Picnic for the homeless reveals humanity
Leonard Reeves sat at a folding table in Allegheny Commons Park during the recent Day of Hope festivities. He wore a sublime expression under a Pirates cap. I approached him, assuming he was either a client of Light of Life Rescue Mission or affiliated with it in some way.
As a young girl splashed into the dunk tank and the chow line grew, I absorbed his words, and a light bulb went on.
A member of the community. He is from Manchester, lives now in Brighton Heights, but obviously considers himself part of the greater North Side community. I live in the same neighborhood
as the mission and have always considered the Day of Hope as a summer picnic for Light of Life clients. I never thought I was part of their community — as if their lives are in one closed loop and mine is in another.
As a journalist, I relish the opportunity to tell stories of people who suffer stigmas, hoping that readers will see their common humanity with people who are homeless, disabled or mentally impaired — as nice, as kind, as bright and sympathetic as anyone. But I have not gone far enough if I separate my community from theirs.
That is not intentional, but that’s the point. We expand our attitudes by intention.
Light of Life is a shelter, but it also helps people find homes. Its counselors work with those trying to overcome addiction, offer parenting classes, coping skills and connections to job training. The mission serves 300 meals a day, roughly 150 each for breakfast and dinner, at its main shelter
on North Avenue in the Central North Side, across from the park.
Day of Hope is a full afternoon of food, music, testimonials and socializing. Agencies in service to health care, job training, employment and veterans set up tables. Socks, shoes, coloring books and backpacks for children, personal care packets for adults and haircuts are donated.
Sheila Beasley, a regional specialist with the U. S. Census Bureau, set up a table, taking applications for jobs and telling people how important it is that they are counted in 2020, and if they don’t have an address, they can use the address of partnering institutions that include Light of Life. Ten people had applied in the first hour of the event for the $ 18.50- an- hour jobs.
Christine Scanlon was working as a volunteer near the dunk tank, trying to calm her fussy 4- yearold son and sulking 9- yearold daughter.
Now in Light of Life’s outpatient program, she spent 1 ½ years in its direct care.
“Mothers in recovery are coming from a painful past, but I can’t tell you how much Light of Life can help people change their behaviors,” she said. “If you choose to, you can make decisions that will save your life.
“Though I lost my job, I didn’t stray back to old behaviors. Light of Life found housing for me,” she said, beaming. “And I just interviewed for a job as a prep cook, and I think I’ll get it.”
Rick Barnett said “sure” when I asked to interview him, thinking he might be like Mr. Reeves, just taking in a community event, because he talked and acted like people I know.
“I got displaced from an apartment in Bloomfield,” he said. “The owner died and the sister didn’t want it and the new buyer had to fix it up. They gave us 45 days to get out, and I couldn’t find a place in that time, so I was sleeping in this park and at a park in Friendship.
“I’ve been at Light of Life about 45 days now, and have another 45 days, plus some grace if I am working on getting something.”
He hopes to save enough from his disability check to afford something, he said, fairly certain it won’t be his fixed- up apartment in Bloomfield.
Yes, he said, he once had a house, and a marriage, “then one accident and another thing happens and your savings is gone.”
He grew up in Hazelwood and said he wouldn’t consider moving back there. His perceptions stand in the way. I told him there is a French bakery there now, and he lit up.
“Really?” he said. “I made my living as a baker for 29 years.”