"One of the things we kind of noticed was just like the extremes from leaving Union Station," said Kristin Sundboom, 19, a sophomore at St. Scholastica College. She was sitting on a couch wedged among three other young women at St. Vincent's Cardinal Manning Center. "It seems like a pretty decent place. And then all of a sudden you turn two corners, and you're just like in the middle of Skid Row. It was so sad."
The other seven students, a day removed from their private college in northeastern Minnesota, nodded and mumbled "Yeah."
Steve Plude, 23, a senior wearing a green T-shirt with the image of Third World revolutionary Che Guevara on the front, straightened in his chair. "There was the fear, I guess, that we maybe thought we'd feel when we got here," he said. "When we got out of the cars and walked in, I don't know, it's just not as scary an atmosphere as we thought it would be."
"Like they're not gonna hound us for money and stuff," added fellow senior Teresa Newton, 22.
"It was more overwhelming than threatening," Kristin said.
The six girls and two guys from St. Scholastica came to Skid Row with their campus minister, Nathan Langer, 24, and his fiancée, Veronica Gaidelis, 23, who had both served as Vencentian volunteers at St. Vincent's. During the early part of January, they stayed a week in sunny L.A., but didn't hit many beaches, clubs or theme parks.
No, these college kids were here for an in-depth emersion program offered by St. Vincent's Cardinal Manning Center on Winston Street, which has been serving downtown's homeless and destitute since 1955 in a converted dairy-processing plant. For seven days, they fanned out to different anti-poverty programs like Homeboy Industries and the St. Francis Center, returning home every evening to sleep at the center.
Down-and-out tour
The program kicked off with an in-your-face Friday morning walking tour of the Row, a place few middle and upper class Angelenos have dared to explore.
First stop for the college kids --- plus a couple of students from Loyola High School in Los Angeles, who were doing Christian service projects --- was St. Vincent's itself. Upstairs they saw four long rows of neatly made single beds, covered with red, orange and blue spreads. On the ceiling exposed metal beams and heating ducks hung, while the walls were artsy turquoise and white.
"There's a lot of colors in here," remarked one girl.
"The director does a really good job in trying to make this not feel like an institution and to really liven it up with pictures and the painting," said Gaidelis, before explaining the in-house rules of the basic shelter.
Some 58 men can have a bed for 28 nights every three months. Weekly case management and counseling is offered. An evening meal is served. Showers are available, and all guests have to be out every morning by 5:30.
They walked back to a bunch of cubicles, where the long-term transitional program for 15 men was located. "The major requirement is that you have a job," reported Chuck Happold, associate director of St. Vincent's. "We can help them find work, and this is where they can stay for six months.
"But the real important aspect of this program is emancipating from the shelter and getting their own apartment, which is going to take a couple thousand dollars for first and last month's rent plus a security deposit.
"That's why we ask that 70 percent of one's income is saved, and we have the facility to do that here," he explained. "The goal is for them to be able to function on their own."
Next the students trooped downstairs to a common area where two black men were watching a big-screen TV, while nearby a group of seniors were playing bingo. Happold said the drop-in program provides a daytime haven for homeless who live and sleep on the street.
Heading towards the back, the group passed a mural of five grim faces. Two of them proclaimed: "We need to sell blood because GR [General Relief] is not enough."
The college kids went as far as a hanging sign that cautioned, "No entry beyond this rope." Beyond was the small shelter area for women with children, made up of five cubicles. One student wanted to know if the kids were going to school.
A staff social worker explained how few shelters there were for families in greater Los Angeles. He said homeless families survived by moving around. "So that's another tragedy of Skid Row," he noted. "A lot of kids lose that educational experience."
Street confrontation
By 10:45, the college kids were outside under clear skies, walking up gritty Winston Street by mom-and-pop taco stands, and toy and clothing stalls. They stopped outside the two-story Downtown Women's Center, which Gaidelis pointed out is the only place on Skid Row providing long-term housing just for women.
At 516 S. Main St., the group paused next to the Chrysalis Center, an old stucco building painted a somber green on the bottom. Mostly black men and women were coming in and out. Gaidelis reported that the center has helped many clients at St. Vincent's become job ready and find work, many as security guards.
Going on, the interlopers passed a ranting woman, then a singing man. Most of the Minnesotans knew enough not to make eye contact, but a couple snuck sideward glances. There was no avoiding a middle-aged African American man dressed in a tan suit and white shirt, however, with a joint in one hand, a paddle in the other.
"Jesus is not white," he declared. "Are you intimidated by blacks?"
When nobody responded, he went on: "You keep on hating black people and loving yourself. You continue to plant hate. You want us to walk around and love you, and you hate us, and we know you hate us. And we've not done you any wrong."
The college kids had swallowed their tongues. Finally, Happold said, "Each one, teach one. That's why we're here. We're learning."
The man shook his head. "What I'm asking you do is take an individual stance," he said. "A group? You can't make a decision for a group. You can't help us like this. What you're doing now, you make yourself look good. There ain't nothing changed."
"Change doesn't happen overnight," Happold said in upbeat voice.
"You've had 200 years, what are you doing?" the man shot back. "You slow?"
"We appreciate your point of view," Happold said, taking a step backwards. "Good luck to you."
Home at St. Vincent's before noon, the group gathered again for a debriefing. The street encounter had clearly touched a raw nerve or two.
"Everything had to do with us being white," said Teresa, the senior.
"He didn't know us," another girl on the couch protested.
"He kept saying that we hated black people, which none of us do, I don't think," Teresa said. "I see where he's coming from. But at the same time, it's like he didn't have hope in us for anything."
Half the college kids nodded.
After awhile, the sophomore Kristen pursed her lips. "Is it inevitable that there's always gonna be a Skid Row, and there's always gonna be this many homeless people?" she asked.
Nobody had an answer. |