As bulldozers near, homeless ministry hangs on

A puppy sniffs a plastic flower at one of the 77 markers Polk has made and installed as part of his memorial to the deceased homeless. He says he heard that homeless people are often cremated and their ashes thrown into a common grave. “They’re invisible in life, and then when they die it’s like they never existed. There’s nowhere for a person to go and say, ‘I knew them. They were my friend.’ ”
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Polk’s sister says the family used to try to get him off the streets, but it’s been more than 20 years now. “He talks on so strongly about what he’s doing out there that you can’t want but to leave him alone,” she says. “He’s got work to do.”
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Louise Killebrew tries on a pair of boots she found in a dumpster as Polk looks for a pair of pants for her. He’s not overly concerned about the city’s eviction order; in fact, he’s busy decorating for Christmas.
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Polk spelled out the name of his compound with white cups on a chain-link fence.
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Polk offers food, clothing and a sympathetic ear to those who live at his sanctuary.
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Pat Jackson stokes a fire as she makes French fries at Polk’s sanctuary. Jackson says she is homeless by choice and has been so for two years.
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