Offering Shelter Volunteers Some Food for Thought

At Christmas, when the charitable spirit within each of us takes a breather from shopping anxiety to help those less fortunate, I wonder if sometimes, in our rush to volunteer during the holidays, we forget the not-as-obvious basic needs. This became clear to me last Thanksgiving while helping out at some food giveaways.

Mike was in his 60s but still learning how to interact with people. In the course of our conversation over the free meal, he pulled out tapes of religious radio shows from one of the weathered bags huddled around him. He found their spoken words to be vital guides in a complicated world. He showed me copies of letters he’d written. Writing letters, he said, is great for the process of understanding courtesy and tact. He thanked me for stopping for conversation. He then eagerly slipped on his portable radio earphones to learn how to improve his personal relations, not sensing the irony.

Mike had been alone sitting in his chair since the morning, an idle volunteer said. When I said that I was eager to start a conversation with him or someone else, she replied, “Why, were you put in charge of that?”

I wished I’d laughed. Does someone have to be? After all, who does it really help to go to a shelter and pour coffee or ladle some sauce on a plate? With the level of abilities and resourcefulness necessary to eke out a living on the streets, it is almost insulting to assume that the homeless or destitute can’t or might not want to pour their own coffee.

The surfeit of volunteers on Christmas or Thanksgiving is usually pretty irksome to those at shelters who need the same marshaling of resources the rest of the year. I would add to this sense of misplaced resources the number of volunteers who smile and wave at, or worse, glad-hand the hungry, and then whisk away, leaving them with a plate of food. I know it’s well-intentioned, and these volunteers are sincerely helping out. But it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

At one shelter in Costa Mesa, I didn’t see any volunteers socializing with the hungry homeless. Volunteers stood around, hungry for responsibility--no job was too big or too small. Anything but have a conversation with that strange guy in the jacket stained the color of cranberry sauce.

Everyone wants to “do good,” and I’m all for it. But conversations with strangers don’t offer the same quick and easy returns on your time as, say, being the person behind the counter with the big spoon. Being on the other end of the food line is where you might get that prized teary-eyed “thank you” from a grizzled homeless person in rags. Like waiting tables, the role is such that you won’t get stuck in the complications of getting to know someone. The irony is that as a whole, these acts of personal satisfaction can be impersonal. Worse, they can flavor the stew of poverty and homelessness with paternalistic attitudes.

After all, the most important sharing that goes on at any holiday gathering is not in the food but in the conversation. Who can’t help but be alternately impressed and scared by meeting those more educated than themselves speaking about the unexpected circumstances under which their life spiraled downward? Or to be inspired by the fighting spirit that a disabled person on the street carries within?

At a holiday buffet where all races and classes are present, it is tragic that discourse can get lost amid the clanging of pots and pans. Learning how to interact with people different from ourselves is, given the fragmenting in our society, a basic need.

And maybe that woman was right. Maybe volunteers do need to be assigned to talk to each person from the moment they walk through the door until they leave. When a conversation fizzles, someone with responsibility could always scream, “Another volunteer and piece of pie!” Because when you get to the simple truth, any holiday meal has to be about more that just a plate of turkey.