Grace Robinson: A Champion in The Making

 It is 9:30 a.m. on a Friday in Corvallis, Oregon. Downtown bustles with lively crowds — mostly college students — who are here to explore, study, and socialize with the community. Conversations are held, coffee is sipped, and smiles are exchanged as these people walk around town.

But lying on these streets, in between corners and alleyways, are the people who have been bested by society. They sit with their backpacks, signs and dogs — their entire life carried with them.

These are the people who are ignored by the crowds walking by. 

They have become nameless and faceless identities, just simply existing amongst us. Houseless, homeless, forgotten by themselves and society.

But, there is a person out there who is advocating for them. Someone who is passionate about these humans, regardless of their circumstances. Someone who believes in protecting these people and supporting them. A champion.

This person is Grace Robinson, a student at Linn-Benton Community College, who was formerly homeless for 25 years. This is her story.

Did you grow up around here?

No, I grew up in Sacramento, California. I moved here in 1997 when I was 27 — the day before my birthday: Oct. 4. On a Monday, I had gotten beaten up in my neighborhood by six people that I did not know. On Friday, I put my three kids on a train and we came up here, ending up in a domestic abuse shelter. I went on to get an apartment, a job, and it wasn’t until 2001 that I became homeless. 

I did that to my life on purpose. 

Could you talk about that process?

I was working at Dairy Queen. I was a single mom, had my own apartment … and I met a guy from a road crew project. He was homeless, but I invited him to my apartment and to go out for pizza with me and my kids. He was telling them all about homelessness, and it was breaking my heart that this super creative, intelligent, amazing individual was going to leave and sleep behind a dumpster. 

I had a Volkswagen bus sitting out on the street, and I said, “Why don’t you just stay in my Volkswagen?” After about two months, we ended up in a relationship. Everyday I’m going to work and he’s going out canning, and it seemed like he was making more money than I was. 

Six months before I met him, I had been hyperfixated on homelessness. I would get home from work, sit up at night and go, “Where would I sit if I were homeless?” That was my big thought. And, I figured, you don’t sit anywhere all day when you’re homeless unless you want to. It was this fear, and I decided I wanted to conquer that fear, since I was curious about it. 

So, I put in my notice at my job, put in my 30-day notice at my apartment, and let my kids live with their dad. It was the first week of February, and it was cold. I thought I would do this for about six months. It was going to satisfy my curiosity. I could easily get another job, another apartment — that’s not the case. 

It didn’t matter what kind of work or rental history I had. Once I had been unhoused for six months, I didn’t have a shower, and there weren’t all these services like there are now. I got caught up living life, and I got on drugs, and everything just fell apart. 

My Volkswagen broke down, so I bought another one. We were living out of it and driving around Eugene, Springfield, and Corvallis, until it broke down in Springfield. We were stuck on the side of the road for nine months living in the van. The only thing standing between me and the repair was one 6 mm allen wrench. I had always worked on my vehicles before that, but when you’re on drugs and life is debilitating, it just seemed insurmountable to do the repair. 

The neighbors would have me babysit their kids. We had a mailbox — nobody put anything in it — hanging on the fence outside…

Grace’s eyes fixate on someone on the street, behind the window. 

See, this girl out here. Her name is Katie. She was a nurse, and she’s amazing. She is such a funny human being, and they keep getting her housing, and then it gets lonely. She goes back out on the streets, drinks with the guys, and ends up losing the housing. It’s this trap that sucks you in and goes around and around. And I love her. She’s so vulnerable and it’s hard because they’re not just nameless, faceless people. These are people I love — I’ve known her for 15 years. 

She takes a moment to collect her thoughts, drying her eyes. She continues on. What was it like living in the van?

Ultimately, the police stole my license plate. I got the spray can out, and I sprayed my license plate back on. I lost my Volkswagen, and then I bounced around for a while. The relationship I was in — he was blackout drunk and I was just getting too beat up. He’s 6 feet 4 inches and I am 4 feet 11 inches. I didn’t hold it against him. I did not blame him, I blamed the alcohol. But eventually, when you’re bruised to your knees and you can barely move, you recognize that you could be killed. It was just happening too much. So I finally left. 

I hitchhiked with another friend of mine back to Corvallis and bounced around. I got back together with him four times. I was homeless for three years at this point. I got free housing from the COI (Community Outreach Inc.) — they would house you for a month, get you cleaned up, get a job. When it was my turn for that apartment, I walked down there and I thought, “I’m just not ready,” and I turned the block instead of going straight. There was my ex standing right in front of me again. He had just gotten out of jail and there was a no-contact order between us. Instead of getting my apartment, we hitchhiked over to Albany, so we’d be out of the county. 

That was the last time, though. He beat me up while I was sleeping. My temple was sticking out of my head. It was bad. So I ended up going to the hospital and getting a bus ticket. I went down to Sacramento to be with my mom. I talked one of my housed friends into coming back up here and being homeless with me. I made it sound good. My son, too. He was homeless for 14 years and he’s just now being housed. I made it look fun. I’ve hitchhiked across the country three times.

Three times?

I’ve been barefoot in 43 states. Been all the way to the East Coast twice, hitchhiking. My favorite quote is, “The road takes care of its own.” I have always had animals, too. I hitchhiked with three dogs on a leash and a cat on my shoulder. It’s absolute freedom. 

I always had animals on the streets, too — a tiny pom that went under my arm as I rode my bike everywhere. She got too old, so I had to give her away. That was the day I put on my big girl panties and broke my own heart to make sure she had a comfy life. It was a little painful. Nobody could tell me how many animals I could have. That’s up to me, how many animals I could take care of. There was no landlord to boss me around. 

In 2003, a gentleman wanted me and my husband — we were living in the van at the time — to come and work for him. That is how I ended up working in the circus training pigeons.

What?!

It was a pet theater, and he had an outbuilding that he used (for the animals). He bought me all these ridiculously expensive pigeons, and I trained them, and he bought me a $5,000 troop of trained cats. At that time, I had three jobs. I was working at a dog kennel as a super duper pooper scooper. I was also working at Skippers, and then working in this gentleman’s dog kennels training the animals with him. 

One day, I woke up and I fell down paralyzed. That was an experience. I was only paralyzed for 24 hours, but I had to learn to walk again, which took another 12 hours. Eleven days later, I was up and dancing at a four-day concert. I had already quit the pain meds and everything. 

Getting paralyzed and going to the hospital, something clicked in my brain. I was very disillusioned with the dog breeding and unethical things that he was doing, and I was over it. We lived there for eight months and then during the winter, we moved out to be homeless again. I did this three times. 

What was it like first living in an apartment?

When I got my first apartment, I was 23 ½ years homeless at that point, and my best friend was living in a shelter with her daughter. I thought, “Now, they’re giving me an emergency housing voucher when there is a woman and a child that needs a place.” I’m durable, I love the woods. How is this fair? I put her on my housing voucher and we got a nice apartment in Albany. I quickly realized that I did not like living indoors.

I bought a car one day and I lived in that little car and gave her the apartment, the housing voucher, the entire thing. I put myself homeless again. 

What is life like today?

I’ve been to alcohol and drug treatment. I graduated from an 18-month program in 9 months. I stayed another two years in mental health counseling and groups that do everything to empower you. 

Since I got clean and housed, I’ve gotten a CDL. I went to truck driving school, I can drive a semi. And then my fiance died. Drug overdose. 

Usually, if I’m crying in class, it’s got something to do with him. The day our professor said we’re going to have the “author’s reading,” I haven’t heard those two words together since my fiance used to ask me, “Are you ready for the author’s reading?” He was a writer. I would sit there and listen to him. And when that was said on the first day of class, all of a sudden I’m in tears. 

I thought I’d done a pretty good job of grieving my fiance. I was in truck driving school when he overdosed, but I didn’t know for four months after the fact. We weren’t married. He didn’t have my phone number or address in his wallet. 

His last words to me were, “I’ve still got to go out and get well.” We had been broken up for two years. I was living in my apartment with my best friend, and he got a hold of me and asked if there was any hope of us getting back together. He expressed that he wanted to go inpatient, to treat everything like it was a drug. “Today, homelessness is a drug, cigarettes are a drug, alcohol is a drug.” 

He went to detox on Sept. 24 and he was very impatient. I was talking to him on the phone the entire time. He goes, “I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” and I said that if you walk out of that hospital, they’re not letting you back in. You’re under their care. He got impatient and he left, walking around in scrubs. Some lady picked him up off the side of the road and took him to a micro shelter. 

I said, “This is your chance. Right now, this is your opportunity.” It was the day we got back together. He was there for two days. I started making plans to come see him the following Wednesday. He had $5 in his pocket and he went out and overdosed on fentanyl. 

It was in January that I found out. I’d already graduated truck driving school, but I was depressed because I wasn’t hearing from him. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t pin it down, so I decided not to drive truck. I went to the certified recovery mentor training. I wanted to prevent other people from having to feel the way I felt. I went to the 90-hour training program and got a certified recovery mentor. 

What happened after?

Once I got out of that, I really didn’t want to work with individuals. If you’re a single mom, you need $40 for food for your kids or you’re sleeping on the streets and need a place, I’d say, “Oh, just come to my place.” 

No. That’s when I got it in my head that I wanted to set policies for systems serving the homeless. I work with the systems instead of the individuals. Ultimately, it’s going to make the biggest impact. They’re the ones controlling everything. And now, I figure, with the degree I’m going for, it’s a much broader path. 

What major are you pursuing at LBCC?

Interdisciplinary Studies with a minor in Anthropology/Sociology and a minor in Psychology. I graduate from LB June 11, and next fall I start at Eastern. 

How are you going to apply that to your future?

Essentially, I want to change the world. Homelessness is a societal construct with a lot of stigma, and I would like to do something where I can lead advocacy and help systems solve the actual problem. Because it’s not the people, it’s the way we set up everything. 

I also decided to go all the way for the master’s. I would like to be a traveling consultant and go from city to city and help them revamp their advocacy services. I just want to change people’s hearts and minds that are on the street. 

I like to get out there, around homeless camps, because when they see me — especially the people who know me — they see me speaking in normal sentences and wearing normal clothes, driving a nice car … and I tell them what I’m doing. It gives them hope, so I just try to be a good example, try to inspire people. If you’re not happy living out there like that, if you’re not enjoying yourself, there are always options. 

Your life is yours to create. And now I live that. My life is mine to create. I keep doing what I know is going to make me happy. 

I really thought I was going to go to my classes and never let anybody know. I didn’t want to get treated differently. But somewhere along the lines, I get an assignment and I realize that by letting the other students know, I’m shaping a future generation by being willing. I don’t care if somebody judges me or not. 

I have an opportunity to open people’s eyes. Maybe someone on the street will be judged less harshly. I have so much gratitude for being able to go to school and I’m really glad I went in the direction I did instead of going to get a certificate. 

Is there anything you would have changed in the past?

Not a thing. I would not be who I am today. I would not have this drive, this passion, and we need more people with passion. I could give you a list of things that I’m not proud of, but at the end of the day, I’m so far from that and I choose who I am — I choose my choices. 

When I look at where I was — I wouldn’t shower for months on end. I would take a sweatshirt and make pants out of it. Ultimately, you make do with what you’ve got. Before I got paralyzed, my spinal cord was getting cut halfway through, and I lost my ability to know when I needed to use the bathroom. I had to walk around in soiled pants because when you’re on drugs and your back hurts, you don’t know you have a problem, and it’s really sad. 

Nobody wants to sit next to somebody who smells like urine. I see people get treated really badly at soup kitchens. It’s not like they don’t care how they smell; they obviously don’t have the wherewithal to figure out how to get the shower or the clothing. 

This is what makes me mad: The shelters serve individuals who are capable of taking care of themselves, but the people who are not capable generally can’t get into shelters because they can’t take care of their hygiene, or maybe they talk to themselves, or maybe they don’t get along in a communal situation. We’re spending a lot of money to care for people who can care for themselves, while the most vulnerable population is left out there to suffer, and that drives me nuts. 

What are some of your solutions?

I used to go to city council with my quick speech and remind them that it’s cold. Once the temperature changes, I go, “I appreciate the job you do, whether politics are agreed or not,” and then I’ll find some way to lead in. I’ll say, “I appreciate the bike trail that you put in over the bridge. You know who else rides bicycles? Homeless people. Right now it’s getting cold out there, so I hope you make the right choices.” There are places that sit warm all night long, like the library. There’s no reason why you can’t bring people in and let them sleep. 

People need to know that you have a voice. Any one of us can go to the city council meetings. Anything we don’t like, or anything we do — just go there and watch what they’re talking about. See what’s going on in your community and understand that we have a voice, a collective action. 

I used to go to the Vina Moses Center and look at all of the gorgeous clothing — some flowy tops, all floral. I would put them back because I knew, in my life, I was going to destroy whatever clothing I took out there. I literally dressed in things that I wasn’t going to cry about when they got ruined. I knew that they were going to be garbage — it’s not like I spent a lot of time doing laundry. I wore them until I needed them. 

People don’t maintain the clothing that they’ve picked up from all of these free places. They just get more free clothes every week or month. It all gets left and then it just looks nasty. Instead of handing out bundles of clothing, they need to do a clothing exchange. You come in, take your stuff off, shower — the clothing gets washed — and then you get new clothes. People need clothing, but do they need 10 sets at once? No. 

I think that they need to put up lockers — several, spread them out — so people can pack their belongings away, go take a shower, wear some decent clothes and go to a job interview. Anything the community could do to make the people who are unhoused not have to look like it. 

The sweeps seem to be a big part of it, too.

I have 99 ideas. I’m not saying make the people less visible, but make the people’s circumstances in a way that doesn’t look outrageous. The first couple of nights after a sweep are hell, especially in the winter time. You’re told in advance, so then you have to start packing up and find a new place. You don’t have the time or the energy to set up a new situation to stay warm, safe, dry, and eat … and then go back and clean up the mess you’ve left behind. 

I asked why the sweeps happen, and they told me it’s hazardous waste. “The way you guys live is hazardous waste.” So I went back to the area. Do you know how many car batteries I’ve seen that heavy equipment run over? Because, the car batteries were being used for lighting. You take it to O’Reilly’s and they’ll charge it for you. It wasn’t hazardous waste until you ran it over. If it’s really hazardous, why are they not making sure the things are picked up before they start?

I have a whole proposal on a tiered managed camping system. 

Can you elaborate?

Some people are what we call “paper ready,” which means they’re ready to be scooped off the street, cleaned up, and put in a place so they can go get a job. I have an idea for a camp where there’s job search computers, hot showers, and everybody’s clean. No more than eight individuals or six couples at one site, so it’s not overloaded. 

You can have a tent with a little walkway and you have the ability to be able to stay at the camp all day. That way, you’re not having to go back out with the people on drugs. The camp is for people who want to make a change and are ready to work with case managers. 

But then, there’s another intermediate camp for the people who are still struggling. Maybe they’re not ready yet, but they’re willing to put in time, energy, and effort to get clean and all that. They’re allowed to stay around the camp during the day. Each camp has more and more amenities. 

If you don’t give a shit about yourself, maybe you don’t need a nice camp with hot showers. There needs to be outhouses and garbage at each location. But for the minimal camp, it’s a place where you can leave your stuff while you’re gone. No alcohol or drugs on-site, and if you’re going to do that outside all day long, do what you want, but you have a safe place to sleep. A little bit of dignity. 

It would cost a lot less to set this up than it would to continue these sweeps. And if there were fences, then people would not have to see it. If you’re going to make sleeping spaces available, then I don’t have much of a problem with the police running you off from certain areas. The downtown streets are for commerce, not for living. 

I was never disillusioned and thought it was appropriate to start sleeping in all the doorwells of businesses. There’s no bathrooms. It makes it gross. The things that people resort to are gross. There needs to be common respect where the people who are unhoused respect the people who are housed, and visa versa. 

It doesn’t have to be this battle. 

Pivoting to something more lighthearted: what do you do outside of school for fun?

Paddling. I like to go kayaking and paddling. I have a lot of paddle boards and kayaks. I collect them for the purpose of taking people down the river that don’t have the equipment. I also spend time with my mammals. I like to garden. I have all sorts of pretty flowers on my porch. And I like to go hiking — I really like being outside. 

I love it here. It’s kind of growing a little, like a city. 

Do you ever picture yourself anywhere else in the future?

Yeah, on the ocean. My goal is to have a dog rescue. I need 10 acres of land, and I would also like to live on a houseboat, up on the San Juans. I think we can have a houseboat and a sailboat, that way my cats have somewhere square and normal. My life is about water and animals. 

I want to take the dogs that are being put down in shelters, rehabilitate them, and give them to homeless people. Because, in my experience, if you have something to take care of, you are better equipped to take care of yourself. I think that has a lot to do with why I never went too far down any dark paths. I always had my animals in the morning. I’d get up and get water and make sure the animals had food. 

What is it like living in an apartment today?

I’m not lonely. I am not desperate. I am happy and content. I’m at a time in my life where I’m very secure, and I don’t need my boyfriend. I don’t need anybody, I need everybody. I’ve learned to spend time by myself, because when I was homeless and out there on the streets, who’s going to hang out with you but other homeless people? 

It’s all about boundaries. I had a rough upbringing, and so we weren’t taught skills or the word “no.” I had no idea about boundaries until I was deep in my 50s. You’re really vulnerable on the streets. Today, I am the one who teaches people how I’m willing to be treated by setting boundaries. My poor boyfriend asks, “How about I come over this day?” And I say, “I think not.” I say no to him about everything just to see how he’ll react. That’s the best way you can find out who somebody really is: tell them no. 

I live in an apartment, I pay $250 a month. The counties pick up the bigger tab. When I put my key in my door, I feel good about myself. When I pay my rent, I’m happy to pay my rent. I’m super thankful. I go inside and my cats are gonna greet me right ahead. It’s amazing. 

I moved in at the end of August 2 years ago, right before September. Unity Shelters got me a motel room for three weeks while I was waiting for my apartment to be ready, so that I could relax and get ready for school. It was literally seven days after I moved in that it was time for school to start, but I remember being in my apartment — and it was pouring down rain — and I felt so guilty, because there are people out there who don’t know how to prepare for the rain. It was really, really hard to come down, potty my dogs, and walk past people on the sidewalk suffering from the cold and wet. 

It’s difficult to focus on both yourself and your community.

If everybody would give a little bit to their community, that would spread. Other communities would have people give back. We can be one big happy family here on this beautiful planet. The best thing you can do is look around and see what you want to see in the world. Have a high vibration. Just your actual vibration going out from you impacts everybody and everything. If you want to be in paradise, look around and be in paradise. 

I can easily start thinking about all of the things that are wrong around me. Who does that help? The best thing I can do is thrive and just start making it better for yourself and everyone else. 

With a 4.0 GPA and a clear goal set, Grace is proving to conquer the difficulties of homelessness as she achieves what she is passionate about — humanity. Matching Grace’s immense love and determination is challenging, but as a community, we can provide advocacy for those who have smaller voices if we make an effort, together. 

Seeing Grace accomplish this feat proves that anything is possible, if you work hard enough for it. 

At a glance:

Grace Robinson

Age: 56

Hometown: Sacramento, California

Family: Three kids, multiple mammals, and a boyfriend

Education: Student at LBCC, majoring in Interdisciplinary Studies with minors in Anthropology, Sociology, and Psychology. She graduates in June of this year and transfers to Eastern Oregon University.

Years homeless: 25 years

Years housed: 2 ½ years

Goals: To advocate for the homeless by setting policies for systems, and to change the world. She also wishes to run a dog rescue in the future. 

Other interests: Paddling, kayaking, gardening, and hiking.