Although we are all impacted by the COVID-19 pandemic, I can’t help but feel like the guests at Loaves & Fishes are suffering the most. For our guests, their modes of survival depend on many facilities throughout the Sacramento area, but those locations are no longer available. This puts a lot of weight on the staff at Loaves & Fishes. Being a Mercy Volunteer, it took time for me to adjust to our guests and try to understand their pain.
Although I will never be able to fully empathize with the pain of people experiencing homelessness, the world they live in (which already creates the conditions of daily struggle) has completely altered yet again. Our guests, which I often refer to as family now, don’t have the privilege or option to stay at home and still survive. Everyday some of our guests have to choose between catching a deadly virus or starving. Many of our guests don’t have a tent to stay in and feel safe, where some express never feeling safe at all.
While Loaves & Fishes staff are doing amazing things with carrying the load of caring for the homeless population of Sacramento, I can’t help but feel like the city could be doing more. Throughout the past week, myself and some staff at Friendship Park, led by the Advocacy Director Joe Smith, have been visiting camps and talking with the homeless population. They all say no one else has been there. My question is why?
Why has no one else bothered to stop by and care for our people? In the words of Gandhi, “The true measure of any society can be found in how it treats its most vulnerable members.” In that regard, we could all be doing more. A lot of our guests can’t understand the severity of this virus. This is due to the extreme, real fact, that many of the guests we see are impacted by mental illness and physical and intellectual disabilities. How can we simply get more guests to understand it? How can we help our guests to get tested? And how can we ensure they all get the basics of survival: water, food, and hygiene care?
These are issues and people that I feel like no one cares about. Most days I find myself arguing with my mother because she cannot grasp how I would risk my life everyday for free. I often relay to her that I can’t beg the world for change if I cannot do it myself.
Emerick Flores, Dining Room Program Director, joined the Sacramento Loaves & Fishes family in the beginning of March, just before the city’s shelter in place and social distancing measures were mandated due to COVID-19. Hear directly from Emerick in his interview with Janet Kuzawa, Communications & Outreach Specialist, where he shared his past experiences and what it was like to transition into the critical role of serving meals to our guests during a global pandemic.
When did you start working at Sacramento Loaves & Fishes?
I started in March. I started three weeks before all the countywide shelter-in-place. The beginning of my fourth week we shut down the kitchen and did everything to-go; I recall it was the week of St. Patrick’s Day.
Prior to joining Loaves & Fishes, where did you work?
I was an independent caterer as well as working at Conaway Ranch and Duck Club. During duck season I would do breakfast and lunches as well as cater events for them. I also volunteered at the VFW by supplying them with breakfast on Sundays.
How long have you worked in the food industry?
I have been professionally cooking since 2009. I went to culinary school for four years; I got a Bachelor’s in Culinary Management and was able to gain fine dining experience while employed at Conaway Ranch.
I remember having a brief conversation with you and you talked to me about starting a group home and working in social service. Can you provide a brief overview of that and what prompted you to want to offer that support to our community?
So I graduated from Fresno State with a Bachelor’s in Criminology and I wanted to go into law enforcement or corrections. I joined the Arizona Department of Corrections in 1996 and I left in 1998. I wasn’t helping. There’s no help in that field, there’s just a lot of negativity. And so I moved back to Fresno and started working in group homes. I had no clue group homes existed. I didn’t know there were kids that didn’t have a home – it seemed unfathomable. So I started working in group homes. First I worked with adolescent sex offenders in Fresno and there was 36 adolescents throughout six homes. Working in that field, I realized they were cutting corners to reduce costs and the services weren’t being provided for the kids and that’s when I decided I wanted to do my own and get it done right. And so I moved to Stockton and opened Stockton Foundation Group Homes. We started with one home with six kids and by 2011, I had two homes with 12 kids, all wards of the court. I just wanted to give back. I wanted to do something positive.
You mentioned initially that you wanted to be in law enforcement. What prompted that desire? Was there anything in particular about your life or any individual or mentors in your life that contributed to that initial goal?
Both of my parents were in the military, so I lived a very structured life. I grew up all over, but primarily in Europe – Italy, Germany and England. So I had a very structured childhood. My parents were very authoritarian – that’s what I thought I wanted to do, but it just didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like I was helping anybody. And once I started in group homes, I realized that’s what I wanted to do. After the group homes I started cooking professionally, which I enjoyed, but I was still missing that giving part. So I started volunteering at the VFW and I would do their banquets – I was giving back. I did a year at the Salvation Army which I thought, “Hey, this is giving back. They’re doing good.” But it was very limited giving back; we only fed the 100 people that were in the shelter. If you were lucky enough to be in the shelter you got food, and if not, you didn’t get any. I peeked across the street and saw Loaves & Fishes. And I was like “Who are these people at Loaves & Fishes? What are they about?” I researched the Delany’s and their “why” and “what” and that’s when I realized, “That’s where I want to be. I want to get there.” Two years later, I saw an opening, applied and was offered a position. And I was excited. I was happy to be here.
Now that you are on campus what have you learned about this place? What are your feelings and your sense of the campus, the people, the volunteers, our guests?
A lot of our staff members, I noticed, they do it not for money, they do it for the heart. So at least two to three times a week, I attend the 6:45 a.m. meetings with the Friendship Park staff because that’s where I started to really understand this place. I really understood all of the unity, the team work, the goal, the mission. Those people are amazing. They’re out here on the street, they’re in the park, they care, and it keeps me motivated.
When our services had to adjust, Mustard Seed came in and started to help serve, no kitchen experience at all. By week three, I had them cooking, “Stacy, Emily, you want to learn how to cook? We’re going to learn today.” I overheard them just two days ago saying, “I like the way this [to-go] box feels. This box feels good. I like the way these feel.” Stacy is usually stationed at the window where she offers the food to our guests and every now and then she’ll grab one and be like, “You guys, this one’s a little light” and she sends it back and they add food to it and it gets her approval. And it’s just funny because that’s how much they care about the guests – they care how much food they’re getting.
Change – there’s a lot of change especially right now with all this going on. It doesn’t phase me – you just keep on moving. Because the main goal is to feed the people that need food and right now there’s a lot of them so we start making a lot more. Start cooking. Let’s do it.
Is there anything else you want to add about yourself, about how you feel?
We are doing the extra 200 [meals for Sacramento Steps Forward to distribute to those sheltering in place in encampments] and it might go up a little more, and I’m excited about it. Feed as many as we can. Every Friday, I try to do a little something special for our staff that are still here. I understand that it can be exhausting and overwhelming and I want to thank them for being here. We had smoothies today and omelets a week ago and we’ll keep the surprises coming.
Richard Dobbs shares captivating stories about his years
of hardship and adventure traveling across the country as we walk under the
large green archway of Friendship Park.
He speaks of working odd jobs, hopping freight trains, cooking
meals over a campfire, and seeing a rare glimpse of America through the broken
braces of a Union Pacific boxcar.
The day is bright and touched with the warmth of spring
as a strong wind dusts up around us. Richard recounts a lifetime of events, most
of them in transit and on the move. He speaks of overcoming, thugs, and pool
hall hustlers and the medical difficulties that have plagued him since
Richard talks of fighting his way through a wake of
judgment and prejudice. “I lost my jobs and housing because of my medical
condition; landlords said I was a liability, and my employers would fire me.
Anyways I’m old now. I could never ride the rails or sleep in hobo jungles
today,” Richard says.
His shiny white medical helmet covered in stickers show
years of use and protection guarding Richard against the medical condition he
Richard is creative and artistic; he enjoys writing too.
He started painting and drawing again because Friendship Park offers an Art Day
on Fridays. It’s run by Ginny, a Friendship Park volunteer.
Richard and I step into a patch of shade outside a bungalow
at Friendship Park, and Richard shares more stories with me about other people
he’d traveled with like “The Oklahoma Kid,” “Big Jim,” and “Steamboat
I told Richard, “These stories are fascinating. If
you write up your stories and make some drawings about the hobo life, I’ll
publish them into a book.”
“Are you serious?” Richard said.
“Heck yes,” I said.
We shook hands, and a creative partnership was
Richard saw me a week later and said, “I finished my
book. It’s called Hobo Junction.” He handed me three handwritten
composition books wholly filled with hobo stories and drawings. I typed up and
edited Richard’s handwritten book of stories and scanned his artwork. I
uploaded all of it to an online self-publishing portal and printed 25 copies.
Richard sold out of the first printing of books within a week. He is a natural
Richard and I meet up regularly now. We are working on
his third book, a romance story. We had planned to have an art and book show in
May of his work. We had intended to sell books, original drawings, and a new
set of postcards. Richard would have read selected stories and poems from his
Then the virus hit the state of California, and the
country shut down and our plans have had to change.
I think about the support system of Friendship Park, the
green hats, Program Director George, and all the volunteers helping those who
live outside and how important it is to help, especially now. The Park remains
open, and everyone continues to assist in the face of danger.
I hope we can look at our community leaders to be kind
and reach out to those who are having a difficult time. I believe through this
awful and unprecedented historical time, it can bring out the best in us. I see
it at Friendship Park, and it’s an excellent example of help, support, and
kindness. It was a vital asset of help and refuge to our community long before
the virus locked our doors.
I checked in with Richard yesterday, and he said,
“When everything is safe, and we can go outside and meet up again, the
show will go on.”
I agreed. The show will go on.
You can read a preview and buy Richard’s books here:
Four weeks ago I greeted my preschool students at my
classroom door with their choice of a high-five, a handshake, or a hug. There
was a feeling of uncertainty in our program as talk of countywide school
closures due to COVID-19 signaled the potential for Mustard Seed to close its
doors to a regular academic day. One of my students, an energetic lover of all
things glue and scissors, turned 5 that day. We celebrated with a morning
birthday circle and cupcakes and juice boxes brought by the birthday girl’s mom
at lunchtime. It was the first and last day for my youngest student, who had
recently turned 3, and I was worried his mom might be upset when she picked him
up and saw his cheeks and hands stained with red dye from his celebratory
Fast forward one week, and my classroom, along with
the other four Mustard Seed classrooms, were closed. Our office remained open.
Our Outreach Coordinator, Lucia, made phone calls to parents and shelters,
checking in with our students, offering whatever services were available. But
were they still our students? Where were the families we were unable to
contact? Were they safe? How do we continue to help as the guidelines for
protecting ourselves and each other from getting sick get tighter every day?
My duties as a Montessori preschool teacher at a
school for children experiencing homelessness felt obsolete, and my new role
became support for other programs at Loaves & Fishes still serving and
meeting the survival needs of our guests in a pandemic. Mustard Seed staff began
checking in with Maryhouse, Friendship Park, and the Dining Room, hoping to
help. For the past few weeks, we have been supporting in any way possible. A
few of us have been making hygiene kits, sorting donations, and restocking
items handed to guests by gloved hands through the Maryhouse front entrance.
Other staff have worked in the service center at Friendship Park and handed out
lunch tickets to our guests. All of us have found ourselves prepping and
serving lunch in the dining room. We have tried to be more of a help than a
nuisance, and we have found ourselves in awe of the unique work and skills
required of each program.
It has been in the dining room, the heartbeat of
Loaves & Fishes, where my compassion and understanding of the guest has
been fortified. I am struck, daily, by the resiliency of the men and women who
go to sleep in a tent each night, thrown away by our society, who wake up each
morning ready to live, and make their way to Loaves & Fishes for a hot
meal. It has been the act of handing hot meals in a styrofoam container through
a window to 400 men and women each day that has solidified my faith in the work
of the saints around me and the mission of this holy place.
I am still a teacher, holding space in my heart for my
students and their families. While my teaching duties are on hold, I remain
committed to the philosophy and intention of Loaves & Fishes: to serve the
least of these.
When we learned that our services would be reduced in the wake of the pandemic, it could be presumed that there was a collective sigh of relief, but also an unexpressed guilt. The relief that staff and volunteers would be able to practice appropriate self care and necessary health precautions, but an even greater uncertainty as to how this would affect our guests – this coming at a time of abnormally cool and wet weather for Sacramento in March.
Warm meals were still offered to our guests, but instead of dining inside, they were handed containers with food. I watched as some headed to the streets outside of the campus or returned to Friendship Park for their meal. I watched as a woman gathered her belongings outside of Maryhouse and glancing down, I acknowledged her feet – covered only in socks and a pair of slippers. I offered her a slight smile and wondered if that was insulting considering the circumstances.
As we wait for the city to offer temporary shelter for our guests, we wonder if this is enough. If we are offering enough. If we are advocating enough. We ask ourselves “why” and sometimes unrelentingly question our actions and behaviours and wonder if any of this is creating an impact in the positive direction of change. We have to create the necessary boundaries for ourselves to maintain the necessary emotional well-being to return to these same questions every day; but as humans, as empathetic persons, we find it more difficult on some days to separate ourselves from the sense that we are responsible for our guests.
While I am only one of many staff and volunteers on our campus, I do recognize we are all similar in spirit. So I recognize that I am just one of many that walks on campus lost in my own thoughts. As I exited the Annex one morning recently, I immediately released myself from these thoughts and became a witness to simple joy. A boy, possibly slightly older than two years of age, was pumping his little legs up and down in a puddle that had developed from the overnight rain. He seemed oblivious to everyone around him and I looked up and made eye contact with his mother. She said, “He is in the wrong shoes for that but…” She trailed off knowing I would fill in the blanks, “But he is having so much fun and I live to see him smile.” I continued walking and he stopped stomping and reached down with his toddler sized gloved hand to tenuously reach down and touch his smiling reflection.
His mother, with his sibling, were slowly walking towards their vehicle and she called for him. As with most children, he was hesitant to leave his fun, but already knew better, even at his young age, than to create too much conflict with his mom. He toddled towards her and his sibling and I waved goodbye and also verbalized “bye bye.” In his loudest voice, he said “bye” and waved. I turned around and walked down North C Street in the opposing direction. A couple of seconds later I hear “bye,” punctuated by another “bye” a second after. I paused, turned slightly and realized he had stopped in the middle of North C Street, looking in my direction, and was saying goodbye to me still. I stopped, turned around, repeated my wave and “bye.” He seemed now satisfied with my response and followed his mother and sibling to their van.
On this day, at least, I felt satisfied with the “why.”