A few escape Sunnydale, but many are trapped A few get out, but some are trapped for decades in decrepit apartments

Sandy Knox warns Alvin Hanigan , the father of her children, not to give her trouble when he comes to the apartment to hangout in San Francisco, Calif. MANDATORY CREDITFOR PHOTGRAPHER AND SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE/NO SALES-MAGS OUT less Sandy Knox warns Alvin Hanigan , the father of her children, not to give her trouble when he comes to the apartment to hangout in San Francisco, Calif. MANDATORY CREDITFOR PHOTGRAPHER AND SAN FRANCISCO ... more Photo: Lacy Atkins, The Chronicle Photo: Lacy Atkins, The Chronicle Image 1 of / 12 Caption Close A few escape Sunnydale, but many are trapped 1 / 12 Back to Gallery

Sandra Knox is singing to her dead husband's face on a T-shirt.

"I've got something I want to say," she belts, one fist pumping to the beat of a Temptations song, while the other grips a lit Newport. "You know you make my heart go crazy. You're such a sexy man."

Today, Sandy sings to the "In Loving Memory" shirt dangling from the ceiling fan on a hanger. It's the same shirt she kisses each morning, sprays with her late husband's cologne, and yells at. It's the shirt she stuffs in a drawer when she is too frustrated to think about him.

Her next-door neighbor, Arlene Harris, is nearby, leaning against a wall, worried. The two women have grown close since Arlene moved to the Sunnydale housing development four years ago. Arlene is concerned about Sandy, who is still grief-stricken over the slaying of her husband on New Year's Day 2007, because she spends most of her days inside. It's been almost a year, and Sandy doesn't seem any closer to healing.

"Go outside?" Sandy asks. "For what?"

Arlene and Sandy are alike in many ways. Both grew up in San Francisco public housing, experienced violent relationships, had several children and make a living running underground stores in the projects.

Arlene sells cigarettes and candy. Sandy offers cupcakes, pineapple sodas and beef jerky.

The sales cover the women's $25 monthly rent, with a little cash left over for food, cigarettes and supplies. The money provides just enough to survive inside Sunnydale.

But to get out, it takes more. It takes not only cash but persistence, the ability to seek out counseling and treatment services - and an innate stubbornness.

This is what sets Sandy and Arlene apart from one another.

Sandy is resigned to staying in Sunnydale.

Arlene is determined to get out.

Sandra Knox was born at San Francisco General Hospital 50 years ago and was raised in a Hunters Point housing project. She moved to Sunnydale with her first husband about 30 years ago and had three daughters. Her girls have since moved, and continually try to get her to do the same. Sandy gives a number of reasons as to why she can't.

"I'm poor. This is me," she says one day. "This is where I live."

A week later, Sandy explains she can't move out of her two-bedroom apartment because she will have to pay her own electric bill. In the housing projects, the Housing Authority takes care of PG&E.

"I love my TVs," she says. "I have one in every room, and I don't have to pay to watch them. And I like to play my music. I can't afford to pay electricity on my own, and I'm not going to sleep in the dark. I don't have no money to move."

Sandy spends her days listening to music and watching television. Most evenings, her first husband, Alvin Flannigan, drops by. Her ex brings a 40-ounce Steel Reserve, and they watch repeats of "The Waltons" or "Little House on the Prairie." He is 57, and a loud drunk.

One day during Flannigan's visit, Sandy explains that someone broke into her home and stole her Temptations CD, the one she listens to every day, the one that reminds her of her late husband.

"I'm so depressed, I don't even feel like making cupcakes," she says. "It's not the same without my CD. I can barely eat. People say I need to go talk to somebody, but I don't know who to talk to."

It's the routine that keeps Sandy going. Singing her dead husband's favorite song, wearing his house slippers and watching reruns. If she lets up, things start to fall apart.

Family members say Sandy has always been neat and organized, a sharp dresser with a tidy home. But these days, her purple housecoat is clasped shut with clothespins and her hair is tied up in a bandanna. The fish tank has dried up, and the water cooler is empty.

"I don't clean up like I used to," she says, rubbing her face with a jar of hand cream she heated on the stove. "People think I am supposed to just shake it off. Believe me, I'm tired of crying."

Her late husband's 17-year-old daughter, Demesha Morgan, lives with Sandy, though they don't really get along. Demesha stopped going to school after her father's death because she said it was too hard to focus. Now, she is pregnant; her baby is due in February.

Sandy is hoping the baby will fill a void, especially with the first anniversary of her husband's death.

Arlene Harris was born and raised in Hunters Point and has lived a life riddled with addiction. She has three kids and a boyfriend with a bad temper. She landed in the Sunnydale projects after meeting a woman at her rehab group session who needed a roommate.

"She was a white girl, and she was scared to be alone," says Arlene, 41. "I really had no place to go, so I moved in."

That was five years ago. Arlene didn't like it from the start, and shortly after she got settled she began her crusade to get out. She met regularly with a case worker to explore housing options.

Each day she leaves her Sunnydale apartment, she worries that her possessions will be gone when she gets back. Her push to move was slow going at first, but a few incidents caused her to step up her efforts.

While making a trip to the trash bin with her 2-year-old son, Romeo, she had to duck gunfire. "I grabbed him and ran for my life," she said.

Then, her 15-year-old son's teeth were knocked out by some kids he ignored when they asked where he was from. "He had to get a crown," Arlene said.

She began to push harder.

"I've never been to jail or prison, but in Sunnydale it feels like I'm there every day," she said. "This place is like Iraq. There are gunshots all the time, and criminals running around.

"There is nothing to look forward to here besides complications. This could be a good place to live if they straightened it up and people could work.

"Right now, if you built a lemonade stand, someone would drive by and steal your lemons."

Sandy's mood is unexpectedly up one recent morning, thanks to a friend returning her Temptations CD. Word got out that she was devastated over the loss, and the lost disc somehow traveled from the hand of the thief to a nearby neighbor.

Sandy is feeling so good that she decides to bake cupcakes for the first time in months. "I can't make them if I'm not feeling it," she says, as she folds eggs into the batter.

The process is intricate, from lining the trays to the pink sprinkles on the frosting.

The finished products are placed on the table next to a tub of licorice and a jar of pickles soaking in Kool-Aid, another popular snack in Sunnydale's underground stores. As if he heard the oven buzzer, a young boy stops in and asks Sandy if she made cupcakes yet. He gives her 50 cents and she drops it into a black ceramic jar on her kitchen counter.

He leaves with a smile. She turns up the Temptations.

After months of false hopes and red tape, Arlene was accepted to live at the Canon Barcus Community House. It's a five-story complex at Seventh and Howard streets that provides housing to very low-income people dealing with special needs and substance abuse, and offers programs including day care, medical care and case management.

"I was thinking of getting a gun, but I talked to God and instead he gave me a safe place to live," Arlene says.

She got a three-bedroom apartment on the top floor. There is an around-the-clock guard at the front desk, and there are no break-ins, drive-bys or doorstep drug deals.

Her children don't have to play on asphalt - there's a fenced playground - and there is heating. Romeo has his own room, and she has a view of the city. She can leave the windows open, and her doorbell works.

"I didn't know where I was moving, and they sent me to the penthouse," she says, looking out her window at the new federal building. "This is a vacation for life. I can breathe now. There is no mildew or mold. People are friendly. There is a laundry room and coffee in the morning."

When she thinks of Sunnydale, she is happy for herself and sad for the friends she has left behind.

"Sandy knows nothing but Sunnydale," she says. "You have to have spirit and fight hard to get out. It takes patience and persistence and prayers.

"If Sandy gets turned down, she won't try again. Things don't happen overnight."

Arlene calls her new place an island in the sky.

"It's a paradise where no one can reach me," she says. "There are no gunshots, and when I hear sirens, they pass. They aren't coming to my house.

"I'm a Sunnydale survivor."