two new hearing aids, and he takes medication for high blood pressure.

While others crowd around a small black-and-white television, he settles down for the night with a book checked out from the Thousand Oaks Library. The book is titled ``Don't Just Do Something - Sit There!''

On the edge

Hovering at the periphery of the main group is 27-year-old Cory, in the midst of his first brush with homelessness. He is clean-cut, with black jeans, a purple T-shirt and short blond hair.

``I work full-time at an electronics store, but I'm only paid $6T an hour,'' he said. ``I only stay here a couple of nights a week. I'm good enough to work in this town, but I can't afford a place to live.''

Cory said he moved to Thousand Oaks from Chicago when his company promised him a job that failed to materialize after his arrival.

``They didn't reimburse me for my moving expenses,'' he said. ``It didn't happen right away, but my savings whittled away until I didn't have enough money for the rent.''

Cory stores his belongings at a friend's house and cleans up by renting an inexpensive hotel room a few times a week.

``I'm working on it, and I have a choice,'' he said. ``What the community doesn't realize is that most of these people don't have a choice. They just want to cover it up instead of doing something.''

``When I get back on my feet, I'm going to give money to this place. I'm going to come back here so I remember what it's like to be in these shoes.''

THE FACTS

The Conejo Winter Shelter has been open from Dec. 1 through March 31 since 1990. During the 1995-96 season, 99 men and women sought shelter, about one-third of whom stayed overnight regularly. Here is a breakdown of the clients:

Sex:

Males - 74

Females - 25

Ages:

17 and under - 5

18 to 55 - 92

56 and older - 2

Employment:

Full-time - 22

Part-time - 5

Not working - 72 (This figure includes 9 retired or disabled homeless people.)

Conejo Valley residency:

1 to 4 weeks - 15

1 to 11 months - 11

1 to 4 years - 13

5 to 9 years - 19

10 or more years - 32

Transient - 9 (Transients stayed in the Conejo Valley less than a week and described themselves as passing through.)

CAPTION(S):

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Box: THE FACTS (see text)