POVERTY IS NO GAME BUT SIMULATION HELPS PARTICIPANTS FEEL PAIN OF SCRAMBLING FOR FOOD STAMPS AND BUS FARE.

Byline: JULIA M. SCOTT

Staff Writer

Consultant Sue Simone is not poor by any measure, but recently she felt like she was. Simone was struggling to pay her mortgage, buy groceries and secure child care during a three- hour role-playing game designed to simulate poverty.

"I ultimately lost my house and everything in our lives," said Simone, whose office is in Tarzana. "When the kids came home and asked me where we were going to go, I said the car."

The Los Angeles chapter of Social Venture Partners held the simulation to promote a wider awareness of poverty. Many of the group's events, like the one in L.A., draw people by word of mouth as Social Venture Partner members encourage friends, family and work colleagues to attend and learn.

During the simulation, teams of "families" had to perform real-life tasks with limited resources and time. Many players were snared by layers of bureaucracy and resorted to stealing or selling drugs.

Real poverty

But for Sandra Kornegay, who played the role of a social service worker, it was not a game.

Kornegay, 47, was homeless nine times before finding firmer ground at the Union Rescue Mission on Skid Row in Los Angeles, where the simulation took place.

While affluent business owners and consultants pretended to scramble for food stamps and bus fare, she remembered how degrading it was to be poor.

"You're looking at poverty all the time," Kornegay said. "Everybody is complaining. You are listening to their complaints all the time."

Her trouble started when she came to Los Angeles to be an actress and fell in with the wrong crowd. Kornegay started to smoke marijuana and drink; her self-esteem plummeted to a point where she put the needs of others before herself.

"I never looked out for myself," said Kornegay, who writes out her daily schedule in a bound notebook in neat penmanship that reflects her determination to get through each day.

"Now I'm all about me," she said laughing. "I look out for me."

Kornegay is on a waiting list for federally subsidized Section 8 housing and strictly limits her spending. Of her $1,020 monthly income from Social Security, half goes to saving for an apartment of her own. She wants to work as a census taker.

Kornegay's hardships are not at all unique.

Angelenos struggling

Nearly 40 percent of people living in Los Angeles County don't have enough food, clothing and housing, according to a study of census data by the Los Angeles Alliance for a New Economy, an advocacy group for the working poor.

Almost a third of those who work full time earn less than $25,000 a year. In California, someone working a minimum-wage job of $7.50 an hour full time will earn just less than $16,000 a year. The federal government's definition of poverty is a family of four living on $20,617 a year or less.

But those are just numbers. Living in poverty on a day-to-day basis is about navigating yards of red tape, finding time to fulfill your responsibilities while getting around on public transportation, and crossing your fingers you don't fall off the edge. The simulation's aim is to give everyone from policymakers to community leaders a first-hand brush with poverty. One of its side effects is inspiring people to help with volunteer work and donations. The Missouri Association for Community Action sells kits for $1,350 to run the simulation, which has been played hundreds of times across the country.

The L.A. chapter of Social Venture Partners, an organization devoted to building "effective nonprofits," decided to run the game to better inform people about what it means to be poor.

"There's a perception that people on the lower end are not working hard enough," said Bianca Philippi, an LASVP board member and consultant from Santa Clarita. "If you are really living on minimum wage, you are hard-pressed to get by on one job."

During the simulation last month at the Union Rescue Mission, teams of "families" had four rounds of 15 minutes each to fulfill responsibilities such as going to work, cashing a paycheck and signing up for child care.

At the start of a new round, a horn blew and players jumped out of their chairs. Lines instantly formed at the bank, the supermarket and the check-cashing outfit. Few visited social service agencies to take advantage of free benefits because there was barely enough time to cash a paycheck and buy groceries. Many received misinformation or bad advice from overloaded case workers.

"Not enough time," muttered Dave McDonough as the clock ran out. McDonough, who runs his own nonprofit in Irvine in real life, did not have enough time to do all the "waiting in line, filling out forms" required to meet his basic needs.

When faced with hardship, some players made choices they never would have considered previously.

Alexandra Kole, an executive search consultant in Manhattan Beach, said she immediately realized her "family" did not have enough money to pay rent. So the family stopped sending checks to the landlord and waited for an eviction notice, then went to a free homeless shelter.

"Your values just fall away," Kole said during a discussion at the end of the simulation.

Stealing to survive

Mark Dawson, director of international program development at the RAND Corp. in Santa Monica, was surprised how quickly he bonded with his "family." Under pressure to protect them, he did not hesitate to buy a gun. Under pressure to support them, he took from others.

"Those things stolen from your house," Dawson said to another group, "that was me."

Others said the time strain on parents tainted the lives of the children.

"My parents wouldn't help me with my homework because they were so busy," said Mikelle Willis, a school principal who played the role of a teenager. Her "parents" didn't notice when she started skipping school and selling drugs.

Despite the imposed hardships, the simulation was merely a glimpse into the life of the poor, said Yvonne O'Neal, 56, who used to live at the Union Rescue Mission. And those in a position to help are not always as kind.

"I have been humiliated. I've been told I don't care if you have nothing to eat, if you don't have a place to stay," O'Neal tearfully told the group. "I appreciate what you did, but it's worser than this, no doubt."

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CAPTION(S):

2 photos, box

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(1 -- color) no caption (Sandra Kornegay)

(2 -- color) Sandra Kornegay sings at the Union Rescue Mission. She is now on a waiting list for federally subsidized Section 8 housing.

Evan Yee/Staff Photographer

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