Touched by the Homeless
This writer's experiences and interview with a nearly homeless man remind her she has many reasons to be grateful

Staten Island Advance - Tuesday, November 20, 2007

"Get the biggest turkey you can find," I enthusiastically told my sister a few weeks ago. "We need to have enough for leftovers!"

The turkey is now defrosting in the refrigerator, squeezed in-between a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables. My mother-in-law is baking the apple and coconut-custard pies; I'll take care of the pumpkin and mince pies. While my sister-in-law prepares some side dishes, the men in the family will be in charge of finding places for everyone to sit at the dining room table.

For the next few days, I'll make myself -- and everyone around me -- crazy since everything has to be just right for Thanksgiving.

As I make a fuss over my favorite holiday, I consider how much I have for which to be grateful. Not everyone can be so fortunate to celebrate like this, I think, remembering it's a Tuesday, and there will be many needy people gathering today for a midday dinner at the Stapleton soup kitchen run by Project Hospitality (PH).

Volunteers will be preparing a warm meal based on whatever donations they've received. Single men and women, perhaps some families with children, will line up cafeteria-style when they are called to receive their allotted portion. A blessing will be offered, then people will be encouraged to eat quickly so that more can be seated. As they leave, most will stop at the pantry for some canned goods -- food for the rest of the week, including Thanksgiving Day.

On Thursday, perhaps they'll go to the Cargo Café in St. George for a community Thanksgiving meal. Others will spend another day foraging in garbage cans behind local restaurants.

As I sit down to eat with my family on Thursday, will I think of these people? And if I do, then what? Will it change anything I do? I'm not sure, but I do know that when I look around the table on Thursday, and see the faces of everyone gathered, I'll realize I have so much to be thankful for, each and every day of my life.

It turns out Mark feels grateful, too. He is someone who knows where the soup kitchens are located since he used to eat his dinners there. Yet, when we met recently at a St. George coffee shop, he didn't want to focus on his former life in which he was nearly homeless. Instead, he began with a more recent day in his life.

"It was the morning of my graduation from the College of Staten Island," he said. "As I prepared to get in line [to march in with the other graduates], I saw someone I knew standing alone in the hallway. It was [the Rev.] Terry Troia from Project Hospitality. It turns out that she was to be one of the keynote speakers."

As he listened to her commencement speech that day in May, Mark realized that if it were not for the Rev. Troia and her staff, he probably wouldn't be sitting there, getting his degree.

"And to think," he added, "I was within walking distance from where I once lived -- PH's transitional housing."

He sat back, shaking his head. "I have so much to be thankful for -- it is just amazing."

As I talked with Mark that day, I noticed our similarities -- same reddish hair, same fair, freckled skin, and same generation (about late 40s). Even things in our background struck a familiar note -- though Mark was careful about what he said about his past.

"A lot of things brought me to PH." he said. "Let's just say that things were good in my life, then I messed up, lost everything, and I had nowhere else to go. People lose patience after a while."

Mark said he did not have to "pack up daily" -- like homeless people without a place to store their belongings are forced to do. But, if he did not received the opportunity at PH, "things may have been different."

When Mark said that, I was reminded of someone else I knew, a man also about my own age whom I met when I worked at a soup kitchen a while back. I never found out his name, but we did come to know each other in our own way.

Quiet and gentle, he would give me a slight nod as he waited in line for his lunch. As soon as he finished eating, he'd slip out the door just as unobtrusively as he had entered. It was obvious that he lived on the streets, based on his hair, tangled and matted, and his face, shadowed with grime. It was only from others that I learned that he lived under a local train trestle. His only possessions were a small backpack and an old, dirty mattress.

Distressed when I learned this, I tried to talk to him. Though polite, he rejected all offers of shelter and help. Watching him walk to and from the soup kitchen with his characteristic shuffle, I could see that he was a loner, managing to get by, pride intact. Still, I had a hard time accepting this. I wanted him to change, I wanted him to accept our help.

One day, he came to the soup kitchen with cuts and bruises on his face. I was told by his peers that he had been beaten up while he slept on his mattress. Again, he quietly refused help. My frustration and sadness grew. He walked slower now, and he ate more carefully, obviously in pain.

When he was missing the next few days, I began to wonder. Finally, someone told me that he had been found dead, once again beaten up, this time left to die alone on his mattress, his small backpack gone.

I realized Mark started talking again, and I forced these memories from my mind. "At PH, I was given a lot of opportunities. With a roof over my head, clothes and hot food, I was able to get organized and go to college. That was the key. I needed to do something to improve myself, to empower myself. You can only take from others for so long."

When I heard this, I wondered again about that man with the mattress. Was there something I could have done differently?

I told Mark about a recent discussion I had with John Gillen, a Bay Ridge resident who works on Staten Island. During his daily travels to Manhattan while in school, John would regularly pass by a homeless man who asked for money. At first he was uncomfortable with this and would keep on walking. But he felt bad and soon began to buy him coffee and a donut at a local deli. Once John didn't have any money to do so. He could see the man was upset, which got him upset.

I finished the story with John's own words: "That's when it hit me: This is what he feels like every day of his life. For me, I know I'll have money again tomorrow."

When I asked for his reaction, Mark responded empathetically: "Some people are really disabled, or have chronic mental issues. Serious stuff. I saw a guy this morning when I was waiting for you. He was in bad shape -- face swollen and obviously sick. I gave him money because I could see he needed it. But not everybody is like that."

"Americans do care about people who are poor and hungry, I believe. But when they're hurrying to work, they have a lot of things on their minds -- college tuition, mortgages, things at work and at home. They have their own problems."

For those who see a homeless person who needs help, Mark suggested to call an agency like PH, or if the person isn't too bad, you could offer him or her the phone number.

"But, you know, they have to be willing to take the help. Some people get comfortable with their lifestyle and don't want to change," he said.

PH staff were always ready to help him, he added. "But I was held responsible, and that was just what I needed for my own self-esteem."

Mark said money and donations are good as well -- and always needed by agencies that help the poor -- but your time is even more valuable.

"Offer whatever you're good at," he advised. "Offer to do the things you like to do. That'll work."

Mark pointed out, "I feel it's my responsibility to help, too. Even when I first got to PH, as tough as it was, there were always things that could be done. Cut the grass, paint, fix things up. And when I did these things, not just the place looked better, but I felt better about me."

As we parted that day, Mark said, "If I reach a place where I start to feel 'entitled', that's not good. I have to keep a sense of humility and gratitude at all times."

Now it's Tuesday, and I look in the refrigerator, getting cranky at its lack of space. I double-check my list of chores that needs to be done, before Thursday can be declared "perfect." There's too many vegetables to be chopped and potatoes to be mashed.

My head begins to spin as I contemplate my own feelings of entitlement. Where's my humility, and the gratitude that goes along with it?

Thursday, as I join hands with my loved ones to give thanks for each other, I'll be glad to think about Mark, thankful that he's now in his own place, with a good job and good food. I'll also be grateful for all the people who helped him along his way.

Thoughts of the gentle man on his mattress will remain with me as well. Maybe that's a gift too -- feeling unsettled, feeling confused at the inequities that persist around me. So many others still live as he did. Pray that I never become complacent.

By Regina Cassidy
Reprinted here with permission from the