It’s either ironic or only fitting that the Wayside Cross Ministries resident who has become the leader in the fight for child sex offenders to be able to stay at the downtown Aurora mission would be the first to have to re-register after a Kane County judge denied a restraining order that would have allowed them to remain until their lawsuit challenging enforcement of a sex-offender residency law was resolved.
At 2:30 p.m. Wednesday, Marcus Sabo went to the Aurora Police Department and was informed he could not re-register at Wayside. And so he declared himself homeless, rather than put his address as 215 E. New York St., where for the past 90-plus years, the Wayside mission has stood as an oasis of transformation for addicts and ex-cons, including child sex offenders.
Because he’s now officially homeless, 48-year-old Sabo, who is on staff at Wayside as a resident counselor, will have to re-register with APD every week. But Sabo told me he’s more than willing to do that – even if it means sleeping in his car or on the street.
“I am disappointed and saddened to say that the city of Aurora has decided not to allow me to register today at the same address I have been living at,” he declared in a statement Wednesday afternoon. “This is despite allowing me to do so 25 times previously. What was deemed a legal address all of those previous times … is no longer a legal address according to them.”
The city maintains that the men living at Wayside Cross, which requires residency as part of its intensive faith-based program, are within 500 feet of McCarty Park, which violates the law determining where registered child sex offenders can live.
While Sabo insists there will be more men on the street as these residents are gradually required to re-register, some being forced out say they have a safety net in place that will at least provide them with temporary housing. Rob Duke, who has lived at Wayside for two years, has family to fall back on. But because his brother lives in Rockford, said the 43-year-old man, he will have to give up his job in a Naperville cafe and “start all over.”
Likewise, 50-year-old Michael, who has lived at Wayside for three years but asked that his last name not be used, also has relatives willing to take him in. Yet having to leave the program means he will no longer be able to work in the mission’s car detail shop.
But 30-year-old Gregorio Gonzalez, who has found housing support through members of his church, insists this controversy that’s played out in big headlines for much of the last year is about more than having a roof over their heads.
Wayside Cross not only gives them room and board, it makes them accountable for their actions and provides them with a way of “giving back,” he said, which is critical to their spiritual and moral renewal.
“Being a family here is what this is all about,” added 58-year-old Bobby, who also requested that I not use his last name. “We eat, sleep, study and worship together. We mentor, encourage one another, depend on one another. That’s what is being taken away.”
Sabo insists the fear surrounding child sex offenders as repeat offenders is baseless, pointing to several studies indicating that the more stability the offender has, the more effective the rehabilitation. Even among those not in a program such as Wayside’s, he noted, the rate of recidivism is less than 5%.
While the seven men I recently spoke with insist they would never again commit a sex offense, one resident admitted to concerns that, without Wayside’s program, he could fall back into a life of drug or alcohol abuse that could lead to other crimes.
Michael, out of prison and in a mental health facility was “on a real dark road in life,” when Wayside came along. “It gave me a bright light and a future,” he said. “To have this all taken away is a nightmare.”
The men, many of whom refer to ugly traumas in their own childhoods, say they’ve all had a front-row seat in how Wayside is quietly going about changing lives in a building that, just a few years ago, the city encouraged to stay downtown. While all these residents will eventually leave the program – and in fact, several have transitioned out since this brouhaha began – “that was on a timetable,” noted Sabo.
“Give us that transition time … it’s been proven there are no issues with us here. So let us finish out the program so we have the best chance at success.”
One man, who arrived after the controversy began and asked for complete anonymity, says he’s not only concerned about his re-registration in March, he’s terrified because “I have no place to go” and likely will be “on the streets fighting for survival.”
The law is taking us “from a stable place” where authorities “know exactly where we are and putting us out on the street. How does that make sense?” Sabo asked after referring to several government studies that indicate residency restrictions have little impact on public safety.
But the law is the law.
And faith is faith.
“If we are thrown out, we have Christ behind us and we would survive,” said Sabo, who told me at 4 p.m. on Wednesday that “at this point, I’m not really sure where I will be sleeping tonight.”
Which, of course, is the point.
dcrosby@tribpub.com
