NORFOLK, Va. — The phone on her desk rang for the 32nd time that day and Courtney Spann readied her tone, soft but steady, a manner she’d perfected over seven months of talking to strangers about their housing struggles.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “Thank you for calling the Regional Housing Crisis Hotline.”
The quavering voice on the other end belonged to a mother of four. This last Tuesday in June, the woman said she was trying her best. But she had lost her job during the pandemic. Her bills had run away from her, and the start of the month was just around the corner.
Spann comforted her the only way she could — offering her hope from a gray cubicle in an office building in Chesapeake. She told the woman that assistance was available and that she was going to help her get it. What bills did she need help with?
“I’m swimming in bills, baby,” the woman said.
“Well,” Spann said, “let’s find you a flotation device.”
