CityTeam
I left the center with Will yesterday. We were making good on plans to visit CityTeam, $1 a night homeless shelter where many of our guests eat and sleep after leaving here. We made sure not to leave until 7:00pm--just in time for the prayer service--and had plans to stay for dinner. Understand that Cityteam is a nighttime place, unlike ours, the Champion Guidance Center, which closes at 2:00pm. It was the last Thursday of the month which apparently and to Will's excitement meant chinese night. I was a little skeptical.
CityTeam works like this: If you're not on the "bed list" you call as soon as the phones open, about 9:00am, to get on "standby." You get on the bed list through repeat stays, i.e., if you had a bed last night you automatically get a bed tomorrow. So, the only way in is through the standby list, made possible by guys who can't or don't stay consecutive nights. The facility sleeps 50, but as Will said, "they fit every bit of 55 or 56 in there." From outside and afar the place itself could have been a popular jazz club or a hip New York warehouse nightclub: groups of loiterers huddled around, smoking cigarettes, low voices talking speckled with the occassional friendly outburst, and everybody waiting for something to happen. I saw some of the homeless stereotypes--the disheveled hair and mismatched clothing--but I saw more regular, average guys just looking for a place to sleep.
I saw many familiar faces. There was Wayne, a former intern who now works full time for the Society yet remains homeless, who said "People look at me and they say in surprise, 'you're homeless?'" There was "D," the tall extrovert slapping hands and laughing. There was Maurice and Bill who showed up for the Chinese food.
The first thing you see when you walk in--imagine two medium-sized, high-ceiling classrooms without the seats--are the grey mats, stacked up against the wall in four large stacks. These, I realized, were the "beds." In the place where the mats were to be laid out there were chairs organized around the big screen TV which plays the repeat movies. "Guys get tired of Field of Dreams after a while," Will told me.
Everybody knew the drill. All at once everybody huddles around the sidedoor to get frontline position for the food. "They're late," said Wayne.
As I stood in line I saw what could have been a racially charged fistfight be neutralized when Larry, a large jolly couldn't hurt a fly kind of guy, positioned himself between the two men. "Hey!" he exclaimed, and I assumed he was going to start something, "just chill," he said, "just chill out." "Larry," Wayne told me, "is a peacemaker."
Moments later, in the front of the line where Larry wasn't, an asian man was pushed to the floor. "We need more Larrys," I thought to myself.
I waited my turn and walked in to get my Chinese food from the nice crew of Chinese girls. The food was good. The dining room couldn't fit everybody at once so, in drill sargeant tone the manager kept reminding us to leave as soon as we were finished.
As I left CityTeam I was strangely energized. In many ways it was good for my ego: the rich white boy went to and returned from the homeless shelter unscathed. I must, however, understand that this sense of pride stems from a prejudice: it operates under the assumption that spending and evening with homeless people is inherently dangerous. I learned to the contrary that people survive. So, the question is not not "how do we do it," but instead "how is the environmentin in which its done?"
I left the center with Will yesterday. We were making good on plans to visit CityTeam, $1 a night homeless shelter where many of our guests eat and sleep after leaving here. We made sure not to leave until 7:00pm--just in time for the prayer service--and had plans to stay for dinner. Understand that Cityteam is a nighttime place, unlike ours, the Champion Guidance Center, which closes at 2:00pm. It was the last Thursday of the month which apparently and to Will's excitement meant chinese night. I was a little skeptical.
CityTeam works like this: If you're not on the "bed list" you call as soon as the phones open, about 9:00am, to get on "standby." You get on the bed list through repeat stays, i.e., if you had a bed last night you automatically get a bed tomorrow. So, the only way in is through the standby list, made possible by guys who can't or don't stay consecutive nights. The facility sleeps 50, but as Will said, "they fit every bit of 55 or 56 in there." From outside and afar the place itself could have been a popular jazz club or a hip New York warehouse nightclub: groups of loiterers huddled around, smoking cigarettes, low voices talking speckled with the occassional friendly outburst, and everybody waiting for something to happen. I saw some of the homeless stereotypes--the disheveled hair and mismatched clothing--but I saw more regular, average guys just looking for a place to sleep.
I saw many familiar faces. There was Wayne, a former intern who now works full time for the Society yet remains homeless, who said "People look at me and they say in surprise, 'you're homeless?'" There was "D," the tall extrovert slapping hands and laughing. There was Maurice and Bill who showed up for the Chinese food.
The first thing you see when you walk in--imagine two medium-sized, high-ceiling classrooms without the seats--are the grey mats, stacked up against the wall in four large stacks. These, I realized, were the "beds." In the place where the mats were to be laid out there were chairs organized around the big screen TV which plays the repeat movies. "Guys get tired of Field of Dreams after a while," Will told me.
Everybody knew the drill. All at once everybody huddles around the sidedoor to get frontline position for the food. "They're late," said Wayne.
As I stood in line I saw what could have been a racially charged fistfight be neutralized when Larry, a large jolly couldn't hurt a fly kind of guy, positioned himself between the two men. "Hey!" he exclaimed, and I assumed he was going to start something, "just chill," he said, "just chill out." "Larry," Wayne told me, "is a peacemaker."
Moments later, in the front of the line where Larry wasn't, an asian man was pushed to the floor. "We need more Larrys," I thought to myself.
I waited my turn and walked in to get my Chinese food from the nice crew of Chinese girls. The food was good. The dining room couldn't fit everybody at once so, in drill sargeant tone the manager kept reminding us to leave as soon as we were finished.
As I left CityTeam I was strangely energized. In many ways it was good for my ego: the rich white boy went to and returned from the homeless shelter unscathed. I must, however, understand that this sense of pride stems from a prejudice: it operates under the assumption that spending and evening with homeless people is inherently dangerous. I learned to the contrary that people survive. So, the question is not not "how do we do it," but instead "how is the environmentin in which its done?"
posted by Ryan at 1:24 PM
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