As reforms take hold, some on rolls feel pinch of new rules

Minnette Carter isn't concerned about the $288 million welfare budget that a legislative subcommittee will begin examining under a microscope in Carson City next week -- she's more worried about how she's going to feed her two small children on $19 in food stamps.

"They just cut me off, to $19 from $323," the 19-year-old high school dropout complained as she sat in the lobby of the welfare office at 700 S. Belrose St., one of the busiest district offices in the state.

Carter is angry but not blameless in the temporary loss of her benefits.

She said she failed to respond quickly enough to a case worker to report how much money she was earning at a temporary job -- $6.40 an hour for seasonal employment.

And so now she again must go through the process of applying for welfare, or Temporary Assistance for Needy Families -- a process that has changed dramatically since she first began receiving financial aid a year ago.

The process is part of welfare reform, federal legislation passed in 1996 that is being credited with reducing the welfare rolls to their lowest level in 30 years and changing the way the welfare system does business.

Between fiscal year 1996 and fiscal year 1998, Nevada's welfare rolls dropped from 39,220 to 27,848.

Because the new law puts a five-year lifetime cap on receiving welfare assistance, hundreds of Nevadans may feel Carter's anxiety in the not too distant future.

The difference is, in theory, they won't be able to return to the welfare office for help.

"The question is, what will happen to those who can't get or hold a job? We're not sure what the future holds," said Assemblywoman Jan Evans, D-Sparks, who helped write the welfare reform law in Nevada that was passed in 1997. "We will have to wait till we get there."

"Our biggest concern is Jan. 1, 2000 -- the first group of clients potentially will go off cash assistance," said Shannon Coubrough, a supervisor with the Clark County office of the Welfare Division.

And the welfare recipients most likely to be affected are the hardest to employ -- the 20 percent of recipients who are described as having characteristics of long-term dependency.

Recognizing that there may be people difficult to put into the workplace, Congress followed up the 1996 legislation with 1997 welfare-to-work funding, an experiment designed to last two years.

Nevada's share of welfare-to-work money is almost $3.4 million for each year of the two-year program, with the state matching that with $1.7 million annually.

President Clinton recently asked Congress for an additional $1 billion to extend the welfare-to-work program.

Southern Nevada, which is home to about three-fourths of the welfare recipients, gets $2.2 million of the federal funds; Northern Nevada gets $658,487. The remainder goes to administration.

The welfare-to-work money goes first to the Department of Labor, then to state welfare departments before it finally is allotted as needed to state private-industry councils. The money is not part of the welfare budget.

There are two such councils in Nevada, one in the north and one in the south, each having a board of 24 appointees who represent various community interests, such as business, industry and social services.

While the board is appointed, it has an administrative staff who essentially act as brokers for acquiring services for the hardest to employ. They review assessments of clients made by the welfare workers and determine what services are needed by individuals to remove barriers to employment.

Robert Brewer, chairman of the local board, says the federal law requires the organization to concentrate on noncustodial parents -- those whose children are receiving welfare but are living with someone else.

"These people traditionally have shown a lack of concern. It is difficult to get them to follow rules," Brewer said.

Some people question the wisdom of making noncustodial parents the first target of funds from welfare-to-work grants.

"There's no incentive for them to come in (for services)," said Helena Garcia, head of Camino al Futuro Inc., a life-skills training center that targets Hispanics.

She also is upset at the procedure in dealing with unemployed, noncustodial parents. "They have to be employed first, and then they qualify for services," she said.

She and others believe it makes more sense to provide the services first, such as life-skills training, counseling and whatever other issues must be dealt with, then find them the job.

Brewer agreed it is difficult to get the noncustodial parents to obey. "Upward mobility is a good idea, but a lot more emphasis should be put on these folks and there should be sanctions to get them to comply," he said.

But, he said, the program is being assessed and will be evaluated in the months ahead.

"Somewhere along the line we will make modifications," he said. "A lot of effort is going on right now. Sincere people are working on this, but we have to find a better way to get the folks (noncustodial parents) to come to the table."

Terry Jones, an executive in the housekeeping division of the Stratosphere hotel-casino, is working on a doctoral dissertation focusing on the issue of what employers are willing to do to accommodate welfare-to-work clients.

Jones says it will cost a company more to train the hardest to employ. "They will be sick more often, not show up more often, be late more often, be less productive. There are more risks," Jones said. "One of my goals is to identify what welfare recipients need to be successful versus what employers are willing to do to accommodate them."

Needs may include transportation, day care, medical attention or altering the hours of employment.

Mark Costa, management analyst for the welfare department, said that at the end of September only $42,528.78 of $3.4 million in welfare-to-work funds had been used by the private-industry councils. More has been spent since then, but he said the figures are not available.

"It's taking too long. We're dealing with people's lives," Vicki Ham, the Stratosphere hotel-casino's career counselor and recruiter, said. "I can't sit on a board and just talk about it (helping people) month after month."

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