The homeless student who didn’t raise her hand
Pull at the thread of a Giving Fund story, and hundreds of others will spill out.
The anonymous stories we publish to raise donations during the holidays are brief. Case #303 was just 72 words. It takes just two to pull you in: “homeless” and “student.” Diana was living in her car before moving in with a friend who asked her to pitch in on rent.
Three other words caught the attention of Melissa Gallaher-Smith: “Norwalk Community College.”
I know Gallaher-Smith from her days as development director for The Rowan Center, a sexual assault resource agency based in Stamford. She recently started a new job as NCC’s grants and program manager, and knew the school could help this student.
We connected dots between the NCC Foundation and the agency that made the request on Diana’s behalf.
This story is still being written, and should have a happy ending. But it represents a worst-case scenario for Carrie Bernier, CEO of the NCC Foundation, which operates independently of the college and raises about $3 million a year for scholarships, support services and emergency aid.
“My greatest fear is we have these funds and we’re not reaching the students who need it the most,” she told me. “How come she’s not on our radar screen?”
It’s not for lack of trying. The foundation has done admirable work, not only to identify needs and deliver resources, but to document the outcome on student retention.
I called Bernier with no questions in hand, looking to see where the conversation took us. She did the opposite, armed with data and anecdotal evidence. I was the unprepared student, so I pulled a few more threads to draw personal reflections.
Like Gallaher-Smith, Bernier came from a background of working with survivors. She was director of court and legal services for the Domestic Violence Crisis Center in Stamford after handling domestic violence cases as a lawyer in the State’s Attorney Office.
She’s seen a lot, yet her entry into academia four years ago has been no less emotional.
One student “had a special place in my heart” because a domestic violence situation left her homeless, Bernier recalled. When Bernier finally returned to campus during the pandemic to distribute computers, it took a few moments for them to recognize one another behind masks.
“We held each other’s gaze for a really long time. Then she came running to me. We both forgot that you’re not supposed to touch. You’re not supposed to hug. She just fell into my arms. It was like she melted. She just started crying and said three of her family members had died of COVID.”
Let’s pull at a different thread.
When COVID first hit, teachers quickly identified a problem the foundation could address. Many students, lacking computers, had the resolve to write papers on their cell phones. Foundation staffers scrambled to buy as many laptops as they could. Computers became one more item on a shopping list that included grocery and gas cards and assistance with utility expenses and rent.
Staffers recognized that one student had no family in the area, could no longer access school computers and couldn’t continue working as an Uber driver. So they checked in on him. Did he need a laptop? Food? Anything else?
The student later reached out to Bernier.
“He just wrote, ‘That email made me feel important, like I mattered to someone.’ He said it was like a lifeline.”
He got a laptop. He got food. He stayed in school. Bernier keeps using the word “grit” to describe NCC students. She champions education as the equalizer in a county where the rich and poor collide like few other places in America. Get a first-generation student a college education and it can improve an entire family narrative, she reasons.
“You see it all here ...”
The pause is brief. She doesn’t have to think long about what “it all” represents. The words tumble out quickly: “You see domestic violence, substance abuse, mental health, food insecurity, homelessness ...”
I can almost hear the ellipses. The list never really ends.
With the precision of a lawyer, Bernier contextualizes “grit” with facts.
⏩ Nearly 70 percent of NCC students qualify for financial aid. Many live paycheck to paycheck in multigenerational homes caring for relatives while working and studying.
⏩ Nearly 25 percent of NCC students are parents. A survey of students was held in January 2020, shortly before the COVID outbreak. The numbers are unsettling enough without considering how much worse they probably are now.
⏩ Nearly 60 percent of students indicated concern that their access to food would run out.
⏩ More than 25 percent said they sometimes didn’t eat for an entire day because they couldn’t afford it.
NCC was the first community college in the state to host a food pantry (launched in 2015). The foundation is working to demonstrate that emergency aid boosts graduation numbers. In March, the team will present the results at a national conference in Baltimore that is expected to draw 9,000 people.
We’ll revisit those numbers in the new year. For now, there remain too many loose threads in 2021. The Giving Fund has a lot of other cases to fulfill, and the NCC Foundation still needs to convince some proudly self-reliant students that help is available and it’s OK to ask for it.”
“Even if there are signs up and posters and lawn signs around campus they still think it’s not for them, it’s for someone else,” Bernier said.
It should be the first lesson any student learns: If you need help, raise your hand.