Homeless in Cobb: Life in a Delk Road Motel

But he doesn’t have a permanent living situation, either. Franklin was one of several people the MDJ interviewed who were living at the Budget Inn & Suite off Delk Road in Marietta.

“I got a roof, got a TV, bathroom, shower. I'm not homeless,” Franklin said. “I work. … Homeless people just don't have sh—, don't have work, don't have money, don't have access to nothing. I’m not in that situation.”

Franklin, 51, labors at the Tip Top Poultry facility on Wallace Road for $12.50 an hour, and his wife Robin, 62, works as a home care nurse.

Originally from East St. Louis, Illinois, Franklin has been in Georgia for four decades. The last time he had a long-term apartment was about five years ago. But he’s never been on the street.

“I said to myself I will never get that low, I will always have a job no matter how old I get,” Franklin said.

People living in hotels and motels, sleeping on the couch of friends or family are sometimes termed the “hidden homeless,” since they don’t show up in national statistics about homelessness.

The Department of Housing and Urban Development, which collects data on America’s homeless people, defines homelessness as lacking a “fixed, regular, and adequate nighttime residence.” Nationwide, there were a record 771,480 experiencing homelessness in January 2024, according to HUD, an 18% increase from 2023.

That includes people sleeping on the street, in cars and in shelters, but not people who are paying to live in hotels, nor staying with other people — “couchsurfing” or “doubling up.”

In January 2024, Cobb County had 669 people staying in homeless shelters, according to the annual homeless count conducted by the Cobb Homeless Alliance.

Volunteers also recorded 283 people living outside without any shelter, though that number is likely an undercount.

Unrecorded, however, is the number of people in the middle: those without a home to call their own, but who are not observed in shelters or outdoor tents.

Hotels and doubling up represent the last resort for people who’ve lost permanent housing, for whatever reason, other than entering a shelter or camping outside.

Melanie Kagan, CEO of Marietta-based Center for Family Resources, said those situations are common for people who are recently homeless. They tend to be very low-income, often working poor, but are not totally destitute.

In its annual homelessness report to Congress, HUD noted that the biggest increase from 2023 to 2024 was among families with children, which saw a 39% increase year-over-year.

In Cobb, Kagan believes there’s been “a very large increase in situational homelessness, with families in particular.”

“People are just finding themselves in between,” Kagan said. “Like, ‘I couldn't afford my rent, or they wouldn't renew my lease … and now here I am, three months later, and I'm either still in a hotel or I've had to stay with my friends.’”

Student data

The only local data point which sheds light on the size of the population living in hotels or doubling up comes from Cobb’s public school districts, which have thousands of homeless students.

School districts are required to report how many students they have who lack a fixed, regular and adequate nighttime residence to the U.S. Department of Education. Those numbers include students who are in hotels or doubling up.

Combined, the number of homeless students in the Cobb County and Marietta school districts has fluctuated between 1,700 and 2,800 over the past four years.

In fiscal year 2024, Marietta City Schools had 564 homeless students, representing 6.1% of students. The Cobb County School District had 1,941, or 1.7% of students.

That year, about 46% of Marietta’s homeless students were in hotels, 39% were doubled up and 15% were in shelters. Students' living situations are constantly in flux, though. 

“The primary nighttime residence of our homeless children and youth changes daily which is why it is so important to properly identify students and help to maintain a stable home school,” said Brittney Bridges, who oversees the district’s homeless education program.

Cobb schools had a similar breakdown. In the last fiscal 2025 count, 44% of the district's homeless students were in hotels and 38% were doubled up, according to data obtained through an open records request. The remainder were in shelters, unsheltered or in an “institution for the neglected.”

“In Cobb County, (homelessness) is disproportionately impacting kids,” Kagan said. “And for an affluent county, most people would find that sort of amazing, right? Or appalling.”

‘Wish I was somewhere else’

Franklin likes the work at the chicken plant all right, though says he made better money at a different one — the Pilgrim’s Pride facility in Chattanooga, Tennessee. He’s also worked as a truck driver and in restaurants.

Franklin and his wife have been together six years, married for four. They recently spent a year in Chattanooga when she was getting cancer treatments at a hospital there.

Money is so tight that Franklin doesn’t usually take the bus. Instead, he walks an hour and 15 minutes each way to work.

If only he had a car, he could get a higher-paying job farther from the motel, he said. Moving motels isn’t an option, because the one they’re at is close to his wife’s job, and she earns more as a nurse than him.

This convergence of factors makes Franklin feel trapped in a cycle — he can’t afford a car because he needs a higher-paying job, but he can’t travel to a higher-paying job without a vehicle.

Still, he’s philosophical about his situation, and has few complaints about the motel. It could be worse.

“It all depends on how you feel about it. You know, how you handle your business,” Franklin said. “... “I'm happy because I'm alive and I got my wife with me.

“But other than that … I wish I was somewhere else.”

Another motel resident was Shevetta Adams, 55, a New Orleans native who came to Georgia in 2001. Adams has two sons: one gave her four grandchildren (they live with their mother) and is incarcerated. The other is 32, intellectually disabled and lives with Adams.

Adams is not a fan of the motel, calling it “roach-infested.” In her room, she pointed out stained chairs and faulty lamps.

“We got dust mites for days. It’s very nasty,” she said. “... "They're taking advantage of us.”

Adams had been staying there on and off for about a year. When she can afford it, she prefers to stay at the adjacent Quality Inn, which she said is nicer but more expensive.

“That's the best motel for us that's going through a struggle,” she said of the Quality Inn.

It’s been 10 years since Adams had permanent housing. She lost her last apartment because she couldn’t meet rent. She said she’s struggled with crack cocaine in the past, but is sober now.

“Bad choices, and companions too,” she said, recalling how she became homeless.

Adams’ son receives $800 a month in disability insurance. She spends most of her time trying to come up with a night’s rent, including panhandling in the area near the hotel.

She said she’s sought jobs in warehouses and restaurants, but has problems with gout and her sciatic nerve which limit her physically.

“I just want God to take me out of this,” Adams said. “Because I'm ready to get back into my life, with my kids, get a job, restore my life.”

Like Rod Franklin, Enoldine Theodore, 25, was working at Tip Top Poultry and living at the Budget Inn. Theodore grew up in south Florida, the child of Haitian immigrants. She had been working at the poultry plant a few months. She has two children, but they’re in the foster system, in another state.

Her income isn’t enough to get an apartment, “unless you literally don't (spend) nothing at all,” she said.

The day she spoke to the Journal, Theodore’s belongings were on the walkway outside her room. There was a suitcase, blankets, a pair of shoes, plastic garbage bags stuffed with clothes.  She’d been told she had to leave for at least one night. The motel only allows people to stay for a limited period. She wasn’t sure where she’d go.

Kristy Vyas of Marietta works at the motel. She immigrated to the U.S. from India a decade ago and has managed the property and its 10-person staff for two years.

In response to reports of bugs and general uncleanliness, Vyas blamed it on people staying for weeks at a time, keeping food in the rooms and refusing housekeeping. That’s part of the reason the motel doesn’t allow people to stay in a room for more than three weeks at a time.

“One person is staying … they're not taking service, keeping food and everything. Bugs will come. And that will go to the next (room),” she said.

The Budget Inn received an 86 out of 100 on its most recent state inspection, conducted last November. The inspector found roaches, stained mattresses, cigarette burns on sheets, a hole in a bathroom wall and gaps in between some floor boards. The motel did, however, prove to inspectors it was actively conducting pest control.

Vyas said the hotel used to be an extended-stay, but imposed the 21-day limit in part because "people who are staying longer ... they will say, 'I'm not going to pay, I'm (a) resident.'"

People who stay at hotels long enough can claim the rights of a tenant, which, unlike guests, can't be kicked out of a hotel without a court-ordered eviction. 

“People, they're taking advantage, they're not leaving,” Vyas said, “and we have to file eviction.”

The question of when a guest becomes a tenant was the subject of a case that went before the state Supreme Court in 2023.

Rich Merritt, an attorney with Cobb Legal Aid, said the answer is complicated and depends on the case. The practical impact of the Supreme Court ruling is that, for hotels to remove long-term guests/tenants, they often have to go to court.

"The courts are going to look at the intent of the parties at the time that the residency was established, whether they intended to be a guest or a tenant, they look at a lot of different factors," Merritt said.

Being poor is expensive

Rochelle Fields, a 55-year-old mother of six pays nightly to stay at the motel. Three of Fields’ children are adults, but others are still in public school. One middle school-aged daughter attends the Marietta school system's alternative school at the Woods-Wilkins campus. Two high school-aged daughters attend online school.

She said she lived in Section 8 housing for 17 years before becoming homeless two years ago.

“Try your best not to get in this situation, because it’s my first time, and I wouldn’t put it on no one,” Fields said. “… But it beats being outside, sleeping in the cold.”

Fields finds herself in the same bind as many homeless people: she uses what little income she has to survive day to day, but can't save up to break out of her situation.

On a monthly basis, the cost of her motel room — $85 to $95 a night, or $2,500 a month — is similar to what she might pay for a three-bedroom apartment. But Fields would need enough money to put down a deposit and pay other fees, and a landlord who would overlook her bad credit.

Rates start at $65 a night for the smallest rooms, per Vyas, but fluctuate based on demand.

“It is very expensive to be poor,” Kagan said. “So once you fall into that lower realm where you have racked up fees for things, or you've lost a car, all the things that come with not having funds or not having the availability to fix problems when they happen, it's more and more expensive to get out of that hole.”

So Fields, her school-age children and a dog are packed into a first-floor room at the Budget Inn.

“People like me don’t have nowhere to go,” Fields said.

Fields relies on limited government insurance and panhandling to survive. She is missing an eye which she said she lost when she was assaulted and robbed in a Clayton County parking lot as she was coming home from her old job at Cracker Barrel. She has glaucoma in her remaining eye.

People experiencing homelessness often transition through different phases. For some, hotels are the first place they go when they lose housing.

MUST Ministries pays for rooms at hotels off Barrett Parkway when its emergency shelter is overflowing, such as during severe weather events.

Kerria, a 23-year-old mother of four who asked that the MDJ not use her full name, lost her apartment a couple of months ago. She moved into a hotel with her children.

“It’s not what we were used to at all,” Kerria said of the hotel. “It was very sketchy.”

That prompted her to leave and stay at MUST's emergency shelter. After a brief stint there, she found a better, quieter hotel. In the meantime she’d gotten a job and was saving up for an apartment.

The median gross rent in Cobb was $1,740 in 2023, per the U.S. Census Bureau. For an apartment with that rent requiring a month’s rent as a security deposit, moving in would cost $3,480. And that doesn’t include other one-time fees landlords charge, plus utility activation fees, which can add up to hundreds of dollars.

For others, hotels may represent a brief respite. Jerry Mitchell, 73, is chronically homeless, having lived on the streets for years. Surviving off panhandling, Social Security and disability, he can afford a room for a night or two each month.

Mitchell, for whom bathing is a luxury, is never cleaner than on those nights.

“I'm in and out of the shower, in and out of the shower,” he said. “I fell asleep in the bath tub.”

Mitchell's tent is in the woods in Cumberland. He prefers to stay alone; there are no other tents near his.

During baseball season, however, the hotels around there, by Truist Park, are “out of the question.”

Fields and Adams spoke with the MDJ again last week, a couple months after being interviewed at the Budget Inn. Adams had moved to a new motel with lower rates — just $275 a week — and had an upcoming job interview at a restaurant.

Fields was still at the Budget Inn, and had little news to report.

“Still here,” she said. “Still struggling.”