CENTRAL CITY — On a bitterly cold January day, John Paul Shanks sat on his bed at the Central Inn, having handwashed his clothes after presoaking them in Gain detergent and hanging them to dry. Living outside in this Western Kentucky town has given him plenty of experience making do.
“I’m probably one of the only people you’ll see that can just sit there and lay on a piece of concrete with a pillow or nothing and go to bed,” Shanks told the crowd. “That hardens you up.”
Gwen Clements is the reason 41-year-old Shanks, with his long red beard and shaved head, stayed in a motel that day. Clements also understands the concept of making do. She leads a loose coalition of compassionate people working to assist her homeless neighbors in a community with few formal resources.
She met Shanks years ago, when she worked at the Perdue Farms poultry processing plant in Ohio County during the Great Recession. He led the production line.
Clements is unsure what led Shanks to become “chronically homeless.” But as she noticed him walking the streets, she started checking in with him and asking if he needed anything.
On days when she wanted to find Shanks, she would get up early and drive around town, stopping at a few of his favorite spots. Outside the Central Inn. Inside the local Wendy’s. On a bench near a local bank, passersby gave him money, food, and clothing.
“The only people that know him are the people who stop and talk to him, people that know him from the past,” Clements said at the time.
With a deadly cold forecast for that January week, Clements urged her neighbors to send her money so she could put people up in a motel and keep them safe overnight through a Facebook group she started in early 2024 focused on homelessness.
Finding Shanks during severe weather and ensuring he had shelter had become a top priority for her.
Clements found it easy to check Shanks into a motel room for the night. Finding help for his deeper issues is not easy. Clements stated that this is also true for the people she assists, some of whom appear to be suffering from untreated mental illness and addiction, as well as being homeless.
“People like John Paul get no help. You can make as many appointments as you want for him. “He is not going to go,” Clements stated. “He doesn’t have transportation if he did decide to go.”
Shanks said he injured his back years ago when he was driving to work and hit a patch of black ice, which “flipped the car.” He stated that the nerve pain was so severe that dressing could take up to 30 minutes. In the motel room, he also talked about dealing with addiction and using prescription opioids, cocaine, and methamphetamines.
According to court records, Shanks has been arrested several times. He once screamed and threw rocks from the train tracks. Shanks told police he didn’t realize one of the rocks had nearly hit a woman. Another time, he was arrested for disorderly conduct after allegedly yelling obscenities at an IGA grocery store.
An incident report states that in 2022, a Central City police officer and Chief Jason Lindsey discovered Shanks at a strip mall where he had previously trespassed. Shanks allegedly threatened a minor that “he would take him out back and beat his brains out.” Shanks informed law enforcement that the minor “had said things to him about him being homeless and getting a job.” Shanks was arrested and barred from entering the strip mall property.
Tammy Piper, the city’s director of business development, told the Lantern last year that the city had tried to help Shanks several times by providing him with a hotel room or offering him work.
Piper stated that in one instance, Chief Lindsey drove Shanks to live with family members several counties away and secured a job for Shanks, only for Shanks to return to the Central City streets.
In the fall of 2024, the city removed the bench next to a local bank where Shanks frequently sat, dozing or asking passing drivers for money. The decision sparked debate on social media and made local television news in Evansville, Indiana. Central City Mayor Tony Armour informed the Evansville station that the bench was removed because Shanks made people uncomfortable.
The mayor also stated that the city has attempted to offer Shanks work. Shanks, in the motel room in January, denied that the city had offered him a job.
For some, including Clements, the bench’s removal became a symbol of apathy and, at times, disregard by local officials and police for those who are homeless and struggling.
“That was just a small part of how our homeless are treated in this county and this city,” Clements explained.
According to Clements, Shanks and other people experiencing homelessness require more than just a bench to sit on or a roof over their heads. She sees a need for mobile mental health services that can meet people where they live outside, given how homelessness can deteriorate mental health.
“Being homeless has caused him significant trauma. “I don’t think people realize that,” Clements said of Shanks. “They just want to believe that ‘He’s lazy and a drug addict, and he needs to get a job, get off drugs, and he’ll be fine.'” It’s far more than that.
“The’more’ includes warming shelters and other items. John Paul requires mobile crisis mental health services, which is part of the’more.’ “It’s so much more than just the bench being removed,” Clements explained.
When asked in the motel room if he thought others in Central City cared about people who were homeless, Shanks responded, “I think they worry about others. I think there’s a lot to be concerned about.”
Clements told Shanks, “The problem is too big, and they don’t know how to handle it.”
More than a bench.
According to Clements and others in the band of volunteers working to end homelessness in Muhlenberg County, the most pressing need is for more housing and temporary shelter.
The Muhlenberg County Economic Growth Alliance, the county government’s economic development arm, hired an Ohio-based housing research firm in November 2023 to gain a better understanding of the local housing market.
According to the study, more than 300 additional rental units and 700 additional owner-occupied homes are required by 2029. The report stated that the county’s persistent poverty would result in a continued need for affordable rental units.
But the path for creating more housing or even temporary shelter remains unclear.
Kelsey Rolley, who has helped the loose coalition at times through her work at Pennyrile Allied Community Services, said some of the divisions among the community spring from fear of the unknown. She imagines questions from local “higher ups,” such as who else might come into the county to seek shelter if more were available and whether it might attract more crime.
When Armour, the mayor, raised concerns about a church’s plans to turn the Central Inn into efficiency apartments to help homeless people transition into something more permanent, he worried his community could be “destroyed” by an influx of people drawn by the assistance.
“It’s going to take a village, and until that village can be formed, created and run properly, all of us work together — I feel like it’s just going to keep us stuck,” Rolley said.
The loose coalition is persisting, though. Clements and others recently visited Somerset to see how a nonprofit shelter and resource hub were started just a couple years ago, and Clements has been considering buildings to potentially start her own version of that nonprofit in Muhlenberg.
An eviction hearing, an urn and a stoop
The path to stable housing remains fraught with difficulties and struggles for the people who spoke about their experiences as homeless in this series.
Shanks remained on the concrete stoop of the Central Inn in May, waving to passing cars. He mentioned that he needed a shower, some socks, and perhaps another motel room. “You gotta appreciate everything about everything,” he told me.
Courtney Phillips, who slept outside the Abundant Life Church for weeks, is still figuring out what she wants her life to be. The church has given her a room to sleep in. She works long hours in a nursing home, developing relationships with residents suffering from mental health disorders such as dementia.
She wants to save money for a car, which she describes as a “baby step” toward her goals. She has made it to the top of a waiting list for a rapid rehousing program and is hoping to find an apartment soon.
She’s also been coping without her dog, Joker, who cuddled with her while she slept outside. Joker died earlier this year; a wooden urn containing Joker’s ashes sits in her room at the church, and Joker’s bed remains beside her bed.
“It’s really different, but he’s still with me,” Phillips said.
Mallie Luken, who slept in the church parking lot before Clements assisted her in finding housing, was nervous for weeks leading up to a hearing on her potential eviction from the apartment Clements assisted her in locating.
After police abandoned Luken in her wheelchair outside the Abundant Life Church on a stormy night in September, Clements stepped in to help her find an apartment with the Greenville Housing Authority. By this month, however, her housing situation had become even more uncertain.
Luken, 70, received an eviction notice following alleged complaints from neighbors about her behavior and inappropriate language directed at them. Clements, who admits Luken can be her own “worst enemy,” also stated that the housing authority accused Luken of not paying rent, which she denied.
Luken was exhausted and concerned about her situation.
“Somehow or another, I keep falling through the system,” Luken admitted weeks before the hearing.
Earlier in May, in front of a district court judge, Luken and a Kentucky Legal Aid attorney reached an agreement with the housing authority: She can stay in her apartment until another apartment becomes available at a housing authority in Beaver Dam, Ohio County, where Luken previously lived.
According to Clements, Luken has friends nearby who could provide support. In Muhlenberg County, Clements was an important part of Luken’s support network. Their relationship has developed over the months they’ve spent together.
“I can’t imagine what she’s done for other people,” Luken said of Clements’ generosity.
When Clements left Luken’s apartment earlier this year, she told him she loved her.
Out on the sidewalk, Clements said, choked with emotion, “I can’t imagine my mother being in that situation. “I just can’t.”
Previously in ‘No Kentucky Home’
