"I became homeless simply because I was two weeks behind in my rent."

So reports Yvonne, who now lives and volunteers at the Good Shepherd Center for Homeless Women and Children in Los Angeles.

The 59-year-old African American woman from Cleveland is articulate, intelligent and attractive. Her last job was selling computer equipment. But before that she directed training and operations for a national management consulting firm in Chicago, and then freelanced as a self-employed consultant for more than a decade.

She has a degree in psychology from Ohio's Central State University and did graduate work at prestigious New York University. A one-time licensed real estate broker, she even owned rental property in Cleveland where some of her tenants, ironically, were eligible for Section 8 (low-income) housing subsidies.

Not exactly the profile that jumps to mind when picturing homeless women here in Southern California. The more likely vision is a dirty woman in ragged clothes, pushing an overloaded shopping cart along Wilshire Boulevard while mumbling to herself.

But Yvonne, who didn't want her last name printed, is emblematic of what social scientists and homeless advocates say is a growing trend --- poverty is reaching up to snare more and more middle class men, women and children living on the economic edge of American society. Some of these folks eventually wind up like Yvonne, on the street or in shelters.

"I'd been living at the same apartment in the Palms area of West Los Angeles going on seven years, and never been more than 30 days late with my rent," she says. "And when I was late, I always paid the $50 late fee. There was no traffic in and out of my place. I didn't play loud music. I didn't use drugs or have an alcohol problem. I thought I was a real good tenant.

"I got along with the on-site managers well, but there was no chemistry with the owner. He wanted me out of there for one reason or another. Maybe it was so he could raise the rent. I don't know.

"But he sent a lawyer over who put papers in my hand, saying I had five days to respond or go to court. I fought it for a while. But that's how I became homeless at the age of 57."

Yvonne's savings were drained from sending back $1,000 to $1,500 each month to her sick mother in Cleveland. An only child, she had no real support system in Southern California. Plus, she had recently been diagnosed as being clinically depressed, but refused to take anti-depression medication.

Lived in car
For a week, she lived in her car, parking at night in westside neighborhoods she thought were safe. When she went to the Department of Public Social Services to find out if she could get financial assistance to buy food, DPSS sent her to the Good Shepherd Center at 267 N. Belmont Ave.

Yvonne wound up staying at the center's Languille Emergency Shelter for six weeks. During that time, staff referred her to the Hollywood Mental Health Clinic. Again, she was reluctant to admit having a psychological problem. But she went through the clinic's program, receiving one-on-one counseling as well as going to group therapy sessions.

"And it helped 'cause I learned more about depression," she says. "I didn't know what was happening to me. I knew it affected my memory. I couldn't keep anything in my head. When I broke down, I just broke.

"Losing my apartment, I think, was the straw that broke the camel's back. It was hard. It was really hard. I never thought I would be homeless. I'd pulled myself up by my bootstraps so many times. But this time, I couldn't. I just couldn't stop crying.

"But going to the clinic was good," she points out. "It helped me understand what was wrong. It helped me to manage things with medication."

After the program ended, Yvonne, like a number of Good Shepherd guests, moved into the nearby Hawkes residence to go into the transitional program for a couple months. But she says there weren't many "options" for a older woman like herself who already had a college education and an extensive work history.

So Yvonne ended up as a "special case," living and working at the emergency shelter and drop-in center. Using her management and computer skills to help out staff members, the formerly homeless woman has found a special niche there.

"I'm in the progress of, you know, trying to get back on my feet," she explains. "And I've made a lot of progress because of their support. They attended my graduation from Hollywood Mental Health. And volunteering here has allowed me to be active, one of the things I really needed. Plus, they've helped me straighten out the mountains of debt problems I had.

"But more than that, it's the intangible things," she points out. "I'm out here by myself. I'm divorced and have no children. So they've been like another family. They're very, very supportive and caring. How do you start over at my age? There's not roadmap, but they're helping me make a new game plan."

Yvonne stops to wipe her eyes. She tries to describe the dark hole she was in and couldn't climb out of. Finally, she confides how she was, in fact, suicidal.

"I've seen real love here," the former management consultant says. "It's a belief, a commitment from the staff that permeates the whole environment. There's no broad-brushing people. They have a way of seeing everybody's uniqueness. There were no preconceived notions about me.

"Once you go down, it's hard to get back up," she notes. "I think God really brought me here. I wouldn't have made. I know I wouldn't have made it."

'All of sudden, they're here'
Intake person and case manager Sister of St. Joseph of Carondelet Patricia Zins could see immediately that Yvonne was deeply depressed. Naturally, she says, most women suffer from depression when they find themselves homeless. So she referred her to a mental health counselor she knows at the Hollywood Mental Health Clinic.

"She's doing wonderfully," reports Sister Zins. "She has been a godsend to us. Her skills are so tremendous as far as administrative ability that she is used in many, many ways. When we have trouble with a telephone bill or whatever, she just follows it to the source and gets it all settled.

"She's doing such a fantastic job for us and is so loyal, we'll do what we can to assist her on her next step, whenever she's ready. But she's not quite ready."

Sister Zins agrees you don't expect to find somebody like Yvonne with her professional background and work history on the street. But she's not the first such woman to wind up at the Good Shepherd Center.

"A lot of these people, you don't know why they're here," she says. "It's just their circumstances that have led them here. You know, it was nothing that they ever did. And we've had other people who have been very intelligent and had very good educations.

"They just lose their job, and they think, 'Oh, I'll get another one.' And then they start spending their savings, but don't get a job and can't pay the rent. And all of a sudden, they're here."