Nov. 19, 2006 — Two men, one a former corrections guard and one a former homeless person, perform small but significant miracles every day on St. Thomas at a residence in Hospital Grounds.
They supply a roof over the heads of about 40 of the island's otherwise homeless. But,they supply more than shelter — compassion and discipline are freely dished out at Bethlehem House, the island's only homeless shelter.
Alvin A. Henley, a 10-year veteran of the Bureau of Correction is district manager for Catholic Charities of the Virgin Islands, which operates the shelter. Richard Gomez, who graduated from the streets of St. Thomas, serves as shelter manager. The two are active in changing the direction of many lives as they pass in and out of the doors of Bethlehem House.
The facility opened its doors in 1987. Henley joined the staff in 1990, initially as a security guard. But before long he became manager. Gomez started as a mechanic 10 years ago. He was sent for the job by the Territorial Court.
Bethlehem House has strict rules, and most of the beds are always full. Alcohol and drugs are not permitted because residents need to know they have a safe and dry place. For the same reason, the shelter does not admit people suffering from severe mental illness. "We can't just take anybody off the street," Henley says. There is a 10 p.m. curfew, which is relaxed if a resident works past that hour.
The grounds, though limited, are clean, as are the brightly painted buildings. Catholic Charities operates another shelter of the same name on St. Croix. On this day, some residents relax outside in the yard while others surround a television in a small lounge in the men's quarters. Many of the residents are at work, Henley says.
Though they do have walk-ins, most residents are referred by government agencies, the hospital and substance-abuse clinics.
One side of the shelter is all male, with individual rooms that can hold up to three residents. The women's dorm is in on the other side. There is one room which can hold up to eight beds, Henley says, "and that can get to be pretty loud." He adds, "What we like is having one woman who is dominant over the others, and they will listen to her."
"But," he says, laughing, "it's not good, if you have more than one."
Catholic Charities also operates a soup kitchen on St. Thomas close to the shelter, and another one on St. John, Henley says. "The soup kitchen serves hot meal five days a week," he says. The shelter residents get a continental breakfast there and lunches. The shelter serves dinner. On Saturdays the shelter serves lunch for everybody, Henley says.
The soup kitchen travels to Cruz Bay, St. John, every Tuesday, where it serves at the Nazareth Lutheran Church. "We are in the process of serving in Cruz Bay three days a week, and outreaching to Coral Bay with a mobile service, hopefully before the end of the year," Henley says.
A Catholic Charities pickup truck pulls up outside, and Gomez, tall and lanky, enters the small shelter office and pulls up a chair. "So," he says, "what would you like to know? My life's open."
As he relaxes, Gomez gives a glimpse into what keeps him going.
"I started out as a mechanic," he says, but "they saw the ambition in me. Ever since I got here, I strive to help."
"So many cases are the outcome of a bad childhood," Gomez says, but he hastens to add, "I didn't have a bad childhood," though he did find himself on the street doing drugs.
Gomez speaks highly of his family. As for his present vocation, he says he came by it naturally. One of 10 children, he says, "My mother would bring other kids to care for. She was a social worker, and my sisters are in teaching and social work."
But he laments what might have been: "I think how things could have been different; I could have had a different life. I could have been a teacher."
Gomez is, in fact, a teacher, delivering a strong message to school students about staying away from drugs and getting an education. He is modest about his current work.
On his own, Gomez has gone for years to the junior high schools, Addelita Cancryn and Bertha C. Boshulte, to tell students about his first-hand experience with drugs. "I stress the importance of family, and of education," he says. "I use my own experience."
Gomez runs the organization's outreach program. He has just returned from a run. He takes food to Paul M. Pearson Gardens, Simmonds Alley or Bovoni. "We take food and clothing to those who don't come to the soup kitchen," Gomez says.
The shelter operates with a staff of eight. Along with managers Henley and Gomez it employs three security guards, a social worker and a case worker. The social worker, Yvonne Gomez, has her hands full. "She works in the soup kitchen, she does counseling, she is the ideal one to talk with," Henley says. "She also makes home visits."
Laverne Tong is the case-worker for residents of the shelter. "She helps pregnant mothers, helps get them to the hospital and back — we've almost had babies delivered here," Henley says.
Residents are initially admitted for 30 days. "You go to the housing office, and you find you are 349 on the list," Gomez says.
The 30 days really serves as a probation period. "You can't save enough money to get an apartment with first and last month's rent in that time," Henley says. "We send residents to the Department of Labor to get jobs," he says. "Then we take some money out of each paycheck and save it for them until they are on their feet."
Gomez keeps a sharp eye on the habits of the residents. "We have a 'three strikes and you're out' policy," he says. "We know when somebody is drinking or using." He laughs, "They think they can fool us?"
But he is understanding; Gomez has been there himself, and he knows it can get tough. Residents in need get referred to Alcoholics Anonymous and other 12-step programs, Gomez says.
The shelter has a good success rate, its operators say. "We find apartments and jobs for about eight or nine out of 20," Gomez says.
"We have all sorts of people who've passed through here," he adds. "We have had college graduates with masters degrees, nurses, professional people."
The two seem to work together with the ease of an old married couple. "I love my job," says Gomez, leaning back with a big smile. "It ain't about the pay," he jokes. Henley agrees.
"If it was the money, I'd be long gone," he says.
"It's about helping people," Gomez says as Henley nods. "That's all it is. Most of us have been here 10 years or more. We've been through the payless paydays."
Both men have families. They work 12-hour shifts, but mostly get weekends off to be with their families.
As we talk, a young man comes in to see if he can borrow a boombox sitting under a desk. Gomez tells him, "If you clean that up good, and keep it nice, you just might get it for Christmas." The young man beams, "Yeah, man," he says, "I sure will."
Both Gomez and Henley wish there was more public awareness of the homeless problem in the territory. Nov. 12-18 was National Hunger and Homelessness Awareness Week. Gomez says, "We had a march to Emancipation Garden, and John deJongh and Sen. Craig Barshinger made the effort. They marched with us. I love the idea that they were there. Now, if deJongh becomes governor, at least he has heard our cry."
Gomez was disappointed no other elected officials showed up. "Every family knows somebody who has been affected by homelessness," he says. "We need the support. It affects everybody, including the senators."
The shelter can always use cloth
ing, furniture, personal hygiene products, music and books. Donations are tax deductible. Contact the shelter at 777-5001 or visit it online.
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