Thoughts on Easing Pain of Homeless

New Year’s Day. Not quite dawn. The smell of wet clothes, sound of coughing, mumbling, snoring. I felt embarrassed, like an intruder, and found myself talking in whispers and walking softly. After all, it is their bedroom.

The Fullerton Armory was an eerie, cavernous hall, full of “the homeless”--restless, sleeping forms sprawled on narrow, foldaway cots such as one takes to the beach.

There were more than 100 people, six rows of cots, about 20 in a row; although the light was too dim for counting, it was too bright for sleeping, when Karin Johnson, Wally Walchak and I walked in to serve breakfast.

The two rows on the left were for women and children, the other four for men. There was a young family toward the front with two kids, about 3 and 3, and a 3-month-old baby. A heart-wrenching tableau.

Barbara Johnson, who organized the Fullerton group, had spoken one Sunday at our Unitarian-Universalist Church and asked for volunteers, so we three, an advance group for a later, fuller contingent, learned the routine.

At 6 a.m., the people were awakened. Many had jobs they must get to. They had to fold their blankets and put away their beds before breakfast. A little boy was pulling on wet, dirty socks; I went over to the pile of donated clothes but found no little boy socks, so he wore his wet ones.

We hurried to get the juice (not enough for all, although I saved some for the kids), cereal, milk (a plastic cupful only if you are a child or pregnant), an abundance of coffee and a large box of doughnuts.

The people were sweet, gentle and smiled at us and said, “Thank you.” Some wished us a happy new year.

It was a soul-stirring experience.

It was mindful to some of Depression days.

I called the others of our church, the Armory volunteers, to tell them to be ready for Jan. 4. All were eager to help, but the Interfaith Emergency group called and said the armory would not be available; it was “being used for training exercises.”

We will reschedule for the 15th, and if the exercises are over, we’ll be there with the Unitarians and the Catholics and the Jews and the Protestants in one loving amalgamation to ease the pain of “The Homeless.”

PATRICIA FROSTHOLM

Fullerton