The gruesome discovery last week of another body in Forest
Park, fueling suspicions that a serial killer is on the
loose, sent a wave of fear through the vulnerable yet
surprisingly close-knit subculture of women who live on
the street.
Following the murders of Lilla Faye Moler, 28, and
Stephanie Lynn Russell, 26, news of the third victim,
Alexandria Nicole Ison, a 17-year-old homeless woman,
has caused particular concern among homeless teenage
girls--in many ways the most vulnerable people living
on the street. "It's making people really worried,"
says Playboy, a 17-year-old homeless woman who knew
Ison by her street name, Tomorrow.
For many of these women, the victims were more than
mug shots and rap sheets. They were friends, sisters,
fellow travelers on a dangerous and often brutal byway.
They looked out for one another, watched each other's
back and tried to avail themselves of whatever slender
safeguards were at their disposal.
Playboy, who has been bouncing around the streets since
she was 15, says Ison battled heroin addiction and,
like Moler and Russell, sometimes turned to prostitution.
Ison did what she could to keep herself out of danger,
Playboy says. She preferred to stand on street corners
in Northeast Portland rather than downtown because she
felt the neighborhood was safer.
She carried a knife, Playboy says, and would ask friends
to stand across the street and write down the license
plate numbers of the cars she got into in case she didn't
return on time. "Obviously it didn't help at all," Playboy
says, wiping the tears from her eyes.
Matt Wetzel, a homeless 17-year-old, told WW
that Ison used to write down license plate numbers for
him while he was turning tricks. "Bonds are a lot stronger
down here, and they're made a lot faster because they're
made for survival," he says.
Police say that they've heard of other prostitutes
using such a "buddy system." It's possible that the
victims' friends may have information on potential suspects,
but WW was unable to find out whether police
are pursuing such leads.
Ison's friends say they worry that her alleged drug
use and prostitution will come to define her and the
other two victims. "A lot of people in this town say,
'Oh, these were hookers and junkies who are being murdered.'"
says Wetzel. "I knew her. I want to show people that
she was a person, not just another hooker."
"All people say is that [Ison] was a junkie and a prostitute,"
says Playboy, who stenciled her friend's name on the
hooded jacket she wears to shield herself from the unseasonable
cold. "But that wasn't her choice. She was the sweetest
girl, and she didn't deserve to die like that."
Counselors and social workers who work with prostitutes
and homeless women and teenagers say the mood of their
clients has taken a dramatic turn for the worse as news
has leaked out about the three victims, each of whom
was struggling to escape the cycle of addiction, homelessness
and prostitution.
"It's pretty unnerving for all of us," says Doreen
Binder, the executive director of Transition Projects
Inc., which operates the women's shelter Jean's Place.
Moler and Russell had both received services from TPI.
For women who live on the street, fear is hardly a
novel emotion. "They live with that fear all the time,"
says Denise Washington, the executive director of the
Council for Prostitution Alternatives. "The everyday
reality of prostitution is that you could be killed."
"People are scared," says Angela Davis, 41, a resident
of Jean's Place who was friends with Moler and Russell.
"It's so close to home."
Although Portland does a good job compared with many
other cities, there is an acute shortage of low-income
housing and secure shelter for women on the streets.
Jean's Place, with 55 beds, is currently the only shelter
for women who are not victims of domestic abuse. The
waiting list there is roughly six weeks. "There's a
terrible unmet need," says Alicia Curtis, the deputy
director of TPI. "It's heart-wrenching when we have
women calling us and we don't have any room."
Since its opening in January, Rose Haven, a drop-in
center for homeless women located in Old Town, has served
almost 400 people--Moler and Russell among them. "That
says something about the need for housing, for shelter,
for resources," says Sister Cathie Boerboom. "The situation
is terrible."
Without access to the services they need, many women
are forced to fashion their own strategies for survival,
however painful. "[Prostitution] is not a profession--it's
a lack of options," says Davis, who spent years hustling
on the street to feed her heroin addiction. "I was out
there using for 27 years. Who's going to hire a woman
who's never had a job, who's been a drug addict and
gone to prison?"
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Willamette Week | originally
published June 9, 1999
