Missing or Transient? Disappearing in the City's Shadows

When “missing” really means living on the margins.

Julie and Nanie Crossman reunite via CalMatters

Every week in San Francisco, new missing persons reports are filed. Typical of a metropolitan city, it can be difficult to cut through the population to locate loved ones who don't return home. Sometimes these reports result in organized searches and news coverage. However, an astonishing number are dismissed in the wake of the current public health and homelessness crisis. In a growing amount of cases, the person reported missing isn’t gone in the traditional sense. They’re still in the city, often among the unhoused population and virtually untraceable. They have not been lost or taken, but are living disconnected from their former lives and identities.

In a city with thousands of unsheltered residents and a fraying social safety net, this phenomenon is becoming more common. People who are reported missing are later found alive, living transient lives in tents, shelters, or public spaces. Some have mental health conditions, others are battling addiction, and many have intentionally severed ties with their past due to trauma or hardship. For those on the outside looking in, it can be difficult to understand how someone becomes “lost” while still being physically present. But for outreach workers and law enforcement, these situations are increasingly familiar.

Recently, a poignant example emerged involving sisters Julie and Nanie Crossman. After six years without contact, Julie discovered that Nanie had been living unhoused in San Francisco during the COVID-19 pandemic. Nanie described her experiences of homelessness in the city, including the challenges of daily survival and the sense of isolation. Despite the hardships, she had adapted to her circumstances, finding ways to meet her basic needs. Their eventual reunion highlighted the complexities of missing persons cases where individuals are not lost in the traditional sense but are living disconnected lives on the margins of society.

Kim Ann Andrews, once a college track star with Olympic-level potential, is now a fixture on the streets of SoMa and the Tenderloin. In 2024, videos of Andrews wandering into traffic and shouting at strangers went viral online. Community members expressed concern for her well-being, and her name became more widely known, not as an athlete but as an example of San Francisco’s mental health crisis. Andrews was never officially listed as a missing person, but her case exemplifies a different kind of disappearance—the slow erasure of someone's connection to their former life, until the person they once were has essentially disappeared. Her family has tried to help, but legal barriers have made intervention nearly impossible.

With an estimated 8,300 unhoused individuals living in San Francisco, the potential for these quiet disappearances is significant, according to the city’s 2024 Point-in-Time homelessness count. For many in the city, housing is unstable or nonexistent and contact with friends or family can be sporadic. Law enforcement often faces the challenge of distinguishing between those who are voluntarily out of touch and those in real jeopardy. It can be hard for families to accept that their loved one does not want to be found or refuse services once they are located.

The blurred line between missing and transient complicates not only investigations but also public understanding of what it means to be missing. The term invokes ideations of kidnappings or disappearances under mysterious circumstances. But in urban centers like San Francisco, many disappearances are less dramatic and more tragic in a quiet, systemic way. They reflect people who have fallen away from the social fabric, and who are often only noticed when something goes wrong.

Advocates say better mental health infrastructure, more coordinated outreach, and consistent support for at-risk populations could prevent many of these cases. Not every missing person is lost in the traditional sense, but all deserve a level of effort. A located person is not always the end of the story. It can be the beginning of a longer, more complicated one involving recovery, support, or in some cases, a return to the streets.

At Vanished SF, we believe every person deserves to be seen. Whether someone disappears into danger, illness, or anonymity, their story matters. Because sometimes, the question isn’t just where someone went. It’s why no one noticed they were gone.