Some spent the night outside, in sleeping bags or just under the Texas stars. Many more showed up just after dawn.
Close to opening time there were more than 200 people waiting and more were arriving.
It might have been my imagination, but as we stepped through the crowd I thought I heard some piano music coming from inside the building.
Also, I caught a whiff of food cooking.
Were these people waiting for Best Buy to open its doors, premiering the latest fad in electronic gadgets?
Could they be lining up for a rare early morning concert?
Perhaps awaiting the opening of a brand new gourmet restaurant?
As “special guests,” my wife and I were allowed to enter early, and saw the “staff” making last minute preparations. The servers were checking their stations making sure all was ready. The food was steaming. The coffee was brewing. The piano was there, but whoever had been playing it was no longer there.
Yes, this was going to be an “eating occasion,” but a very special one.
Just before the clock struck eight, on this Saturday morning in Austin, Texas, the coordinator asked if all was ready.
After a brief prayer, everyone assumed his or her positions and the doors finally opened.
They started coming in, just walking — some hesitantly, a couple in wheelchairs — not bursting through the doors like at a Wal-Mart midnight sale; not decked out in tuxedos and long gowns, jewelry glistening, as when attending a musical gala.
They were dressed casually — some more colorful than others —and, yes, most of them were hungry.
My job was to greet the guests and to offer them hand sanitizer, if they wished.
You see, some of them had not had the opportunity to take a shower or to wash their hands, before attending this extravaganza: the 300-plus special guests were homeless individuals, many of them about to enjoy their first hot meal perhaps in days.
As greeter and “hand sanitizer offeror,” I had the pleasure of welcoming our guests, of smiling at them, and had the chance to look each one in the eyes and to ponder what sometimes is used as a dramatic cliché: “every face has a story.” I am sure there were unique stories— all 315 of them.
As to the appearance, race, behavior, whatever, of our guests? They were all like you and me except for having fallen on hard times.
My wife and I had been invited to help with the commendable work a beautiful group of volunteers have been doing for years at the University United Methodist Church right next to the University of Texas.
What started out as a simple meal has grown over the years to a veritable “splendid table”: a delicious and nourishing, hot, sit-down breakfast. This morning, it included delicious quesadillas, steaming oatmeal, grits, half-a-dozen varieties of cereal, several kinds of toast, fresh cherries, canned peaches, juice, milk, coffee — and more.
After breakfast, the guests were given tokens and invited to go on a ten-minute shopping spree at the church’s “Fig Leaf” clothing store.
In the meantime, the lunch staff moved in with all the ingredients and goodwill, ready for another special performance: Lunch for the Austin homeless.
Do not get me wrong. This is not a daily occasion. These meals are served by the Methodist Church and its volunteers only on Saturday, but other churches and organizations also provide meals, food vouchers and “pantries” for these Austin residents.
Why bring up homelessness in America on a Memorial Day weekend, while we are enjoying a truly splendid table of home-cooked and grilled delicacies, with our loved ones, in our comfortable homes?
First, homelessness in America is staggering and shameful any day of the year and it ought to be brought to our attention every day of the year.
Second, according to the National Alliance to End Homelessness, an estimated 76,000 veterans are homeless in America. (Other sources put this figure even higher). Included in this number are thousands of combat veterans from our most recent wars: Iraq and Afghanistan.
Third, many of these homeless veterans die every year. Some literally die on the streets and we ought to remember them, too, this Memorial Day.
Two weeks ago, at the Veterans Memorial in Colorado Springs, 19 homeless veterans — nine from the Army, five from the Navy, four from the Marines and one who served in both the Air Force and the Army — who have died in that city since 2003, were remembered and honored.
Nearly 27 years ago, but still shockingly fresh in our memories, our nation laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery with military honors, Jessie Carpenter, a decorated World War II hero who froze to death, homeless, in Lafayette Park, just across from the White House.
I just happened to volunteer at the homeless breakfast this morning, and it just happens to be Memorial Day weekend.
But there is nothing at all fortuitous about our homelessness tragedy in America—it is ignoble, pervasive, growing, and totally inimical to our values.
While providing a meal for these men, women and children, giving them a smile, or looking them in the eye may not solve the problem—or “their problem“— I know it will make them feel a little bitter. And you know what, it may make you feel a little better, too.
So, just Google “homelessness in [your home town]” and you will immediately see hundreds of opportunities to make it better for these unfortunate individuals and, who knows, to start solving the homelessness “problem.”
Photo: Veteran Homeless, courtesy endhomelessness.org
CODA: An excellent document describing homelessness in general and specifically in Austin can be found here
The author is a retired U.S. Air Force officer and a writer.