It's no secret that state and local governments have been reducing funds for nonprofits that service the disadvantaged. This year, for instance, the state of Florida cut the budget for drug treatment centers by an estimated $31 million.
Chris Ortiz's Brotherhood Ministries doesn't depend on government funding, but its main source of support is even shakier: the dwindling job market. A collection of halfway houses on a block off of Fifth Avenue South in St. Petersburg, Brotherhood finds homeless people who are willing to turn around their lives, offers them a place to stay and help landing a job, and, once settled, asks that they help pay for their room and board.
But if the clients can't find jobs, well, Brotherhood Ministries can't keep the lights on. And with the state's unemployment creeping up higher than the national average, the nonprofit is facing its own budget shortfall. Ortiz hasn't made a payment to his lender, Churchill Apartments, in months. And according to court documents, the company has begun foreclosure proceedings.
"Our financial situation is transparent, because it's so fucked up," says Ortiz.
In his cluttered office, stuck in the middle of the 15 colorful shotgun homes on Brotherhood Ministries' property, Ortiz pulls the daily paper's classifieds section from the trash.
"If you take out the telemarketing jobs," he says, "there's nothing."
Ortiz seems an unlikely fit for the nonprofit sector. For years, the 43-year-old former Brooklynite made his living as a nightclub promoter, then, after moving to Florida in 1999, a furniture salesman. His brother's struggles with drug addiction prompted him to use his networking skills and entrepreneurial spirit for another cause.
"I have a lot of experience chasing his ass around the streets," Ortiz says. "I thought I could help people."
Ortiz began working in substance abuse recovery programs three years ago, most recently with Lionheart Recovery. But last year, he wanted to try something innovative. So he bought a "drug-infested" property on the edge of St. Pete's Palmetto Park neighborhood and turned it into Brotherhood Ministries. He had a simple idea: Get people off the streets and into a job.
But these days, even formerly reliable avenues for work, like day labor, have dried up, he says.
"Day labor has always been a resource that catered to the recovery group," Ortiz explains. "But things are bad in day labor. With the [baseball] games over and construction down, there's nothing."
And yet, in the same sentence, Ortiz insists jobs are out there. Beach motels, factories and other minimum wage jobs abound, he says, but there are considerable roadblocks to even entry-level employment.
"There are motel jobs, like washing sheets, that require a resume," he says. "That's ridiculous."
And, Ortiz admits, there are a lot of stigmas attached to his clients, some of whom are ex-felons and formerly homeless — like John Welcome.
Just a few years ago, Welcome had a house and job, fiancée and son. Then he began using crack cocaine. He lost the house, the job and the fiancée. He ended up in jail on a grand theft charge. And when he was released from prison in April, the 39-year-old had nothing. He slept on the streets for the first time in his life.
Four weeks ago, Ortiz saw Welcome in the median of Tyrone Boulevard with a cardboard sign, begging for money. He invited him to Brotherhood Ministries.
"I'd like to get back into flooring and carpentry," says Welcome, who claims he is clean, sober and ready to start over. "But at this point, I'd take just about anything."
But with his record, and the downturn in the construction industry, Welcome can't even get an interview.
"Nobody wants to hire a bum off the street," Ortiz says, "but these folks aren't bums. Everyone on this property is clean and sober and trying to get their lives together."
Despite the unreturned calls and ignored appointments from area employers, Ortiz is criss-crossing the county, networking and trying to win over employers. He's even taken to the streets for "job rallies," complete with placards and chants.
"I'm really trying to reach out to the community," he says. "Employers have to take responsibility for the economic situation in our city."
There are bright spots. Out of the 12 homeless men and women who joined Brotherhood Ministries three weeks ago, seven already have jobs. Considering two left the program right away, Ortiz says "those are good numbers."
Results that can be repeated, if area companies step up to help, Ortiz says. Not with money, but jobs.
"There's a lot of people that want to make $7 an hour," he says. "We got plenty of Joe the plumbers here, and they work hard."
This article appears in Nov 19-25, 2008.