Saturday, December 24, 2011

Shelter from the Storm

“What’s your name?” he asks me, his eyes half-closed from a long day of drinking. He extends his hand, the knuckles covered in scabs, a deep gash across the bridge of his nose, remnants of what must have been quite a scrap. We shake hands, and I join him on the bench, handing him a cup of black coffee. “I’m Erik – nice to know you,” he says as he takes a tentative sip from the mug.

Erik arrived over an hour ago with his friend Mark, who’d all but carried Erik inside, too drunk to walk on his own. Mark talked to him gently, promising him a bed to sleep things off. Erik was in no condition to argue, barely awake and struggling with every step.

Now Erik’s up, our attempt to get him to sleep failing. We’d arranged his cot in Room 6, with a few extra blankets and a pillow. But Erik’s sitting with me on the bench, drinking coffee, telling me what happened to his hands and face, no plans on falling asleep any time soon. “I got beat up real bad,” he shares, the dried blood on his nose testament to that assertion. “But my buddy Canadian Mike took care of the other guy,” Erik says. “He stomped him good for me.”

Mark tries to convince Erik to call it a night. When he’d brought his friend in, Mark did all he could to help. After getting him into his cot, Mark unlaced Erik’s worn sneakers, tucked him in and closed the door. “He’s wrapped up nice and tight – he won’t be awake until tomorrow,” Mark assures me and the other volunteers, only to chuckle as Erik emerges in the hallway, meandering towards us, declaring he needs one more cigarette before he sleeps.

Erik’s a guest tonight, joining fifteen others here in one of Concord’s two adult Cold Weather Shelters. I’ve been here for almost four hours, volunteering at the First Congregational Church on North Main Street. It’s the second week the homeless shelter’s been open to people like Erik, those who need a warm bed, a cup or two of coffee and reassurance that, at least for tonight, they won’t have to sleep outside.

The Shelter’s open every evening from early December until early spring, offering an escape from the overnight cold. Tonight’s not busy, as it’s been a pretty mild start to winter. “But later this winter, when it gets really cold, we’ll have over thirty guests here,” Terri Blake told me when I arrived. Terri’s the Shelter’s director and a whirlwind of activity when the night began. She introduced me to the four volunteers who’ll be here for the next few hours, greeting the guests, placing their cigarettes and lighters aside for later and assigning rooms where they’ll sleep.

I met Terri’s assistant, Don Belaire, who says hello in a soft voice. Don came here as a guest in 2004, working his way out of desperation into a paying job at the Shelter over the past seven years, now responsible for making sure this place runs smoothly for the many members of Concord’s homeless community. “This place saved my life,” he told me.

Mike LaFontaine is tonight’s manager, tasked with overseeing the volunteers and ensuring all goes well. Mike knows many of tonight’s guests by name, greeting them as they arrive just after six, when the doors open, making sure the right rooms are assigned, the coffee’s hot and everyone’s safe. “We have three guiding principles at the Shelter,” Mike explained during a lull in arrivals. “Safety, hospitality and respect.” I asked Mike why he volunteers here. “Satisfaction outweighs sacrifice,” he said as he left to check on a guest.

The volunteers welcomed every guest with a warm hello and a set of questions. “What’s your name? Have you had any drugs or alcohol in the past twenty-four hours? Do you have any cigarettes or lighters? Any weapons or prescription drugs?” The guests all knew the drill; some stood outside before the doors opened, guaranteeing they’d have a bed and a spot in front of the TV tonight. Over the next four hours, we helped the dozen or so men and a few women get settled. Ricky, “the King of the Streets,” made a bee line for the hospitality room while Felix asked about the bus schedule to Manchester, where a job awaits him in the morning. Abe took on one of the volunteers, Chip Rice, in a ruthless game of Cribbage, and Richard went to bed early, skipping the cot and setting up his mattress on the floor of his room.

Now, just before lights out, as the other guests sleep or watch TV, Erik’s still awake. Mark stands next to us as we sit on the bench outside Erik’s room. Erik tells us more about Canadian Mike, prompting Mark to say, “Erik, your buddy Mike just got send to jail for thirty days for contempt.” Erik looks disappointed but not surprised. They talk about their own upcoming court dates until Mark kneels down, whispering something to Erik, convincing him to head to bed.

A few minutes later, with the hall lights out and Erik asleep, Mark stands by door as the two overnight volunteers and I sit in the foyer. I ask Mark if he wants to stay tonight, but he declines, “I have a place to stay.” He lingers by the exit, telling us how he sees things. “What I did for Erik tonight, I’d do for any human being. It’s about how we all have goodness inside of us, no matter what I look like to anyone on the outside.”

Just before he leaves, Mark says softly, “God so loved the world,” and he walks off into the December night. I’m not so sure he does have a warm place to stay tonight.

I leave the church before midnight as the volunteers get ready to go to sleep. The lights are out, the TV’s turned low and the doors are locked.

Early the next morning, as I lie in my bed, my wife asleep next to me, my daughter down the hallway, stuffed animals and pillows covering her bed, I hear a blistering blast of wind outside, the walls of my bedroom shifting slightly against the gusts. The heat comes to life, the gas furnace pinging the radiators as I pull the blankets against me. I’m not sure how I feel about last night. One stint of volunteering doesn’t earn me much in the way of karma, but it does remind me. It reminds me about things I care about, those things that matter in my life, and those pieces I make important but probably shouldn’t. Guilt is not what I feel right now, as I embrace the warm security around me. I think the feeling’s closer to impatience. And maybe it’s time to find out why that is.