Last call

Part 2

by Kristen Lombardi

Marjorie scurries past boxes in her apartment, her raspy voice escalating as she points out maintenance problems -- bee hives the size of golf balls, ceiling holes. She notes a bathroom faucet that "poured scalding hot water since December," but adds her landlord fixed it the same week she filed a counterclaim against her eviction from the home she shares with two daughters, a 10-year-old grandson, and a six-month-old granddaughter. Her daughter, 23, works at Ames as a cashier, averaging $180 a week. Although Marjorie takes care of the baby on weekdays, her income is $334 in monthly welfare payments; she also receives food subsidies and benefits for her other daughter and a grandson.

Marjorie maintains that she stopped paying rent in mid May, but the eviction notice claims she's paid no rent since November, and that she owes $2070 in back rent. While MJP lawyers listened, they told her, she says, that she couldn't get a lawyer to represent her in court because "cases like mine are common," but Marjorie was told she could file a counterclaim, and MJP would talk her through the Worcester Housing Court process.

But when she showed up at Dudley District Court, Marjorie says, she ended up signing a court-ordered agreement that she cannot possibly live up to. She must pay $955 in increments by October 1, vacate her apartment before October 15, and then the rest of the back rent will be waived. Otherwise, Marjorie and her family will be forced out. This may sound reasonable, but she must pay more than $700 in five days, August 29 to September 2. She has already missed a payment, thus violating the agreement. Her welfare check comes this month, along with disability benefits she receives for her grandson (who suffers from slight retardation), but she knows she cannot make the payments on time.

"I don't know where to go or turn when I run out of food," she says.

Although Marjorie says she's grateful for MJP's help, she also believes she never would have signed a detrimental agreement if she had a lawyer at her side. "I could have gotten a word in," she says. Even if the mediator treated her fairly, she says, "I needed a lawyer there to help me with all the stuff I don't understand."

In Legal Services, Marjorie's case is hardly unusual. The American Bar Association and state agencies often conduct studies on the demand for legal assistance, says Lonnie Powers, executive director of state-funded Massachusetts Legal Assistance Corporation (MLAC). Studies find legal-aid offices meeting needs of 15 to 20 percent of the poor. They ask poor people whether they've experienced possible legal problems, such as being evicted, losing a job, or not getting unemployment benefits. A 1996 study lists 80 circumstances encountered by the poor that give rise to consultations with attorneys, says Powers.

Currently, 45 percent of Worcester County's population lives under the federal poverty line. On average, every low-income household in Worcester encounters one legal problem a year -- half have more than one. However, 70 percent of Worcester's poor have no contact with courts.

"People don't realize problems have legal dimensions," says Powers, a legal-aid attorney for more than 14 years. "There's enormous need for legal education among low-income people. Most have the attitude they can't get anything from the legal system."

Historically, legal-aid attorneys have helped 60 percent of clients by giving advice, counseling, and referrals. Of the remaining 40 percent, only 10 percent of clients need court litigation. So, in looking to avoid congressional actions, Legal Services in Massachusetts set up MJP to address clients in the 60 to 90 percentile who don't need court resolutions.

"We focus on intake as an end to itself," explains Janice Chiaretto, a MJP deputy attorney. Because of federal cuts and restrictions, she says, "it seems more efficient not to do full representation at all."

That means the 20 MJP lawyers and paralegals (seven in Worcester, 13 in Holyoke) focus on the "helpline" method of attorneying. They conduct phone interviews, answer questions, look up documentation, help people decode government documents, and give advice. Occasionally, MJP staff will call a welfare worker, for instance, to "do a little advocacy to help clear up communication," says Chiaretto. "We do what we can under the restrictions."

Legal-aid cases still get into court, and MJP is responsible for weaning calls and referring serious cases to LACCM, an agency not yet up to speed after it lost seven employees to MJP, say Worcester legal observers. Because of limited state and private funds, LACCM must prioritize its caseload. It concentrates on divorces for battered women, child custody involving abused children, elders illegally kicked out of nursing homes, disabled people robbed of benefits -- a few examples. LACCM rarely accepts housing cases like Marjorie's.

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So far, MJP has referred 600 cases to LACCM, Chiaretto says. MJP also sends an average of 25 cases a month to Volunteer Lawyers Service, a group of 450 local attorneys which takes on cases for free. MJP operates the service, which typically represents clients with $5000 of debt in bankruptcy cases, in disputed divorces, or drafts wills.

Even with an active pro bono panel, VLS coordinator Lucelia De Jesus acknowledges, "There are never enough attorneys. Lots of people call wanting one, and if they had money, then they'd probably go get one."

Faulty systems work, of course, and Tabitha Fernet of Winchendon illustrates MJP's success. Fernet, 21, faced trouble after she lost her job as a machine operator after an Orange-based tissue company shut down. The single mom of a two-year-old son and guardian of her teenage sister, Fernet survived on $3000 savings for eight months before hitting bottom. With only $56 per week in child support as income, Fernet stopped paying subsidized rent in March, April, and May. She received an eviction notice May 19, after she was told she owed $508 in back rent. Fernet agreed to hand over the weekly child support.

"I didn't think I needed a lawyer," recalls Fernet. However, her son's father lost his job soon after. "There were no more checks. I called the court to inform them, but I didn't hear anything."

In August, Fernet heard from the courts -- she would be removed from her apartment in 48 hours unless she paid everything she owed. Fernet had found another job, working quality control at Tucker Housewares in Leominster; she handed over her first weekly paycheck, $112, to her landlord the day before.

"I didn't want to move. I just started my new job so I couldn't take time out," says Fernet, who has lived in a Winchendon Housing Authority building for more than a year. "Besides, my son and sister need a stable place."

Fernet says she realized "there are people who are supposed to help," so she looked in the phone book under legal assistance and found MJP. Lawyers helped Fernet file an appeal, arguing she could now pay rent and that her two dependents needed the security of a home. The appeal prompted WHA to halt the eviction.

"I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for the lawyers at MJP," she says.

Part 3