Opinion | Biloxi and Gulfport Face Imminent Homelessness Crisis

BILOXI, Miss.—Earlier this year, a local Biloxi resident responded to my Jan. 18, 2023, tweet about a homeless individual that I encountered at a local Circle K. We discussed the various locations of homeless encampments in Biloxi and Gulfport and some places where we thought they could find affordable housing.

Little did I know, local WLOX news anchor Dave Elliott would take to social media a few days later to alert the community about the growing homeless “colonies” that are popping up on Debuys Road. “Small homeless colony on Debuys Road. One tent on the west side (Gulfport) the other across the street in the old Olive Garden parking lot in Biloxi,” Elliott posted on Facebook.

Elliott’s concerns seemed more like a dog whistle to me than a call for help. He inspired me I find out more about what local media outlets were not reporting. I thought about the homeless gentleman that I met at the Circle K. Who was he? Who robbed him? How did he become homeless? What basic necessities does he lack on a daily basis?

The aim of solutions-based journalism should spark serious conversations, not provide readers with senseless clickbait.

‘I’m Just Trying To Recover’

My curiosity led me to a wooded area near the old Jefferson Davis Elementary School on Iris Street. It was cold and raining when I arrived at the encampment. I could see the trash lining the sides of the street as I parked my car underneath a sign that literally said, “No Dumping, $100 Fine Police Dept.” As I approached the pathway, I noticed two abandoned vehicles. One was a white Mercury with a broken back window and only three tires.

The other was a Chrysler minivan riddled with tattered clothing. The entire area looked like a landfill. Makeshift huts, butane canisters, old clothes, grocery baskets and empty containers littered the muddy pathway. I noticed two gentlemen with a white truck slowly following me down the path. Suddenly, a man wearing a bright red sweatshirt appeared from behind the dense brush.

“Hello!” I yelled from the path. “My name is Leo Carney. I wanted to speak with you about the homeless situation out here!” The two gentlemen in the white truck passed by when the soft-spoken man behind the brush calmly replied back, “You may want to talk to that man over there.” He was referring to the man driving the white truck.

The two gentlemen parked a few yards away next to a camp with a wood fire burning inside a tent. There was a small brown and white puppy sitting next to the truck as the smell of smoke billowed from the tent’s roof.

I walked up to the white truck and saw the two gentlemen sitting and talking together. I longed to know more about their daily lives and living conditions in the encampment. The gentleman who drove the truck quickly swung open his door. “Hey guys, my name is Leo Carney. I am a freelance writer who is interested in the homeless communities in this encampment,” I speedily said. “Would you be willing to speak with me about your situation?” I asked.

The driver pointed to the passenger side of the truck toward a gentleman in a red and white jacket drinking a cup of hot chocolate. He squinted his eyes as he looked across the driver’s side of the truck at me. “My name is Sean Sensabaugh, and I’m here coming from North Carolina to work,” he said.

“I lost my job by gambling, and I’m homeless because I’m gambling just about all of my money away,” Sensabaugh continued. “Basically, just about all the money I do get goes to a casino, you know? I’m just trying to recover from that,” he said.

I wanted to know what life was like living homeless. “It’s rough, you know, when you ain’t got running water, and when you ain’t got lights,” Sensabaugh said. “I mean it’s kinda hard to live differently in a situation where you’re coming from out of a house into a natural environment.”

The driver never disclosed his name. When I asked him about rumors of robbery and theft going on in the encampments, he replied, “It’s worse here than in the real world.”

The two gentlemen described incidents of theft and gun violence against other homeless individuals in the encampments. They told me that more than six families live throughout the densely wooded area that stretches from Iris Street to Veterans Boulevard and that more homeless individuals live along the CSX railway in West Biloxi.

I got into my car and drove to the Biloxi-Gulfport city limits on Debuys Road to speak with the “homeless colony” that Dave Elliott had warned us all about on social media.

I parked in the old, abandoned Olive Garden parking lot on Biloxi’s East side. It was not as densely wooded as the encampments on Iris Street. I could see a Walmart from a distance, and high-rise condominiums towering above the trees as bustling residents traveled down Highway 90 and Debuys Road.

COVID-19 Effects on Homelessness

I noticed an empty blue tent next to a shopping cart. The area was heavily littered with many of the same items that I encountered at the previous encampments. There was a fresh orange on the ground next to a shopping cart. I noticed a makeshift bed, empty buckets and other random items. On my way back to my car, I looked across the street and noticed another encampment on the Gulfport side of Debuys Road.

I then headed toward the blue tarp that I saw from across the street. The cold rain continued to fall as a brisk wind howled amongst the trees that covered the empty lot. As I carefully approached the encampment, I saw pots and pans neatly stacked on the outside of the entrance. I could hear the sound of the radio as I got closer.

“Hello!” I called out. A small barefoot man wearing a worn, white T-shirt crawled from inside. “I’m freezing my butt off!” The man said, as he raised up. I introduced myself and asked him his name. “Jonathan Strong,” he replied.

I asked Jonathan how he became homeless. “Through COVID. I’m a pipefitter, and I came here and started a lawn company,” Strong answered. “I lost my job due to COVID. Then, my lawnmower blew up. I was so sick at that point it didn’t matter if I had a lawnmower,” he continued.

I asked Jonathan if he knew of any homeless shelters to help him find housing. I could see him rubbing his arms to keep warm. “Open Doors is who I’ve been trying to talk to, but you can’t get anybody to help nobody,” Strong said. “I’ve done met with ’em three, four or five times to get housing, and I go down there whenever I can get help with a ride. I just keep calling and calling,” he said.

I thanked Jonathan for speaking with me. He stood and watched as I walked away. “Hey!” Strong shouted. “Well, I can tell you this, Open Doors got the money to put people into a hotel, even until they find a place.”

I already knew that Harrison County awarded a $6-million dollar grant, a portion of the CARES Act, to the Open Doors Homeless Coalition to assist funding for rental assistance allotted to individuals who suffered economically during the pandemic.

“We have already assessed 75 people who are in desperate need of assistance and we know there are a significant number of people in Harrison County who need the assistance,” Mary Simons, executive director of the Open Doors Homeless Coalition told John Fitzhugh in a 2021 WLOX interview.

I reached out to the Open Doors Homeless Coalition shortly after meeting Jonathan to get a better understanding of their methodology in tackling the growing homeless community along the Coast, but I was sent to voicemail. Before that, an automated system directed me to an email to set up an appointment to speak with their representatives. At that moment, I wondered, “Are these the same issues that homeless individuals and families deal with on a daily basis?”

Mary Simon called me back on Jan. 24, 2023. I asked her if she would be willing to speak with me about how Open Doors provides services to homeless individuals and families. “We are a continuum of care for the homeless and the lead agency for HUD,” Simons explained. “Our Point In Time count helps us identify who is eligible for the outreach list.”

I asked her about Strong and others who say that it is difficult to find housing through Open Doors. “We have identified Jonathan and are currently in the process of finding him housing,” Simon replied. This was good news. Jonathan was finally getting a second chance.

I called Open Doors in August, September and again in October to follow up about Strong and to inquire about updated homelessness data. Dr. Dina Whitman, the organization’s current executive director, reached out to me to address my inquiries. “I want to clarify that the $6-million grant that we received was for people who had lost their jobs due to COVID,” Whitman told me. She said that Johnathan Strong had received housing but was “evicted in August.” 

Whitman said Open Doors Homeless Coalition helped more than 3,000 families in Harrison County through the Rental Assistance for Mississippians Program. “Open Doors and our partners have worked tirelessly to help individuals and their families escape homelessness,” she said.

In a 2022 Point-In-Time survey, Open Doors and HUD reported that 201 homeless persons (sheltered and unsheltered combined) currently reside in Harrison County. As of Sept. 28, 2023, the encampments on Debuys Road where Jonathan Strong lived have been removed. Unfortunately, homeless people still inhabit the encampments on Iris Street as winter approaches.

CORRECTIONS: In this opinion column, Leo Carney originally stated that Open Doors Homeless Coalition distributed $6 million in federal CARES Act grants provided by the City of Biloxi. In fact, Open Doors received more than $6 million in CARES Act grant funding from Harrison County, not the city. Carney also stated that he had reached out to now-former Open Doors Executive Director Mary Simon in August and September with no response, but has subsequently learned that she had left the organization in June 2023.  We apologize for the errors, which have been corrected in the above column.

This MFP Voices essay does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Journalism and Education Group, the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to azia@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.