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Erin knew she was in trouble as soon as she saw the police officers walk into the bar. Erin, a Topeka sophomore who asked that her last name be omitted, was one of five underage girls drinking at Fatso's, 1016 Massachusetts Street, when two police officers asked for their identification.

Erin was using the ID of a woman three years older and 50 pounds heavier. Her ID also said she was 5 feet 1 inch tall, though she is actually 5 feet 3 inches. The police collected IDs from all of the girls and returned them to every girl except Erin. One of the officers began to quiz Erin over the information on her ID.

Erin, left, uses the ID of a woman, right, who is two inches shorter and fifty pounds heavier.
Photos by Abbey Strusz

"He told me to stand up, so I stand up and I'm taller than the cop," Erin said. "You know, I'm like 5'8, because I'm really 5'3 and I have these heels on. So I'm just so much taller than he is. But he gave me my ID back and that was that."

Erin was one of many underage drinkers in Lawrence who con their way into bars using fake IDs or the IDs of older people.

Last year Lawrence charged 123 people with using fake IDs or the wrong ID, said Vicki Stanwix, Lawrence Court Administrator. Only eight of these cases were not alcohol related. This year 18 people have been charged, and only one charge was not related to alcohol, Stanwix said.

Minors who use false identification to obtain alcohol face legal consequences. The minor is usually charged with unlawful use of a driver's license or non-driver's identification card, said Karen Price, an Alcohol Beverage Control Enforcement Agent.

Price said the violation is a misdemeanor offense, and can vary in penalties from 100 hours of public service to a fine of up to $2500 or
confinement in jail for up to one year.

Erin got away with her offense. Sarah, Topeka junior who also asked her last name be omitted, was not so lucky.

Sarah and some work friends were at Wilde's Chateau 24, 2412 Iowa Street, when she was removed from the bar and written up for using false identification.

"I'd maybe been there for like 10 minutes when the police came up to me," Sarah said. "It makes me think maybe the manager pointed me out, but I don't know why he would do that, because he'd get in trouble too."

Charles Mee, one of the owners of the Chateau, said employees would not point underage drinkers out to the police because they don't let minors in on purpose. Bars caught serving underage drinkers face severe consequences, from fines to suspension days to losing their liquor licenses.

Dave Boulter, co-owner of the Chateau, said most patrons use driver's licenses as identification. Before someone enters the bar, the door worker checks the license with a black light to see the holograms embedded in licenses. Boulter said this is the best test to see if an ID is real because the holograms are hard to fake. He said his door workers had the most trouble with IDs that are real but do not belong to the people trying to use them.

Door workers at Wilde's Chateau 24 complete a checklist for each ID they check. Information courtesy of Dave Boulter.
Graphic by Abbey Strusz

"You're not really getting the exact picture of the person, especially when you're 20, you're 21, you're 22. You change," Boulter said. "You can change in a summer. You can lose weight, gain weight, change your hair. It depends on so many things."

Erin said she had never been questioned before the time at Fatso's.

"I've used blonde girls' IDs before," Erin said. "I've used IDs that say I'm 28."

The Chateau also takes a picture of the ID and a picture of the person using it as a defense against possible charges. Boulter said this was especially useful when the wrong person uses a real ID.

"So I look at it, and I look at your height and weight, the color of your eyes and things like that," Boulter said. "If it looks reasonably good, and a normal person would say, 'yeah, that's you,' and we have a picture of it, it's a defense."

Price said one of the best ways for bars owners to protect themselves is to make sure their employees are checking the IDs properly.

"[Businesses can] support employees and encourage them to slow down, take their time, and get it right the first time, regardless of how long they may be 'holding up the line' or 'inconveniencing' a customer," Price said.

Erin said she gets away with her fake IDs at some places because she knows a door worker, but that a lot of her success has to do with the attitude she takes.

"I think it has to do with just being confident when you use it," Erin said. "If you act like you're scared, and you act unsure, they're going to know. They can tell. But if you act confident like, 'Yeah, this is me. Go ahead and question me about it. Are you saying this isn't me?' They're not going to question you."

When Stacey Burton faces an obstacle, she doesn't hide and she doesn't back down.

But she does run.

Burton runs for six miles at least four times a week and plays rugby, an intense contact sport, as often as she can.

"She was a badass on the rugby field," said Rachel Gilbert, who played rugby with Burton in college. "She's actually quite petrifying."

Burton uses these activities to relieve the stress caused by her work in community health.  Burton began working in this field when she worked for the Chicago Recovery Alliance during her freshman year at DePaul University.

            The alliance helped people who practiced high-risk behaviors.  These behaviors range from sharing needles while injecting drugs to engaging in sex work--any behavior that might result in a transfer of blood and disease. The alliance set goals for its clients to help them lower their risk of getting and spreading infections.  It also ran a needle exchange program that allowed drug users to trade used needles for clean needles to prevent the spread of HIV and other diseases. 

Her first day on the job, Burton guessed she picked up 300 to 400 needles in a 3-by-3 block radius.  She also met Chrissy.

            "In the first thirty minutes, I watched a woman named Chrissy shoot up her arm, and she missed, so then she went to her leg," Burton said.  "She missed thirty times and there was blood everywhere."

            Burton's contact with Chrissy did not end there.  Through the alliance's programs, Burton and Chrissy became close. 

Chrissy sits with Jeff, another Chicago Recovery Alliance client, in a temporary home built on land near railroad tracks. Many of the alliance clients created a community near the tracks. Photo courtesy of Stacey Burton.

            "She had an abusive home life," Burton said. "She was living with her aunt and uncle, and her uncle was pimping her out to his friends. Over the course of time that was the way she learned to make money. She was a runaway and that was really great way to support herself."

            By the end of Burton's five years in Chicago, the alliance had nearly helped Chrissy become clean.  Chrissy was pregnant, and the alliance helped her get an opiate replacement called methadone and secure housing and a regular income. The methadone helped Chrissy to prevent withdrawal symptoms, which were like having the flu. But the help was not enough.

            "At the end of the night, the money just wasn't enough," Burton said. "So she went out to turn a trick and got picked up by the cops.  They took her to jail and she kept telling them, 'I need my methadone.'"

            Chrissy never got her methadone.  She had a miscarriage after not receiving her methadone that night in jail and killed herself two months later. 

            "This baby was supposed to be her way out," Burton said.

            Burton moved back to Kansas, her home state, soon after Chrissy's death, but continues to work in health education for the Douglas County AIDS Project.  She said her passion comes from working with Chrissy.

            "I have her photo framed in my room," Burton said.  "She's a huge part of my life and a huge reason I do what I do.  She was a good person. She didn't rob people or kill people.  If I had the same life she did, I'd do the things she did."

            Burton knows she matured through her time in Chicago.  She said it was difficult for her to separate the experiences she gained from college and those gained through her work.

            "I was disillusioned about college life," Burton said. "I thought it was normal to come out of college with friends who are hookers."

            Burton said she faced situations that are not in a typical college student's life. Not only did she spend time on the streets, but she also took shifts living in crack houses to do research.  Burton said these experiences had changed her drastically.

            "I'm not scared to die anymore," Burton said, "because when everyone else around you is dying or teetering on death, something in your heart just becomes ok with it."

            Brooke Eickmier, who has been friends with Burton since they were 13, said she saw Burton mature in Chicago.

            "When I saw what she was doing, I saw her really grow from it and learn about life," Eickmier said. "It wasn't the normal growing up, but seeing drugs rip apart lives and how the real world is. She became so strong emotionally. I look up to her for it."

            One thing has not changed through all of Burton's experiences: her energy and constant movement. Stacey's father, Michael Burton, said she was always busy as a child.

            "She was a handful. She was never still, that's for sure. Probably hasn't changed," Michael said. "No, definitely not."

Stacey said she enjoys rugby because it is like no other sport.  Her participation surprised her father, but he said she was always a tomboy.

"There's a lot of contact in rugby," Michael said. "She always liked the boys' stuff as much as anything. She's her own person."

            Stacey said the contact is one of the reasons she loves the sport, which she described as organized chaos.

            "It's definitely a good stress relief," Stacey said. "Nothing says 'fun' like getting the crap beat out of you for ninety minutes."

            Though Michael worries about her safety both when she is playing rugby and when she is working in dangerous parts of cities, he said he would continue to support his daughter.

 LAWRENCE--The situation might not be apparent in the beginning.  A child might start arriving to school late or start missing entire days of class.  The child might wear the same clothing every day for a week. But sometimes children will plainly declare their situations, unaware of the stigmas and social lines they cross in one statement: "I am homeless." 

            Catherine Bolton is a social worker at Pickney Elementary and a counselor at Cordley Elementary.  She said she and other school workers watch closely for these signs that a family needs help.  She has not seen many families that have lost their homes, but she said that any time a family is homeless is too many times.

            "We look at these families as families in transition," Bolton said.  "Most of what I've seen are families that are doubled up."
              Families are considered homeless if they are living with friends or relatives, or "doubled up," because they can no longer afford their homes.  This is one of eight definitions outlined in the McKinney-Vento Act.  The federal government first defined homelessness in the McKinney-Vento Act in 1986.  The Lawrence public school system uses this definition when it considers whether a family is homeless.

            Identifying a family as homeless can sometimes be a difficult step.
            "It's not always easy to know," Bolton said.  "There's a lot of pride and dignity involved."

            Ellen Willets works for Lawrence Public Schools as a specialist who assists families in transition.  A contact in each Lawrence school sends Willets a running total at the end of every month of the number of children and families in that school who have been considered homeless. The total spans the entire year, but may include families who have moved out of the district or who have found permanent housing since the time they were homeless.  This year's total, from August through March, is 70 families with 101 students who have been homeless.

            Willets said this count is probably low.  The district relies on parents to report their own situation, which can be hard, she said.  But without an accurate count, it is difficult for the district to provide assistance.

            "Without a good count, you don't know what your need is," Willets said.  "You don't know if there are 100 people or two people out there unless you're out there."

            Roxanne Hutchison said admitting she needed help was very hard for her. 

            "It was pretty rough at the beginning because nobody wants to become homeless," Hutchison said.  "It's quite a traumatic situation.  Then you have kids on top of it and you want to make sure you can take care of them."

            Hutchison and her eleven-year-old daughter fall into another category of the act.  They are currently in transitional housing provided by Family Promise, an organization which provides temporary housing to homeless families in Lawrence.

            After identifying a family as homeless, the next concern of the school district is to make sure children are safe.

            "We ask, 'do they have their very basic needs met?'" Bolton said. "'Do they have food? Shelter? Clothing?' And we just work up from there."

            One of the requirements of the McKinney-Vento Act is that children be allowed to stay in the school they started the year in, even if they move into the boundaries of another school.  The school district is required to provide transportation from wherever a child is staying to the school he or she attends.  Bolton said this is to minimize the trauma caused by the child's situation.

"We work with them to keep consistency to minimize disruption because there's already enough disruption," Bolton said.

Bolton said that one of the difficulties in helping homeless people in any community is the social stigmas that go along with being homeless.  Everyone wants to help the less fortunate, she said, but they do not want the homeless people to be near them.

"They say 'not in my backyard,'" Bolton said.  "But if we put a shelter out in the country, we can't get people there."

Katherine Dinsdale serves on the Board of Trustees for Family Promise. She said she can not understand prejudices against homeless families.

"It boggles my mind that there is fear associated with moms and little girls with pigtails," Dinsdale said.  "You just have to spend 10 minutes with one of our guests to know they are just like you. Some of these moms are doing really heroic jobs.  Just because they lack housing doesn't mean they're failing."

Dinsdale said that the children that come through her program are like any other kids, they just happen to stay in a church at night and go to the Day Center before school.

"They are going to school and learning to use the potty and pushing boundaries," Dinsdale said.  "Some of these children are amazing, emotionally healthy and happy, amazing, amazing kids. I see others misbehaving and panicking when mom leaves."

Hutchison admitted that she has sometimes let her pride get in the way of asking for help and she has felt defeated before, but that she finds strength in her daughter.