"A Night in the Public Shelter"

by Fr. Horace McKenna, S.J.

(Originally published in The Washington Post, 10/28/1978)

Last January was one of the coldest months in recent history. Some of our fellow citizens froze to death because they didn't have warm places to stay. The welfare department responded by fitting the old Blair School at 6th and I Streets N.E. as a shelter with beds, showers and meals. The Community for Creative Nonviolence opened two temporary basement shelters, one at Luther Place Church and one at St. Stephen and the Incarnation Church. We began asking for them at the Gospel Mission. I felt that it was fair to go and see for myself what the provisions for the homeless were.

In early October, around 7 p.m., I walked over six or seven blocks through the dark streets and a railroad tunnel to the area of Blair School. I wore a sport shirt and reddish jacket. My eyesight is poor, but I finally found the area. As I started down the side street a half dozen boys began following me out of nowhere. They said among themselves: "White head, white face, where are you going?"

So, I turned around and asked the boys: "Where is Blair School?"

As they moved quickly past me, one of them waved in the direction of the school.

At the school entrance, I met James Kelly, whom I knew. He was surprised to see me, but he understood that I wanted to stay for the night. I joined a double line of about 15 men who were preparing to enter. Three or four of them knew me, and said: "Hello, Father."

Three tables were waiting for us. Apparently one was for general registration, one for Social Security numbers and one for bed assignment

One man said to me: "Are you here for inspection?"

"No, I want to sleep," I replied.

It was only at the third table that I got any trouble. "You shouldn't be here," one man said.

"'Why not?"

"You have a bed, haven't you?"

"You are keeping somebody out of a bed here."

I said, "Well then, I'll sleep in a chair."

"What are you trying to do?"

"I said, "I want to see how my brothers in Christ are treated."

I felt I might as well fling the whole story at him since he wanted to know.

I went downstairs to prepare for bed. We took our clothes off. Each of us got a plastic bag and a tag with our name on it. The inside of the bag was sprayed, and the clothes were tied up so tight it was hard to untie them the next morning. Then we walked over to the shower room. One of the shower sprays was open, and I ran under it. Fortunately, the water was warm as it had not been a couple of nights before, they told me. After I came out of the shower, somebody threw me a good towel, and then we were given short knickerbockers and a kind of jacket, both clean and fresh from the dryer.

As we dressed for supper, we went in and sat down at the table; about 50 men at the time. The supper was very substantial, a plate full of hot sauerkraut with hot dogs mixed in, two good sized sandwiches, one of meat and one of cheese and a cup of juice or coffee.

On the way up to bed, we were given a pair of light felt slippers that felt good on the cold stone and on the iron steps. They motioned me to a bed behind the night desk. I am afraid it was a special bed rather than a dormitory bed. Sometimes they call is a bridal suite for snorers. (I heard one man snoring during the night he almost rocked the place.) Someone threw a big blanket to me, and I slept about two-thirds of the night.

Before 5 a.m., men were moving around getting ready for work. At 5 o'clock we were roused up. I folded my blanket and went downstairs and got my clothes.

After the men dressed, they moved out into the street to the two vans that would take them to the employment centers. About a dozen men were standing there for a passenger bus.

"Put Father in the first bus," they said.

I said, "No. I want to take my turn."

So they put me in the front seat of the second bus.

Two African men talked to me about the difficulties of employment while pursuing studies. A half dozen times a man said to me: "What are you doing here?" Each time I told him plainly: "I am trying to see how my brothers in Christ are treated."

Arriving at the bus station in the dark, I figured I had better go home for some coffee and morning Mass. I wish the shelter had given us some morning coffee and a couple of slices of bread.

In general, the shelter seemed to be a hard but sufficient provision for dependent people what you might call sufficiently or survival treatment.

Progress toward a more humane treatment of our fellow human beings is the responsibility of the churches, synagogues, and mosques; indeed, of us all.

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