Apartment Doesn’T Stop For Death

FOR THE RECORD: November 23, 1999: Name misspelled: Jayne Auld is director of Spokane Housing Ventures. Her first name was misspelled in Doug Clark’s column on Sunday.

The saddest thing isn’t that Tony Whitehead died in his shoebox room at a Spokane apartment complex for the formerly homeless.

The saddest thing is that Whitehead, who was well-liked and who stood 6-foot-4 and weighed 300 pounds, could disappear for the better part of a month without anyone much giving a damn.

So it goes at the Wilton, a four-story monument to good intentions and poor management at Browne and Pacific.

Even the unspeakable smell that invaded the fourth floor didn’t raise much concern.

Tenants claim their complaints to Wilton officials, when they could find them, were treated with cursory “we’ll look into it” nods.

“It’s pretty easy to ignore a smell like that in a building like this,” says Randy, a Wilton tenant who performs janitorial duties. “You smell something like that and hope it goes away.”

One tenant near Whitehead’s room, No. 55, says he fought the odor by taping perfume samples on his walls. At night, he adds, the smell would trick him into thinking he was back in Vietnam.

“I smelled that for a couple of weeks,” says Norm, another combat veteran. “I knew it was death. I’d smelled it before.”

Norm, however, wouldn’t get involved. “I figured it would be taken care of.”

Eventually, the situation deteriorated beyond Wilton standards for endurance. Last Monday, the custodian and a manager for Spokane Housing Ventures, the nonprofit agency that oversees the Wilton, went to investigate.

George Lindholm, the county’s medical examiner, says Whitehead died of natural causes, perhaps two to three weeks before he was found. Friends believe the dead man was 54.

The indignity of such an end has provoked feelings of guilt from some. One tenant, Ray, says he knocked on Whitehead’s door and left messages on his answering machine. He regrets not doing more.

But there was a general belief Whitehead might have been in Portland having back surgery, says Jane Auld, the director of Spokane Housing Ventures.

Barging into someone’s room is a legally delicate business for a landlord. It also didn’t help that the Wilton’s resident manager was in the process of leaving.

That no doubt added to the communications breakdown. “I’ll be honest,” Auld adds. “We struggle all the time with trying to get the right management.”

The high burnout rate for Wilton managers isn’t hard to figure. The building is in a trouble zone familiar to police. Prostitution, dope deals and bar brawls are routine around here.

The Wilton is supposedly drug and alcohol free. That, tenants say, is more pipe dream than reality. Security is spotty. Street problems often spill inside.

“People here are recovering from a variety of issues such as depression, drug and alcohol problems and catastrophic illness,” says Jeremy Street, a tenant and resident representative.

Rent at the Wilton, which opened in 1996, is about $348 a month. Residents pay only a portion, depending on their income. The rest comes from various social service agencies.

Street also publishes the Wilton Update, an apartment newsletter that, at times, is critical of management.

He contends Spokane Housing Ventures doesn’t do enough to help the troubled lives who call the Wilton home. Street is an eloquent writer who stumps for on-site social services as well as a reliable manager.

“You don’t put a roof over their heads, give ‘em some food stamps and expect them to suddenly ascend through society,” he says.

If Auld had it to do over again, she says she would have planned the Wilton with exactly such amenities. Once the funding is in place, however, it is difficult to find more.

One thing is clear after all this: Nobody will ever confuse Wilton with Hilton.

“It’s pretty ludicrous to even call this an apartment,” declares Norm, the combat veteran, of his tiny room. “I’ve been in bigger jails.”