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It's the least we can do — a ride home from John Umstead Hospital.

Twice a day, the van from the Guilford County Sheriff's Office stops at the Butner psychiatric center, which handles involuntary commitments for our part of the state.

The van drops new patients off, and picks up those being discharged, as the state hospitals downsize in favor of "community-based" service.

And three to four times a week, according to the sheriff's office, those who are homeward bound give as their destination 305 W. Lee St.: Weaver House Night Shelter.

"It's happening regularly — very often they just let them off in the parking lot," said Randy Dale, assistant manager of the city's only emergency shelter, which last week went into winter overflow mode. "And very often, we have to turn them away."

Sgt. Don Riordan, supervisor of the sheriff's transportation unit, said, "We don't bring them back at night for that very reason, because the shelter's full. These are people who have no other place to go."

Such is the paradox of North Carolina's sweeping mental health reform. On the one hand are new philosophies of hope and innovation to help recovering people back to fuller, more stable lives. In Greensboro, part of that is an impassioned plan to abolish homelessness within the decade, coaxing people out from under bridges and finding them apartments.

And the other hand? Well, that's where the van lets off.

"It's obviously not the first choice," said psychologist Katy Horne, a liaison between Guilford Mental Health and Umstead.

"But if a person has no funds, doesn't have Medicaid, friends or family to call upon, it comes down to, there really isn't anything else."

At Weaver House, where Dale estimates that a third of the guests suffer from mental illness, the stress of a person being released from a psychiatric hospital to a shelter is considerable.

"Here they are tossed into a 100-bed situation where it would be hard for you or me," Dale said. "Then, we push them out there during the day."

Nowhere is the lack of a day program more evident than in the reading room at the public library, especially in the cold months.

Library staff are trained not to make assumptions about which patrons might be homeless or mentally ill. But the needs are apparent enough that the Central Library will team with a community food pantry for winter dinners on Mondays.

"We're very glad that the library is here for people, but what we also know is that a lot of people are not being served," said Steve Sumerford, assistant library director. "They need things that go beyond the library's mission — things like food and clothing. And a place to live."

Housing advocates take heart in the fact that since June, two new programs have launched to try to help chronically homeless with mental health and substance abuse problems into long-term housing. So far, they've placed about 40 people, and will have placed another 40 by next year.

The downside? That's less than half of the 200 people that last winter's homeless count in Greensboro found were chronically in and out of jails, shelters and mental hospitals.

"The problem is just so big that it can be overwhelming," said Mitch McGee, a caseworker with the Housing Support Team, a pilot program to help street people into permanent supported housing. "It's grim, and there aren't enough resources. But there are a couple of bright lights."

The acid test may be whether programs such as McGee's can demonstrate that repairing the holes in the safety net is cheaper in the long run.

In the meantime, the ride home is courtesy of the sheriff's office. It's the least we can do.

"Sometimes they have nothing, sometimes they carry their whole life in a backpack," Sgt. Riordan said.

"Life is ugly."

Contact Lorraine Ahearn at 373-7334 or lahearn@news-record.com