On the first night he slept indoors in more than 15 years, Jeff Latchaw tossed and turned and fretted.
It was much too quiet. The mattress was too soft. Latchaw got in and out of bed, over and over.
"Just having these walls around me, it's a huge adjustment," Latchaw said, waving his calloused hand around the living room of his tidy home in Sacramento, Calif. "There's no open sky above me. No fresh air. No birds greeting me when I wake up.
"At times I have thought about going back out and pitching a tent."
Latchaw and other longtime residents of Sacramento's dismantled tent city are moving into permanent housing, the fulfillment of a promise by Mayor Kevin Johnson. They are grateful for little things such as long, hot showers, kitchen privileges and clean clothes. But for some, the new digs and the rules that come with them are proving to be a challenge.
"At times I know how my dogs felt when they were in a kennel," said Latchaw, who is tall and burly, with a ruddy face and a neat goatee. "Sometimes I feel like I'm in a cage."
In April, police forced about 150 people to leave the sprawling encampment north of downtown Sacramento. The community had existed for years, but after it was featured on national television it generated a firestorm of controversy.
Under pressure to address the issue, Johnson came up with a $1 million plan to offer the former campers temporary shelter and, ultimately, permanent housing. Various agencies have been working together to place people, taking pains to accommodate couples and pets.
But the task has been complicated, in part because so many of the former campers have addictions and mental-health issues.
"For people who have been living outside for 10, 12, 15 years, coming inside can be a rude adjustment," said Tim Brown, director of the area's Ending Chronic Homelessness Initiative. "You have drug and alcohol issues, and socialization issues. It's tough. But it's also wonderful to see some of them change their lives. Camping outside all year long is no paradise. It's a pretty difficult life."
The money secured by Johnson allowed the winter shelter at Cal Expo to stay open through June, and will fund permanent housing for at least 40 to 50 people, Brown said. At least 40 other beds will become available soon through other funding sources. Newly housed people will have access to counseling and other social services to help smooth the transition. Those who have income will pay a portion of their rent.
So far, only a dozen former campers have moved into rental houses, said Brown. It has taken time to find suitable homes, screen prospective residents, match them with roommates and make sure they have access to various services, he said.
Latchaw, 46, who claims redemption from the drug and alcohol addictions that once plagued him, is embracing his new life despite the challenges. He lives with two roommates, Boyd Zimmerman and Carol Hopper, who are longtime partners; another couple may join them soon.
Latchaw's room is spare, his prized possession being a tiny television with rabbit ears. During his first week in the house, Latchaw mopped the kitchen floor and learned how to operate the vacuum cleaner, two tasks that were foreign to him. He has fought insomnia and claustrophobia.
"Jeff's scared," said Zimmerman, who serves as house monitor, making sure that chores get done and that residents respect rules such as a ban on drinking and drugs on the property. "It's baby steps. You have to learn stability. But we have to do this. It's a better life. It's the right thing."
(E-mail Cynthia Hubert at chubert(at)sacbee.com.)
(Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service, www.scrippsnews.com.)
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