When Carlos Brito’s RV was towed in early September 2024, tears streamed down his face.
His mother had just died after an 18-year battle with ovarian cancer that worsened earlier that year. Brito, 72, was determined to keep paying rent on their subsidized Mission District apartment for seniors. But after her death, he was evicted.
For the first time, Brito slipped into homelessness. Hoping to avoid the streets, he bought a rundown RV for $600 from a neighbor. For many older immigrants and families, vehicles are a last resort, a fragile safety net.
Brito, originally from El Salvador, migrated to the U.S. from Venezuela in 1978 after divorcing his first wife. He built a life as a contractor, working in construction for almost three decades. Within five years, a car accident left him permanently scarred after spinal surgery with metal rods inserted in his back. He now suffers from severe chronic pain, especially during winters. As his body weakened, his ability to work diminished. “I just want to live out my remaining years with dignity,” he said.
Drawing on his construction experience, Brito patched the RV’s floors and worked to update its registration. But the work was punishing. Just 33 days later, the city towed it for not updating the registration tags in time, he says — a foreshock of San Francisco’s looming ban on vehicles used as shelter.
“I have cried many times of sadness because I feel alone,” Brito said. “In the mornings I would wake up and my mom would have our food ready and we would sit together. We were so happy.”
Aging while homeless
Brito’s story reflects a larger trend. A 2023 UCSF study reported that 48 percent of single homeless adults were over 50. Many had lived stable working class lives until one crisis pushed them into homelessness.
“They tended to be working poor people who were doing their best then something happened,” said Dr. Margot Kushel, who led the research. “People think it is all about substance use or mental health but often it is affordability, health or loss of support.”
Older adults who fall into homelessness later in life face sharper risks. Studies show they are about 60 percent more likely to die than those who became homeless earlier.
In San Francisco, more than 1,000 unhoused residents are 65 and older, with another 2,200 between 55 and 64. Latinos make up one third of the city’s homeless population.
In April, the city opened Jerrold Commons in Bayview, its first shelter designed for older adults, with 68 beds and limited safe parking for RV dwellers. Plans to expand have stalled amid political disputes. Since then, Mayor Daniel Lurie abandoned his campaign pledge to add 1,500 shelter beds.
The broader picture is grim. According to San Francisco’s Aging and Disability Affordable Housing Implementation Plan, 42 percent of older adults in the city are renters and more than three quarters of them are low income. Nearly half live alone, surviving on a median income of just $17,313 a year. Among extremely low income senior renters, 42 percent spend more than three quarters of their income on housing. Adults with disabilities face even sharper odds, with median incomes below $14,000.
“We are failing our seniors by allowing them to sleep on the streets and in shelter beds as they live their last years,” Kushel said. Monica Davalos, a policy analyst at the California Budget and Policy Center, was more blunt. “Fundamentally it is really just a moral failing. When one person in our community does not have a home it affects all of us.”
Isolation and loss in old age
Though Brito retrieved the RV within hours after the city towed it, it didn’t feel like relief. Rats infested the walls, rain leaked through the roof, and he fell face-first from a ladder while patching it. Thieves later stole his tools. Eventually, he sold it. “Having that thing was becoming more of a burden and less of a place of rest,” he said.
Today he stays with a friend in another vehicle. Neighbors look out for him, but now in his seventies, he struggles with loneliness, alcoholism and depression.
“I have thought about driving onto the freeway and crashing into a semi-truck,” he said, while tearfully caressing his cigarette. “I never thought that I would be so alone in this situation, especially without my mom.”
Brito’s isolation is stark compared to many Latino families who rely on intergenerational caregiving. His two brothers live in the Bay Area, but he says they have not reached out. “I have no one. My mom was all I had left. We were so close and my purpose was to take care of her every day. That is all that mattered. I was her caretaker for 14 years.”
Brito has applied for affordable housing vouchers but says he has waited three years without results. His $900 monthly Social Security check could cover part of a studio apartment if a voucher were approved. But time is running out.
As Brito gets older, a need for a simpler and less costly life in El Salvador has begun to set in. According to Brito, he owns a small house and a patch of land, where he dreams of growing avocados and mangos to sell.
But Brito is not ready to give up just yet. He would like to see out some of his 80s in San Francisco, and to stay close to his mother who is buried in Colma.
“My mother is buried there so I cannot leave just yet,” he said. “But with how life is going, my will to stay becomes weaker. I want to live in peace.”
