Breaking out of the prison of poverty

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February 27, 2010 - 12:00 AM

 

It took 66 rolled up trash bags to seal the seams where the wall did not meet the floor in the trailer. 

Even so, “it was never warm,” said Rose Elliss, remembering her “other life.” 

Though Elliss has a secure existence today, a fear that abject poverty is just one step away continues to haunt her, much like an alcoholic fears he’ll buckle to temptation.

Her many years in poverty is leading Elliss to speak out about her experience in the hopes that the community can learn how to best help those in need. She attended a meeting Tuesday intended to spur community action to address poverty. As she sat among many of the well-heeled participants, she likely was one of the few who could speak from ex-perience.

 

ELLISS, 42, is director of the Pregnancy Resource Center. Though she deals primarily with those ill-equipped for parenthood, her reach extends to those ill-equipped for life.

In its first year of operation in 2008, the center had about 20 clients. In 2009, 119 clients were served. 

“Word has gotten out that we can help in other ways, too,” Elliss said about the resource center, which shares space with The One at 1 S. Jefferson.

For some, the help is not always welcome, she said, because a handout, rather than a lecture, is preferred. 

But with Elliss, strings are attached. She frequently asks questions that make people feel uneasy, and hopefully cause them to think about their lives. 

Elliss said she first experienced “the dark side” when she was 10 and was sexually abused by an extended family member. She was the youngest of nine children whose parents also raised two cousins and took in runaways. 

The dynamics of home life “were always changing,” she said of the family’s El Dorado home. Her father, Merrill Hodgden, was a police officer at the time. Her mother, Susie, was a stay-at-home mom. 

Guilt kept young Rose quiet about the abuse. The silence ate away at her self-esteem.

“From then on, I didn’t think much of myself,” she said. “I had an inward ugliness.” 

From there, it was a slippery slope. 

She became pregnant at 16. Dropped out of school. Left her family to move in with her boyfriend’s, which included moves to Chicago and New Orleans. Living with her in-laws caused strains for the young couple. Her husband failed to follow through on his commitment to join the Navy and went to work at McDonald’s. The low-paying position affected his feelings of self-worth. He turned that self-loathing onto Rose in the form of physical abuse. 

In a year’s time Rose found herself back with her parents, who had moved to Iola in 1983.

But it wasn’t to stay. By then, Rose was on a track to self-destruction. She soon found herself in another relationship, which included a lifestyle of drugs. It was during the next eight years in Emporia that she lived in a trailer — “the kind you pull behind a car,” she said. It lacked hot water because she couldn’t afford electricity. What electricity she had, she “borrowed” from her neighbors by way of a long extension cord. 

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