MOM DESERVES ANOTHER CHANCE TO BEAT EVICTION

Sitting in Marisa Perez's San Jose apartment, I find it's hard to buy the
notion she's a crime magnet.

Perez is the single mom who's facing eviction from the
government-subsidized three-bedroom she shares with her four kids. Her
oldest, 17-year-old Carlos, was arrested outside the place last month with
a pot pipe.

And under a tough interpretation of public housing laws, reaffirmed by a
recent Supreme Court ruling, Carlos' actions could get his whole family put
out on the street -- including 4-year-old Talia and 7-year-old Isaac.

``This is the only home they've ever known,'' says Perez, who's lived at
Elena Gardens for 13 years. ``I don't want them to have to be camping on
somebody's couch for months till we can find something.''

The subsidized apartment, which is clean if a bit chaotic, costs her $700 a
month. Her take-home pay from a Santa Clara software company is about
$2,300 a month.

``If we do have to move,'' she says, ``it's going to be literally `rent or
dinner?' ''

Perez's family isn't perfect. Her husband, Carlos Sr., is pulling a 14-year
hitch in prison for his second assault conviction. (She says he was
standing up for a friend in a fight.)

Carlos Jr. started getting into trouble after his dad got sent off.

Perez says she's tried to get Carlos into drug treatment, but he's skipped
out. She's even called the cops to take him back to Juvenile Hall.

``I've got to set an example'' for her younger children, she says.

Carlos, a handsome kid, says he'd like to get into the computer industry
like his mom. A high school dropout, he's working toward his GED.

Asked if the prospect of his behavior getting his little siblings kicked
out of their home is enough to finally scare him straight, he says yes.

You'd like to believe him.

Protecting other tenants

Elena Gardens, the complex where the the family lives, is owned by a
non-profit church group. Todd Rothbard, a lawyer for the group, says
public-housing landlords are damned if they do and damned if they don't.

If an owner doesn't kick out law-breakers, he notes, ``The story becomes,
`We're living in a hellhole, and the landlord won't do anything.' ''

The law holds public-housing tenants responsible if a family member or
guest uses drugs or breaks other laws, even if the tenant doesn't know
about it.

It would be one thing if Perez's son had been running a crystal meth lab in
the bathroom. But the kid didn't even have marijuana on him when he was
arrested.

A reporter and I talked to about 10 of Perez's neighbors at Elena Gardens
this week. While you get the sense she's not popular with everybody, very
few thought she should be booted for her son's behavior.

``I feel so bad for her,'' one woman said. ``Once you get evicted, who's
going to rent to you? And she's got those four kids.''

Tough choices

Rothbard says the complex owners probably would let Perez stay as a
``probationary tenant'' as long as she keeps Carlos away.

Could Perez live with that?

``It would be hard,'' she says, her eyes starting to water as she looks at
her eldest child. ``I mean, he's my son. He's underage. I'm responsible for
him.''

Even if she gets the reprieve, Perez knows she could end up getting evicted
down the road. She worries that a zero-tolerance probation might mean the
family could be sent packing if, say, Isaac got caught playing in the
neighbor's roses.

Carlos definitely won't be going anywhere for the next 90 days: He's under
house arrest for the drug charge and wears a monitoring bracelet around his
ankle.

``We've had our differences,'' Perez says, sitting next to him on the
couch. ``But he helps, too. He takes care of the little kids while I'm at
work.''

He may not be the ideal son, and Perez may not be the ideal neighbor; few
are. But she and her children seem like decent people doing their best.
They deserve another chance.