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A T.H.O.R.N. On Their Side

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By D'ANN LAWRENCE WHITE

dlwhite@tampatrib.com

Published: December 10, 2008

TAMPA - There was food aplenty - but fewer guests than expected to share the feast as volunteers for T.H.O.R.N. Ministries took to the streets, traveling to several locations in Tampa frequented by the homeless to serve Thanksgiving dinner.

It isn't that there are fewer people in need of help, said Ybor City resident Jerry Villafane, who met up with the ministry at the first stop at 19th Avenue and Adamo Drive beneath the Lee Roy Selmon Expressway. With the state of the economy, there are more people in need than ever before, he said.

"It's just that there are so many groups out feeding the homeless today," he explained, pointing across the street to another group of volunteers from a different agency. They also were feeding the homeless and hungry on Thanksgiving.

Sarah Shirina, coordinator of the annual Thanksgiving feast for Brandon-based T.H.O.R.N. - an acronym for Thankfully Helping Others' Real Needs - said the group doesn't normally have competition during its weekly Sunday visits to Tampa to feed the homeless. But, as far as she was concerned, the more the merrier.

"I'm happy to see so many people taking an interest in the homeless," said Shirina, a 20-year-old St. Leo College junior who is majoring in social work and considering a career working with the homeless.

She became a volunteer for T.H.O.R.N. while she was attending Bloomingdale High School four years ago. Her family met founder Kristin Taylor of Riverview and volunteered to help her feed the homeless on Christmas Day.

Taylor started T.H.O.R.N.'s ministry on Thanksgiving Day 1997. She and her team of volunteers feed the homeless in parking lots and beneath overpasses in Tampa each Sunday.

Despite the competition from other nonprofit groups, the 30 T.H.O.R.N. volunteers from the Brandon area who gave up Thanksgiving celebrations with their families fed more than 150 people.

Many, like Villafane, were unaccustomed to accepting charity.

Villafane, 73, receives a Social Security check, but it's not enough money for him to manage all his expenses - including the $800 rent on his home on 22nd Street, electricity, car insurance and groceries. So he's opted to keep a roof over his head and forego food and car insurance. He rides a bike to homeless feeding sites to get meals.

"What else can I do?" he asks. "I'm caught in a bind."

Embarrassment made many of the newly homeless reluctant to give their names. Others refused to talk, saying they were angry at the media for taking away their dignity.

"They come here and take our photo without asking permission, like we're animals in the zoo," said one man.

"A lot of people treat you like a nobody," said another homeless man at the parking lot on Jefferson and Cass streets near the Greyhound Bus station, explaining why the homeless were so hesitant to give interviews. He'd been on the streets four weeks and said he was having trouble adjusting to the idea of having no home, no address.

"It really hurts your self-esteem. People think all homeless are drunks and drug addicts. But some of us have just had some bad luck," he said.

Well-spoken, apparently educated, the homeless man said he thought publicity would hurt his chances of getting off the streets. He said he's confident his luck will change.

"The last thing you have is hope," he said. "If you lose your hope, you've lost everything."

Listening in was another new member of the "residentially challenged," as he called himself. A computer science major at Purdue University with experience as an information systems analyst, the man wore wire-frame glasses, a hooded sweatshirt with a college logo and would have looked at home in any surburban Starbuck's cafe. He said he'd been on the street 41 days.

"It's been quite a revelation for someone who had never even been camping before," he joked.

He wasn't quite as hopeful about his future, however. He has a felony conviction. Any time he applies for a job and the potential employer learns about the conviction, he's out the door.

"No one will hire me," he said. "But I just found out about this. Maybe I'll give it a try." He pointed to an advertisement for a Web site: JobsforFelonz.com. "It's probably not legit, but I'll look into it. The shame of it is some of the best workers are ex-offenders because they are so anxious for that second chance."

Both men have quickly become fans of the volunteers at T.H.O.R.N.

They don't preach, try to convert or lecture. The volunteers simply serve home-cooked meals with a smile and treat them as friends.

"Everybody appreciates them," said the other man near the bus station. "They could be spending their Thanksgiving with their families, and here they are with us. If it wasn't for these people, forget about it."

"They're one of the favorites," agreed the former computer analyst. "They're here every week. You can always count on them. And they always put on a good spread."

It was 88-year-old Kathryn Denton's first experience helping feed the homeless. She joined granddaughter Amy Meany, grandchildren Tyler, 12, and Christian, 9, and their dad, Jerry, for what's become a Thanksgiving family tradition for the Meany family.

Amy Meany explained that she volunteers to feed the homeless each Thanksgiving not only as an expression of thanks for the blessings in her own life but to show her school-age children how fortunate they are and to teach them the importance of volunteer work while they are young.

Rick Zeitler of Brandon brought his children for the same reason. This was 7-year-old Ryan Zeitler's first experience with a homeless ministry, and his father marveled at how much more tolerant children are than adults. Ryan and other children of volunteers showed no apprehension, prejudice or aversion as they served drinks and struck up conversations with the homeless.

At one stop, Shirina enthusiastically reunited with her old friend, Jimbo, a painfully thin 65-year-old man with long, gray-streaked hair and a straggly beard. Shirina explained that Jimbo had served in Vietnam and, while there, his only daughter was murdered. He didn't learn of his daughter's death until he returned to the United States.

"He had post-traumatic stress disorder and began drinking and fell into despair," Shirina said. "I guess it all took its toll on him. Now he has the mental capacity of a 12-year-old. He's such a sweet, innocent guy."

When the Tampa police discovered Jimbo lying critically ill on the side of the road last year and took him to the hospital, the only clue to his identity was a business card in his pocket with T.H.O.R.N. Ministries' phone number on it. Shirina was contacted and stayed by his side until Jimbo was able to be released.

"He gives me a hug and tells me I'm his girl," Shirina said. "That's why I do this. So the Jimbos of the world know they're not alone."

T.H.O.R.N. is always in need of donations of food, as well as toiletries, blankets, underwear, socks, backpacks, coats and other cold-weather gear to be distributed to the homeless. Items can be dropped off at Taylor's home, 10414 Deepbrook Drive, Riverview, in Boyette Springs.

For information, call (813) 653-4496 or e-mail kristin @thornministries.org.

Reporter D'Ann Lawrence White can be reached at (813) 657-4524.

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