House of Charity Episode Six 1.21.09

One hundred and eight. Three thousand. One hundred and fifty. Sixty one. Fifteen.

The House of Charity is chock full of numbers, each with their own weight. One hundred and eight men sleeping upstairs. Over 3,000 people in the greater Spokane area using us as their post office. Around one hundred and fifty people here for lunch.

But the only number that really mattered late this December was fifteen. That number where good business sense and morality finally clicked.

When the temperature drops below fifteen degrees, and with the prerequisite that the previous evening the shelter was full up, places like the House of Charity are allowed to open up as warming centers. Or, in other words, we're able to open up our drop-in area as a place to sleep. Men over the age of 18 are given two blankets, a pillow, and a corner of--preferably--one of our cubbies to sleep in. We generally expect around thirty men to show, since between those that are not allowed in during normal operations of the House of Charity, those (few) that simply cannot work with the structure of the sleeping program, and those that weren't able to make it in that night--it's quite the group.

These are the evenings when the definition of the toughest of the tough gets reworked. These guys are a bit rough around the edges—even by our standards. They're the least used to our services, the least familiar with the staff (me), and the least understanding oftentimes about our rules.

Which are few. The warming center is a place for sleeping, a place to be warm and quiet and inside, and that's about it. On occasion someone is too intoxicated (or full of nightmares) to not shout-out in their sleep, and so they are moved into the chapel, or another room by themselves where there's some sound proofing between them and others looking for their own peace and quiet.

Mostly the warming center is a collection of snoring sounds and dirty socks sticking out under blankets, next to mounds of clothing and worldly possessions.

Late in the month last December, when there were few options and many were out of resources, we broke records—and those records almost broke us. We had sixty one guys one night. We stayed open during hours when we were usually closed (because a warming center operates 24hrs a day).

But while we had our share of struggles, the real heroes of the cold snap were Shalom Ministries, an organization ran out of the basement of Central UMC on 3rd and Howard. They provided dinner for those that needed it every day during the week, and opened their doors when we closed ours—to give us time to clean our floors. I'm honestly not sure how their staff did it, but they deserve medals. Especially Holly.

All things considered, there's something true about Sarte’s quip that “hell is other people” when you’ve been cooped up with over a hundred people that by all rights, you may not think highly of, but you're the definition of stuck. You can't even take a walk, for some, without risking falling, and for all, without feeling the bite of the cold.

George Orwell talked about the “enforced idleness” of the poor, and that notion is seldom more true than it was during those weeks.

Traffic was in gridlock when the snow started falling, on the 18^th. By that Saturday, I was worried about our ability to hold out, especially since that was the day Shalom had to close, so we couldn’t, and we had to clean floors piecemeal, by asking people to shift from dayrooms to the dining room, and back again. Which isn't good for tempers.

All that snow and gridlock isn't much for helping volunteers arrive as, like everyone else in town, they're snowed in.

Suffice to say we as a staff were nearly pulling our hair out that week, and the week after--until the roof fell through.

Ok, so, the roof didn't actually fall in. But that's what was reported to the news stations, after a sprinkler pipe burst near an exterior wall, and the water-soaked ceiling tiles came crashing to the floor the Saturday after Christmas. Everyone was evacuated, water was shut off, and our firefighters helped us clear the 2-3 inches of standing water off our floor, before everyone came back in.

But we made it.

We pulled through. During the worst of times, when everyone, client and staff, were on edge, when we were nearly the definition of understaffed and overworked, we did it.

We did it and we didn’t even shut down the warming center on Christmas Eve.

See, the city's policy is just that--policy. That is, when the temperature gets to be above 15 degrees, warming centers are no longer activated. Because when things are "warming up," asit did on the 23rd of December--then the funding dries up. Warming centers aren't activated.

But we were. In this budget crisis (economic downturns hit all quarters), during this time of economic poverty, we ate the cost. Because if the House of Charity is about anything, it's about not forcing 40+ men to sleep outside on Christmas Eve.

And that's what makes it worth it.

Because poverty is divisive. When you tell someone you work at a homeless shelter, there's an immediate reaction. It's either a resounding "that's great!" and you're accused of sainthood, or a confused look. One extreme or the other.

A guy swung at me one night during the warming center this December (a first, in fifteen months of shelter work). On occasion, shit gets smeared in the bathroom (we do rock-paper-scissors to decide who's turn it is to clean it). Once in awhile you find yourself needing to tell someone who's life has hardened them like stone something that they aren't going to appreciate--and wondering how they're going to respond. 

But for every single time we're put in a (maybe literally) shitty situation, there are a hundred smiles shared to counteract it. There are a hundred times someone says thanks for the help, and means it, a hundred times I notice an act of unprovoked kindness. A hundred little doses of genuine appreciation that are enough to melt any heart, make up for any amount of shit.

Because the House of Charity might be the only place where someone can get their smile returned. And at the House of Charity, even when there’s three feet of snow on the ground, even when we’re running near the breaking point, even when I’m getting backed into a corner by someone who’s been backed into a corner of their own, nobody has to sleep outside on Christmas Eve.

And zero outdoors on a night that important and that cold is one number worth fighting for.