Pete’s Place in Santa Fe, NM. Photo by Bruce Prehn, on Google.
At 5:30 the doors of the shelter are opened and over the next hour, about sixty people come in from the street. We serve buffet style, with a menu written on a chalkboard; Saturday night it was fried chicken, mixed vegetables, bread, fruit salad, cake and cookies. There’s also tea, water and coffee.
As each person comes up to the buffet, one of us who is serving asks what he/she wants. It is probably the only time any of them hear such a request.
“Everything” means everything in small portions, with seconds allowed. Taking appropriate advantage of the opportunity, several of the men rejected the fried chicken wings in favor of breast meat. I thought it was hopeful that they still retain the ability to prefer.
I was astonished by the faces, worn by outdoor living, as beautiful as marble heads refined and finished by suffering. Some also—the women especially—had cobbled together colorful and original outfits from donated clothes. Nobody smelled, although I have no idea where they wash. They spend the night in big single-gender dormitories, bunks piled three high to the ceiling, and are rousted out at six in the morning when nothing is open, to walk the streets.
What extraordinary individuals! One African-American man didn’t walk; he danced. Up and around, smiling, waving his long arms and legs, moving to music only he could hear. One woman was pretty as a little squirrel in her hood, another was elegant, tall and slim, in well-fitting jeans.
Sitting at long tables, some talked to the others, more sat deeply involved in eating, almost as though they were alone. After eating, they threw a lot of paper plates, plastic utensils and leftover food into a garbage barrel; I’m wondering if someday it might be possible to install a commercial dishwasher and use “real” dishes.
Then they sat in a long row, watching a sports event on television.
Things go wrong, of course. Sometimes there are arguments; certain people take a deep dislike to other people for reasons that are obscure. The night I worked, someone turned on a spigot and the kitchen was flooded with an inch of water but with rags, mops and buckets a teenager who volunteers regularly cleaned it up.
Soup kitchens exist everywhere, but I think there are not many people who volunteer; I don’t know anyone. Is it our guilt that halts us? It seems so little to do. It is so little to do. The streets will swallow them again and winter is coming on; before our Interfaith Community Shelter was founded in a former pet store, we lost 25 people to freezing one cold winter.
It’s a meal. It’s only a meal. The rest of the time they must scrounge, panhandle, sleep in the bushes—survive. And yet what a magnificent display of courage and ingenuity.
And those faces!
Our church is an inner city church where we feed a full luncheon every Sat, to between 60-65 men and women, plus providing free clothing, coats and shoes, and an opportunity to freshen up in our restrooms. There are 13 community churches and civic organizations that unite and take turn 4 times a year, to make this happen. Two months ago, a lady from one of the groups took shoe sizes from every person there, and the next Saturday she brought brand new brand name tennis shoes for them.
Church members also regularly contribute money to a home for women through Center for Lay Ministries. Many of the churches and organizations have dwindling attendance and by working together they can still make this services available every week. Guests are also welcomed to attend Sunday morning services and often come.
I am continually encouraged to know that there are still people willing to aid and assist and often friendship to those in less fortunate circumstances.
Thank you, Sallie, for volunteering, and for your story about it. You are such a good person.