Reflection Remarks

Here's the beginning of this series following the city's effort to criminalize feeding the homeless in Skid Row.


Yesterday, the young hippie couple moved out after spending their first year of marriage here. They planned it that way, that their first and formative year of marriage would be spent at the Los Angeles Catholic Worker.

They met at an agricultural community in Georgia. They couldn’t afford rings so they got tattoos on their ring fingers.

Sybilla was an amazing cook. Kurt was a brewmaster.

They were much more likely to say they loved each other in the kitchen than they were to call each other assholes. And if one did call the other an asshole, they could be found hugging and kissing in the front room soon enough.

Sybilla was a social organizer, leading everyone for a Boba Tea after a day working at the soup kitchen. Kurt was always lending a hand, like taking the Catholic Worker video of the breakfast line dispute with the police.

Sarah from Canada left last week, so three people have left within the week. It is the way of community life, of life itself: Goodbyes.

What’s called the summer program begins this weekend, however, with several prospective volunteers filling the Victorian as a sort of come-and-see.

Hellos are a part of life here, too.

The house transitions. It is a natural time of reflection.

Kurt and Sybilla left on a Greyhound to spend their one-year anniversary on the Appalachian Trail. Then they are moving to Indiana, Sybilla’s home, where they have secured a room in an Indianapolis townhome for $200 a month. That’s living simply, and having faith you will be taken care of.

If the world was in the hands of people like Kurt and Sybilla, we could confidently pass it on to the next generations, but that’s not how it is.

At Kurt and Sybilla’s farewell party, shortly after Kurt toasted everybody in the beautifully cramped third-floor community room, Jeff Dietrich, who has spent his entire adult life here, was sitting outside on the third-floor balcony. He shared his hopes that the community house, officially called a house of hospitality, as well as the work of feeding the poor in Skid Row would continue for another couple decades, but there are no guarantees.

Inside, his wife, Catherine Morris, was answering a question about how exactly the Catholic Church released her from her vows as a nun when she decided to marry Jeff in 1974 and join up with this band of radicals. But join up she did. And for the last 40 years she has been the leader of hundreds, if not thousands who have revolved in and out of this place over the decades.

These days, Catherine Morris’s laugh and warmth and bite is the same as ever, but she moves slowly. Her knee has no cartilage left.

It’s easy to wonder about the future of this community watching her climb the stairs in the old Victorian.

It’s easy to wonder about the future of the coffee and oatmeal line, too. 

There is some hope the police will leave the oatmeal and coffee line alone, largely because they have left it alone for more than a month now. Members of Food Not Bombs have also been encouraged to shut down their free food giveaway, and so have members of the Dream Center. But all three groups continue to serve food.

Another reason to think the police might leave the breakfast line alone is that the city hasn’t re-filed the paperwork on Dietrich’s arrest last month.

Then again, if the Orlando police arrest people for feeding the poor, why not the LAPD?

All will be told. 

Day Drill

In 1955, a woman named Dorothy Day and a handful of friends were living with poor people in a house in Manhattan and feeding homeless people on the street, everything run on donations. They were radicals. Feeding the poor was only part of their fun.

In the spring, they read in the newspaper that the city was going to conduct a massive civil defense drill. When New Yorkers heard the air raid sirens, they were supposed to take shelter underground or underneath a school desk in a classroom.

This drill was supposed to help the New York City population survive a nuclear war. Well, Day and her pacifist friend Ammon Hennacy doubted it and called a few other friends. They all met in the park in front of City Hall on the day of the drill.

Newspaper reporters, photographers and a television camera gathered along with police. As the sirens blew, the police told the folks sitting on a couple of park benches to take shelter. They declined, were arrested and loaded into the paddy wagons waiting a block away.

They went to jail, women and men. The judge called them “murderers.”

After Day and the others refused to pay the bail, another judge sent them home after 24 hours in jail. The next year, the city repeated the drill and the protestors repeated their crime of not moving from park benches. The judge ordered them to pay a fine or serve five days in jail. David Caplan, who worked as a physicist, attempted to explain to the judge how such civil defense drills were a fraud because human beings would have to be far under ground, much deeper than a subway tunnel. Some paid the fine, others went to jail. Day wouldn’t pay any fines because the poor couldn’t pay fines.

The next year everybody was jailed again when they refused to take cover. More press than ever turned out to watch the silly pacifists loaded into the paddy wagons.  In 1958, Day and seven others were arrested for a fourth time. This time, the judge suspended the sentences. In 1959, while the sirens wailed, the police ignored a mother and her two children picnicking in the grass and hauled away fourteen people, including Day, before the cameras.

Day credited her friend’s picnic with her two little ones for inspiring hundreds of young mothers to eat sack lunches in the park the following year, 1960.

Those mothers with the infants and young students made for hundreds of people in the park. The park was so packed, Day wrote, it would have been hard to clear out without pushing people out of the way, so the majority stayed. The police ignored Day and arrested 25 others.

The next year, two thousand people stood outside City Hall refusing to take shelter. All across New York people were openly ignoring the screaming sirens. The newspapers finally agreed with the silly protesters that the civil defense drills didn’t make much sense except to scare people. That was the last year of the civil defense drills.

A letter to the editor in the New York Times supporting the protesters said, "There is no possible defense against an atomic attack other than peace."

Dorothy Day founded the Catholic Worker Movement, which the community I am living in is a part of.



Sources used: Jim Forest's Love is the Measure; Jerry Elmer's Felon for Peace; Day’s writings; The Catholic Worker newspaper, July-August, 1956, June 1960, July-August 1955

This is Part 11 of the city's effort to criminalize feeding the homeless. Here's Part 12.

Home Hunting

The free breakfast line for the homeless the city of Los Angeles wants shut down is located near artsy lofts. 

In the late 90s, the city pumped public money into private loft developments on the edge of Skid Row, and people with money started moving in. 

Forget about the moral question of using public money to drive out a population of people because they are poor, since that sort of thing plays no part of public policy. Neither does race. The city would rather have pretty privileged people of whatever color living downtown than people of whatever shade pushing shopping carts.

For the record, the people who have moved into the expensive lofts on the edges of Skid Row are of all colors, though mostly white. The mentally ill homeless people being driven out of the neighborhood with all the free services are all colors, though mostly black.

The police want the free oatmeal and coffee line shut down and say they have received a complaint from nearby residents about the line. So over the past month I have been speaking with people who live in the nearby lofts, some while on their way to work, some while they are walking their dogs to the new dog park across the street, which Officer Jack Richter was instrumental in creating, according to the dog owners. Richter is the officer leading the shut-down of the free food giveaways in Skid Row, including Catholic Workers’ oatmeal and coffee line near the dog park.

I’ve talked with seven people altogether. Four supported the Catholic Workers' breakfast giveaway, which lasts for 40 minutes twice a week, saying it was a good thing and very orderly. Two didn’t have an opinion. One didn’t like it. His name is Greg. I spoke with him a couple weeks ago, and then last week after Greg complained to the authorities across the street about the breakfast line, I spoke with him again.

Greg said the homeless wouldn’t congregate near his building if we didn’t give out food. He said he appreciates the effort we put in to pick up trash, but he doesn’t like having to step around homeless people on his way to work. Sometimes after breakfast is served and we leave, Greg has seen a homeless man urinate.

“What you guys are doing is good,” Greg said. “But nobody wants to see someone urinate outside their home.”

Yes, who can accurately call Skid Row home? Does it belong to the poor and homeless who have resided in Skid Row for more than a hundred years? Or is it home for those who have money and began moving in in the late 90s?

It would be nice if it were both of their homes, which it is.



This is Part 10 of the city's effort to criminalize feeding the homeless in Skid Row. Here's Part 11.

Training Time

It’s not unusual to live in this house and in this community and not ever perform a particular chore. Take me, for example. 

Welding all my stays since 2006 together, I have lived here nearly two years, and yet I have never prepared the oatmeal that is served at the Fourth Street Bridge twice a week. It is this oatmeal, as well as the coffee, that the authorities say is illegal to give to the homeless and must be discontinued.

So Sarah, who has lived here for about a year, and who is leaving to return home to Canada in a week, told me to meet her in the house kitchen at 6:15 a.m. for my training. At 6:15, Sarah was nowhere to be found. I put the time to decent use with a cup of coffee and a cursory look over the sports section of the newspaper.

When Sarah finally wandered downstairs at 6:30, I had learned my most valuable lesson: I don’t need to get up at 6:15 to do this job. I can sleep an extra fifteen minutes.

After employing three people to search and locate the proper scoop, Sarah dumped six heaping scoops of rolled oats in a 15-gallon pot already filled with boiling water (an earlier riser turned on the burner). Then she instructed me to toss in two large handfuls of raisons before she threw in large dashes of cinnamon as well as margarine and a smaller dash of salt.

When she put the salt in, another hippie in the kitchen said he never made the oatmeal with salt, and so a little discussion ensued about which way is better, with or without salt. Sarah appeared to have won the discussion by saying that salt is one of those ingredients that tingles the body and makes it feel good.

Since the vast majority of homeless folks in downtown L.A. are single men, they are referred to as “the guys.” So when I tell you that the guys downtown raved about the oatmeal, as they often do, you understand what I mean.

And now that I have been trained in how to make a vat of oatmeal, you understand there may be an expectation I make the meal sometime in the near future.



This is Part 9 of the city's effort to criminalize feeding the homeless in Skid Row. Here's Part 10.

The Trend

When you live in this community, you receive a $15 stipend a week. The houses don’t have heat. Money that would go toward operating a furnace instead goes toward food and shopping carts for the poor.

The Los Angeles Catholic Worker receives no funding from the church and doesn’t cost taxpayers anything either.

Checks arrive in the mail and keep the place going, somehow, for more than 40 years now.

Within the community, there is what’s called the core community members, who have been a part of the place for at least several years. Catherine Morris and Jeff Dietrich, former nun and former hippie, respectively, are the longest-serving community members, arriving in the early 70s.

There are also the formerly homeless folks called house guests, including those who stay a little while to get clean or heal an injury, or to die, and those who have stayed more than a decade.

And there is the transitory community of hippie volunteers who stay for a year or two, or less, or more, before moving on to volunteer or just live simply elsewhere in the world. Some plan a come-and-see visit before moving in. Some show up on the doorstep and take a chance, as much of a chance as the community takes on them.

I have found community life to be a wonderfully evolved way to live, but it’s not without the obvious challenges that sharing bathrooms and a kitchen and common space, as well as chores, brings.

Although the police haven’t showed up for a couple weeks, my friends aren’t optimistic that their breakfast giveaway, which has provided oatmeal and coffee for 24 straight years, will survive the judgment of the city. Eliminating and limiting access to food is part of the playbook for many cities dealing with those without homes, not just Los Angeles.



This is Part 8 of the city's effort to criminalize feeding the homeless in Skid Row. Here's Part 9.

Story Sides

The city says feeding people on the sidewalk is unsanitary. The homeless don’t have the opportunity to wash their hands before eating.

Homeless and poor people have allergies, just like everyone else, and sometimes the food given away for free on the sidewalks of Skid Row contain ingredients that make some people sick. Fights sometimes even ensue during a free food or winter coat giveaway because of accusations that someone cut in line or took the last meal or coat.

In addition, the trash that results from these free food giveaways in the form of plates and bags and discarded food is too much, and local businesses shouldn't have to put up with it.

City officials say the major missions in Skid Row are the best places for the poor and homeless to eat. Folks do not track trash into the street after eating inside a mission. There are no surprise ingredients in the food at the missions, so allergy reactions aren’t a concern. If there is a scuffle, mission security handles it.

“Feeding people on the street is not hygienic, it’s not sanitary, it’s not good for their health,” said the local city councilwoman in the L.A. Times story last year.

City officials want the homeless and poor to interact primarily if not exclusively with the major missions. The major missions receive city money to operate and have been strong supporters of the city’s crackdown on the homeless and poor that officially began in 2006.

* * *

Charitable organizations like the Catholic Worker say sharing food with one another is a basic human right, and something the gospels have instructed people to do for thousands of years. Outlawing their oatmeal and coffee breakfast giveaway is the truly unsanitary act because the homeless will end up eating out of dumpsters and garbage cans for a morning meal, which creates more trash and unsightly behavior.

The homeless know their own allergy concerns better than anyone else, and a rare reaction at a free food giveaway is hardly a reason to shut them all down. Likewise, once in a while there is an argument about cutting in line at a food giveaway, but that’s also not a good enough reason to shut them all down. The Catholic Workers say their non-violent method of separating disputing parties is more effective than strong-armed security measures anyway.

The Catholic Workers also say they not only sweep up trash generated by their giveaways, they sweep up all other trash on the block in an attempt to make nice with the nearby businesses and residents and avoid scrutiny.

Although the L.A. and Midnight missions still serve three meals a day six and seven days a week, respectively, the Fred Jordan Mission cancelled its breakfast a month ago. The Union Rescue Mission used to offer multiple meals a day to anyone off the street, but recently it has begun charging the homeless $210 a month for a cot. Although lunch is offered to anyone on a first come first serve basis, breakfast and dinner are provided to only those who pay the monthly fee, which increases to $300 by six months.

The Catholic Workers say that shutting down food giveaways while directing the homeless to the missions at a time when the missions have cut back on free meals shows the real motive of the city: Make life as legally difficult as possible for the homeless in the hopes they leave the downtown area.


A note: Since the website shutdown last week, blogger won't let me upload photos. Also, I didn't hear back from Officer Jack Richter. 


This is Part 7 of the city's effort to criminalize feeding the homeless. Here's Part 8.

Indoor Inclination

Today I’m participating in Lydia Kang’s and Leigh Moore's little project of having bloggers write something funny about themselves.

Before I do, here's what's coming up Wednesday in my reporting series about the city of Los Angeles shutting down food giveaways in Skid Row: the city's and the Catholic Workers' side of the story, unless the police arrest people for serving food to the homeless in the morning, in which case I will have that story, of course.

And here's (one of many) true exchanges I had with homeless men soon after arriving in Skid Row in 2006.

Me: I like it when it rains. We don’t get enough rain.

Homeless man: That’s because you sleep indoors.



This is Part 6 of the city's effort to criminalize feeding the homeless in Skid Row. Here's Part 7.

Right Room

I moved into the community house in East L.A. for the month of May. I'm staying in Dave's room, who is away. Dave's room used to be my room. Before me, it was Gustavo's room. Before Gustavo, it was Manuel's room. 


The only significant change to my old room is the addition of a Bob Marley flag next to a painting of Jesus Christ and Dan Berrigan, which, of course, I believe to be an excellent addition to the wall.

My old bedroom is in the back house, which is a five-bedroom house behind the gingerbread Victorian where most people live, including LACW community members as well as formerly homeless guests. There’s also a two-bedroom apartment above the garage that is used to temporarily put up homeless families and overflow guests, which I have been on occasion.

The apartment’s shower is the best of any on the property, but this opinion is not universally shared.

“The house,” as the Victorian is called, was built in 1889 by a political and business bigwig of Boyle Heights, and it sits on one of the highest hilltops in L.A.

From the third floor balcony, majestic sunsets over downtown L.A. close the day. From the side porch are sweeping views of the snow-capped San Gabriel Mountains in the winter. From my bedroom window in the back house, I wake up to the sun rising over East L.A.

Not a bad set up for a bunch of poor people. The land and houses were bought and donated by a former community member with a knack for making money. That’s how this place functions: People donate, money or time. When the squeaky old blue hippie van finally died, a couple members of what’s called the extended community bought another van. The spiffy new van does not have nearly the amount of left-of-center bumper stickers that the old van boasted, but it’s on its way.

I hope I’m on my way to interviewing Officer Jack Richter about the Catholic Workers’ breakfast line as well as the larger issue of shutting down giveaways in Skid Row. I spoke with him briefly on the phone earlier this week and he expressed doubt that I could be fair presenting the city’s side. I told him I could. Hopefully we can get together soon.

It’s nourishing to be discussing and writing about a relevant issue like how best to deal with poorest people in a place like Los Angeles’ Skid Row, which has been called America’s Jerusalem.

It’s also fun to be doing my first immersion journalism project on the fly like this, writing for writers I respect.

And it’s nice living in this community again.




This is Part 5 of the city's effort to criminalize feeding the homeless in Skid Row. Here's Part 6.

Sidewalk Stand

A former nun and priest bought a laundry van with unpaid war taxes, painted "free lunch" on the sides and hauled a pot of spaghetti cooked in their home in Pasadena to grimy Skid Row one spring day. 

Chris and Dan Delany served that pot of spaghetti outside a mission next to St. Vibiana Cathedral where Dan happened to have been ordained. Homeless men who lived on the gray streets as well as tenants in the small hotel rooms lined up for a plate. This was 1969.


The next day they cooked something different. The variety of meals depended on what had been donated and what was on sale at the store.


Since 1969, the volunteers, hippies and radicals that have been a part of the Los Angeles Catholic Worker community have served food on the sidewalks of Skid Row. Since 1969, the police have shut down the food line more than once, but it was always eventually allowed to continue at another location in Skid Row.

But the city isn’t interested in allowing the oatmeal and coffee giveaway to continue at another location.

This is the neighborhood with the largest concentration of homeless people in the country.

A community member, Sybilla, drew and wrote messages in colored chalk on the sidewalk for those in line this morning. I made plans to shoot nine-ball with someone in line. And the police didn’t show up. 

It was a good day.




This is Part 4 of the city's effort to criminalize feeding the homeless in Skid Row. Here's Part 5.