I read in the paper that this resort town I live in has some citizens forced from homes into travel trailers and cars.
"I don't see that," I remarked to a friend, who showed me the article. Janet is a retired woman friend who volunteers a few Sundays a month preparing and serving "Dinner at the Brick" which is advertised through local media and charitable institutions. Anyone can come eat for no charge. The Brick is the Presbyterian church basement at 9th and M Streets. Coincidently, it's across the street from the house my family lived in when I was a teenager. It's sanctuary
is made of bricks with a castle front. Dates back a hundred years or so, and is very beautiful inside and out. There are elaborate stained glass windows, wooden beams and an organ with brass pipes that reach twenty feet or so.Janet said just drive up and down the alleys and you'll see the homeless. I did that, but I thought people always parked their RVs and extra cars behind their houses. Whatever the case, I told Janet I'd like to come and help with the dinner sometime, and a date was set.
In an earlier story, I wrote about my first weeks in 1968 Anacortes at twelve years old, having arrived from California suburbia, and what a culture shock that was. In one "scene" I described a man staggering up the sidewalk with a pistol in his hand. He was on his way to confront a prostitute girlfriend a few doors from ours. He thought she was spending too much social time with clients, apparently.
That man, Bob, was the first person I met when I parked my car at the church. He hadn't disappeared in the forty years or so when I first saw him. He'd been a barfly until his later years, then he'd be seen sitting on the bench in front of the Post Office with his best drinking buddy from the old days. Neither of them had much spark left in the past ten years or so.
This day, Bob was pushing a walker along the walkway and making slow progress toward the basement stairs.
"I'm going the same place you are," I said to him, "Let's see if I can help you get there at the same time."
I saw a sign indicating an elevator lobby at the other end of the building.
"Should we use the elevator?" I suggested. No, he said. He'd always gone in this way.
Very well. We tucked the walker into a corner and I took his arm, with my elbow under his armpit, nursing home style.
He smiled and said it was a pleasure having such a beautiful lady accompany him to dinner.
Well. Thank you.
I think if he'd started down the stairs on his own, dinner would have been interrupted by paramedics.
There is a nice commercial kitchen in the church basement and a large gathering area adjacent. One end is set for meetings with a podium and piano. About twelve big round tables are at the kitchen end. I took Bob to his customary seat and went back for the walker.
Janet introduced me to the volunteers in the kitchen. There would be about five of us serving and cleaning up. One woman had made a big pot of "cowboy stew" and Janet herself had produced homemade bread. Costco salad mix rounded out the meal. As good or better than my family might get at home.
I watched the guests arrive. Some I'd seen around town, some I hadn't seen before. In trying to describe this gathering, I can say if you looked closely you might see a mental imbalance here and there, but it could have been any gathering of family and friends. The volunteers were not condescending, and the dinner guests were well-mannered and sociable (to varying degrees).
All were dressed in clean clothes and I did not smell intoxicants. Some even dressed up a bit, however oddly. Clearly this evening was an event.
One man, a Lummi Indian named Robert, sang songs and recited poetry he'd written. He played a handmade elk skin drum to accompany his voice. I'd seen him walking up and down Commercial Avenue over some years and thought he was one of those crazy guys. He's actually educated and a very good writer. Not nuts, but certainly eccentric. Robert was offering handmade jewelry items based on cedar bark weaves and glass beads. He displayed two baseball caps out of woven cedar bark. Very precise and creative work, no plastic. Janet bought two pairs of earrings for $20 each. She praised his work and said to me in the kitchen, "That should keep him going for a little while."
I waited for the sermon I thought would preceed the meal. There was only a brief prayer of thanks for the food and fellowship.
Dessert was all homemade, too. Apple pie, rhubarb crisp, blueberry coffee cake.
Janet counted the plates as they came back into the kitchen. Second helpings are also counted. When the meal was over, the leftovers are plated and sacked for whoever wants them. Those plates are counted, too.
"We served forty-six meals," a volunteer reported. This somewhat inflated tally is necessary for some agency somewhere, but the costs of this meal are so minimal. I wondered if the real purpose is of the count is to show a strong need to keep the dinners happening.
When the last diner had left the building and we were putting away the clean china plates and glassware I said to Janet, "This is a social evening for these people, like a treat, isn't it?"
She said, "You got it."
