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DUSTI SCOVEL |
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Published in the Summer/Fall 2001 Hope Renewed Newsletter, SAMMinistries Shelter for the Homeless Hope . . . At Eye Level His manner took me by complete surprise. It was my first night to volunteer on the night team at SAMMinistries’ emergency homeless shelter in downtown San Antonio. My assignment that chilly night was to work the property room. Over two hundred men and women line up nightly at the property room window to “check-in” their valuables. My job was to staple a small blue ticket to their possessions and give them a matching blue ticket so they could retrieve their belongings in the morning. What an assortment! Blue plastic shopping bags stuffed with dirty clothes, filthy duffel bags that held everything from socks to cherished family photos and tiny brown paper lunch sacks with a half eaten sandwich and assorted change. Each bag represented a life. Like an assembly line, guests (as they’re called by staff and volunteers) file by and lay their lives on the counter, a process that quickly becomes routine. That routine helped me to do the job while detaching my mind and my heart from the real people “on the other side.” Then I saw him. He was a large man with white hair and striking blue eyes that smiled when he spoke. Carefully and with the grace of an Englishman, he handed me his long black wool overcoat, neatly folded and laying across his arm in an elegant sort of way, like the linen napkin over a waiter's arm in a fine, fine restaurant. Specks of lint and dust littered the worn black fleece and the faded gray lining hung unevenly and in shreds. His eyes sparkled as they caught mine and he said, “Here young lady. Let’s pretend we’re at the Metropolitan and I’m just checking my coat. I’ll be back for it right after the opera. Okay?” We both laughed and I said, “Fine by me!” He moved on, unhurriedly and disappeared up the three flights of stairs to the men’s dorm where he would find rest on one of the over 100 cots situated in the room. His eyes, his manner and his statement haunt me still today. As he walked away that night, I wondered what this man was doing there. He seemed so "normal," capable and together. What incredible crisis had shattered his life and rendered him homeless? That was last winter. Now winter approaches again and I think of my Opera fan often. After working at the homeless ministry for almost a year, I have a much clearer understanding of why Mr. Opera and others like him can’t move on after a life changing crisis like divorce, catastrophic illness or an unexpected layoff.. The fastest growing segment of the homeless community is single men. At this time last year, this emergency shelter was serving an average of 140 single men per day. Recent numbers are closer to 160 per day . . .and climbing. The plain truth is, these men often fall through the cracks in terms of qualifying for programs and services. When a family in crisis calls the shelter, the staff has an array of services structured specifically to help families with children move out of crisis and begin the journey to self-sufficiency. If the caller in crisis is a single man, that list of services is skeletal. Transitional housing programs are primarily designed to help families with children . . . a good thing if we are serious about reversing the legacy of homelessness. However, the mission is to serve every aspect of the homeless population. Hunger, fear and loneliness are felt individually, not collectively. I left the shelter that night thinking about that. “Offering hope to the homeless” is easy to write and easy to read but takes real compassion to carry out. It was my pleasure to check Mr. Opera’s coat that night because I saw in those bright blue eyes what I wish I could have seen in all of them . . . hope.
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