As homelessness reaches record levels in Chicago and across the U.S., a dire need for housing has a drastic impact on the lives of three Bronzeville residents.
by Troy Gaston and Ahmad Sayles
Keshia Larry and Terrence "K.D." Jordan pose in the doorway of Insane Cutz barbershop in the Bronzeville neighborhood of Chicago on Tuesday, Feb. 20, 2024. (Photo: Max Herman/City Bureau)
It’s been 14 years since the last Bronzeville high-rise for public housing came down, but the loss still reverberates through the South Side neighborhood.
For Terrence “K.D.” Jordan, now 40, the multi-year demolition of Robert Taylor Homes, Stateway Gardens and others along the State Street Corridor didn’t sink in until about two buildings remained.
“Once they started tearing the buildings down, that changed the whole atmosphere,” he said.
As a teenager, Jordan bounced from his grandmother’s crowded apartment in Stateway Gardens to stints with different family members and friends.
His tenuous living situation falls under what experts now consider a widened definition of homelessness or housing insecurity. Restricting the concept to those who live totally unsheltered doesn’t account for a lack of community, resources or reliable housing, they say.
“Homelessness is not a one-size-fits-all experience,” said Samuel Paler-Ponce, interim associate director of policy for the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless. “Someone may sleep in the shelter, on the street, at a train station [or] double up with family and friends.”
It’s an increasingly common situation, not only for Chicagoans, but across the United States, where an annual count of homeless residents reached its highest point in 2023 since the Department of Housing and Urban Development began tracking in 2007.
Last year, Chicago hit its highest number of homeless residents since 2015 after years of steady decline in the amount of people living in emergency shelters or places not meant for habitation. Of the 6,139 people included in the January 2023 count, one-third were recently arrived asylum-seekers, as Texas packed them into buses and planes. (Chicago’s 2024 count took place in late January, but its data will not be released until later this year.)
And the real number is drastically higher, according to the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless. It recorded nearly 70,000 residents experiencing homelessness in 2023. Unlike the city, the coalition’s definition of homelessness includes residents who stay with friends or family, but have no permanent housing of their own.
Advocacy organizations are trying to meet the heightened need. There has been an uptick in people seeking help from Matthew House Chicago, a Bronzeville nonprofit offering daytime services for those with insecure housing, said Tia Singleton, director of case management services.
Outside of people who are chronically homeless — the primary demographic Matthew House has resources for — most of the recent visitors are facing eviction.
“That’s probably 90% of the need for assistance,” Singleton said.
In 2023, sheriff-enforced evictions in Cook County reached pre-pandemic levels, with around 6,600 people affected, according to the Chicago Tribune. The report cited rising rents and a lack of affordable housing as reasons behind the increase — and advocates agree.
“I think the resources needed right now are increasing the stock of housing options in the city of Chicago,” Paler-Ponce said. “If solutions aren’t responsive to community needs, none of the resources that we’re fighting for would make sense.”
In its infancy, Bronzeville was one of the few Chicago neighborhoods where Black people could reside, due to segregation laws and redlining restrictions. Over time, as businesses and entertainment spaces emerged, it was coined the Black Metropolis.
But in recent decades, more expensive housing and the massive displacement of longtime public housing residents have shifted the makeup of the neighborhood.
As Bronzeville grapples with the changes, residents are calling for more sustainable housing and demand change from the Chicago Housing Authority. And the need is clear — those with housing assistance or other resources are less likely to experience housing insecurity.
While the following stories of Bronzeville residents don’t represent every neighbor’s needs, they point to a larger question of the meaning of housing and community in Chicago.
The demolition’s legacy
In the heart of Bronzeville, Terrence “K.D.” Jordan has carved out a path from Stateway Gardens public housing and incarceration to being the proud owner of a flourishing business.
The journey is marked by a history Jordan doesn't shy away from.
“The struggle I went through really shaped and molded me to be the person I am,” he said.
While there was an ugly side to growing up in Chicago Housing Authority complexes, including Stateway Gardens and the Robert Taylor Homes, the communities built within them are what Jordan remembers most, he said.
Terrence "K.D." Jordan stands outside his barbershop, Insane Cutz, in the Bronzeville neighborhood of Chicago on Feb. 20, 2024. (Photo: Max Herman/City Bureau)
When Jordan was a teen, a family friend who was like an uncle to him would hire him for small jobs like cleaning a space. His entrepreneurial spirit soon had him selling incense or finding other ways to make money. Older men in the community would encourage him to place value on necessities over fancy and expensive items.
With so many people and families with similar circumstances living in the spaces, making connections was natural.
“We all know we’re in the same predicament,” Jordan said. “We’re all there for each other.”
City fieldhouses, which offered free programs for children, were a great resource, he said. Adults were invested in providing things for neighborhood children to do. Thinking about his own children’s upbringing in Bronzeville, free activities and accessible spaces for youth no longer exist in the same way, he said.
“Everything you do now, you’ve got to pay to play,” he said, from sports leagues to summer camps.
Around the time Jordan was 10, his mother was incarcerated. He moved in with his grandmother, along with his three siblings, and his aunt and uncle. As an adult, he had his own experience with incarceration. Over the years, he hopped from place to place, staying with different family members and friends until ultimately, the towers were demolished.
Some of the displaced CHA residents were given Housing Choice Vouchers and moved to other public housing before the Bronzeville buildings were demolished. But if anyone listed on their lease had a criminal record, they lost out on a voucher. Some moved out of state, and some people are still looking for stable housing, just trying to live day by day, Jordan said.
“Some might even be homeless right now,” he added.
As Bronzeville has undergone transformation, many of its longtime residents have faced the difficult decision to leave one of the only places they’ve called home. Against this backdrop, Jordan stands as a testament to the enduring spirit of those determined to preserve their connection to the community.
For the past eight years, Jordan has owned Insane Cutz, a barbershop at 221 E. 47th St. He takes pride in his work, but the financial strain is stark.
Terrence "K.D." Jordan stands outside his barbershop, Insane Cutz, in the Bronzeville neighborhood of Chicago on Feb. 20, 2024. (Photo: Max Herman/City Bureau)
Jordan knows how hard it can be for business owners; he had to close his previous event space after spending a significant amount of money on repairs.
“The roof caved in and I took it out of my pocket,” he said.
Investing in his community is important, he said, but at some point, the cost can become too high to sustain.
The city needs to invest in Bronzeville just as its residents do, Jordan said. When he looks around and sees people living on the streets, he doesn’t understand why there aren’t more shelter spaces. He sees people battling mental health issues and wants their government to help them.
“It don’t even take a lot of money to do certain things,” he said. “It just takes a lot of hands to put effort to it, that’s all.”
In other words, it takes a whole community.
The waiting game
At the start of 2024, Ezette Banks was living in a music room she rented in Bronzeville.
She paid $450 each month to sleep on a loveseat. There was no other furniture; she had to call the landlord and ask for access to an upstairs bathroom; and she wasn’t not allowed to have visitors. She found it through what she thought was a legitimate real estate company, but she didn’t have a lease or official paperwork.
Then her “landlord” wanted $550. She threatened to evict Banks if she didn't pay.
Banks, 50, is a certified nursing assistant. She has raised four children. She has also suffered some tough breaks in life.
She has grappled with abusive relationships. Her family lost her childhood home in Auburn Gresham after her grandmother died. Seven years ago, her apartment burned down. The Red Cross put her in a motel for a while. But when that temporary relief lapsed, Banks found it increasingly hard to find a place to live.
She tried staying with friends, but “as soon as your money goes, they’re calling to put you out,” she said. One time, a friend asked for extra money after she’d paid them $500, and called the police to kick Banks out when she didn’t give it to them.
Without better options, she started going to shelters. When that didn’t work, she’d sleep on the Red Line.
Without a stable home, holding down a job felt impossible, Banks said.
“How can you work [when] you don't know where you’re gonna lay your head, change your clothes?” she said. “You can’t go to a workplace like that.”
She has been kicked out of shelters for staying past their three-month limit. One removed her two days before Thanksgiving. Another asked Banks to leave for entering the facility too late. Shelter staff woke her up after 9 p.m. and said she’d arrived too late and would have to go.
“So there I’m at, back on the Red Line,” she said.
Banks has never felt secure seeking legal support for her troubles, because she fears it would lead to her getting arrested. She also doesn’t want to go to the suburbs for support — she doesn’t have a car, and she’s not familiar with the area.
In January, Banks’ mother, 71-year-old Sharon Birdette, suggested her daughter get in touch with Matthew House Chicago. Birdette frequents the Bronzeville space at 3728 S. Indiana Ave., where the nonprofit provides food, showers, job training and housing services to people without housing or those at risk of losing it.
Matthew House has helped Banks with offering meals, seasonal clothes and connecting with resources and maintaining documentation with a case manager. Meanwhile, Banks has no idea how long she’ll be on the CHA waitlist. She hasn’t received any calls or updates from the city. She is still too young to qualify for senior housing.
To put it simply, “there is not enough housing,” said Tia Singleton, whose case work at Matthew House makes it clear how dire the need is for more affordable housing and homeless resources in Chicago. “They have nowhere to go.”
Matthew House doesn’t offer overnight services, but it does provide emergency daytime shelter and acts as a warming or cooling center as respite from extreme temperatures.
Banks said she is shocked there aren’t more resources in the city for people like her.
“How are you gonna tell me you don't have any funding to help me, and I'm a woman out here on the streets?” she said.
Yet despite a decades-long fight with homelessness and displacement, Banks remains optimistic.
“I know God [is] with me,” she said. “I’ve been standing strong and firm. My God will figure out a way.”
The bright future
If you ever stop by Insane Cutz, you might encounter Keshia Larry.
She’s working as a hair stylist as she waits on results from taking her cosmetology teaching license exam. It's one of the final steps Larry said she needs to take before she feels comfortable leaving CHA-supported housing. She might even buy her own home; she’s looking into some CHA programs that could make it possible.
“I'm gonna do the right thing with my voucher,” the 51-year-old Black woman said.
Larry considers herself blessed when it comes to housing. She has lived in Bronzeville for 8 years with the help of a Housing Choice Voucher. She moved to the South Side neighborhood after frequenting a church near 49th Street and Michigan Avenue.
“I looked backwards and I was like, ‘God I'm gonna live over there,’” she said.
Keshia Larry looks out of the window at Insane Cutz barbershop in the Bronzeville neighborhood of Chicago on Tuesday, Feb. 20, 2024. (Photo: Max Herman/City Bureau)
Larry is extremely resilient, and a woman of deep faith. Her belief has carried her through unimaginable tragedy. In 2010, her brother shot and killed their 57-year-old mother, Larry’s 3-year-old daughter, her 16-year-old daughter who was also pregnant, his own wife and their baby. Larry’s son, 13 at the time, was shot in the face but survived, although he was later killed in 2018.
Thinking back to the loss, Larry said she remembers almost immediately trying to find a sense of normalcy and routine.
“Two weeks later, I said if I don't come to work, the Titanic’s gonna sink,” she said.
That's partly why she believes she can push through and survive almost anything, housing voucher or not. But for now, she's grateful to be where she is and in a position to help people when she can.
She has been in her two-bedroom apartment near Michigan Avenue for four years. She lives with her son and would like to upgrade to a larger permanent space. But when searching online for nearby homes, she saw how expensive Bronzeville has become.
“A lot of people can't afford to rent around here,” she said. “The rent is sky high.”
Over the years, she has seen new businesses, apartments and condos emerge. The Rosenwald Courts redevelopment, completed in 2016, was one example of change that stood out to her. But with that economic development, she said, can come financial hardship for residents who can no longer afford to live in the neighborhood.
Larry is able to make due with the help of her CHA voucher, which covers a portion of her rent, she said. She was first able to get one of the federal housing vouchers after she moved to Madison, Wisconsin, more than 30 years ago. When she moved back to Chicago a decade later, she was able to transfer the voucher with her.
Because of it, she was able to go to school full-time, first to study cosmetology, and soon, to get her teaching license.
“It seems like the whole time I've been on it, I've been in school,” she said.
One of the work station at the Insane Cutz barbershop in Bronzeville, seen on Tuesday, Feb. 20, 2024, in Chicago. (Photo: Max Herman/City Bureau)
She understands how high the stakes are when it comes to housing. She said she’s fortunate to have one of the about 50,000 Housing Choice Vouchers the CHA administers, out of about 2.3 million nationwide. Chicago’s total number of vouchers has stayed mostly the same over the years, and vouchers only free up when current participants stop using them.
Currently, there are more than 200,000 families on CHA waitlists for vouchers and housing. The voucher waitlist itself hasn’t been open since 2014, and the years people spend waiting can stretch into decades. (In 2022, Ald. Jeanette Taylor went viral when she shared a CHA letter inviting her to apply for a voucher — 29 years after she initially signed up.)
Larry knows she’s blessed, she said. Getting a voucher can feel like “a miracle,” and not having one can mean constant struggle in holding down a secure, reliable place to live, she said.
The voucher is making it possible for her to advance in her career, and potentially even own a home. Larry hopes to join the Choose to Own Homeownership Program when she makes more money. The program allows for CHA residents to use their housing subsidy to purchase a home and get financial support with a portion of their mortgage payment.
But, Larry said, life is a struggle, and people should take the help they can get. It shouldn’t come down to a move 30 years ago for Chicagoans to have access to stable housing. She remembers being a little girl and seeing people without homes, sleeping at the bus stop.
“That's somebody's mama,” she said. Where, she wonders now, is the help they need?
City Bureau engagement reporter Jerrel Floyd contributed to this report.
A version of this article appeared in the March 14, 2024 edition of South Side Weekly. It was produced through our Civic Reporting Fellowship. Support City Bureau’s civic reporting programs by becoming a recurring donor today.
This story is available to republish under a Creative Commons license. Read City Bureau’s guidelines here.