Breakfast at the Shelter 2025

 

Open Table Church got a late start on its once-a-month Sunday dinner and Monday breakfast project at the Ottawa PADS shelter.  Illinois Valley PADS started tearing down its worn-out shelter on Ottawa's West Side this summer, but structural changes to the former Ottawa YMCA Building on the Fox River, its new temporary shelter, took longer than anticipated.  PADS in Ottawa couldn’t open till October.  Stuff like that happens. Even good plans bend to reality.  Open Table was just glad to be back for another year.

I’m on the breakfast crew.  We phone our peers serving dinner on Sunday evening to make sure we have what’s needed for breakfast.  Our breakfast grocery donor, Gary Reardon, had made his monthly delivery before our arrival; 60 eggs and three big bags of frozen tater tots were in the refrigerator along with sliced ham and shredded cheese that were already there.  My partner that morning, Nelson Nussbaum, brought a gallon of orange juice.

Gary has been buying breakfast fixin’s for years.  But this year brought a new twist.  His daughter Emily teaches English at Newark High School. When local homelessness and her dad’s donations of eggs and such came up in a classroom discussion, a young man who raises chickens and sells eggs, FFA* member Brayden Kocourek, took a keen interest.

“Where does your dad buy eggs?” Brayden asked Emily.

“Wherever he can get them at a decent price.”

“Well, I could sell him the eggs and knock a dollar a dozen off what I usually charge.  I’d like to help the homeless, too.”

Emily explained Brayden’s idea to her dad. Getting fresh farm eggs, supporting a young man’s business, and encouraging philanthropy among young people?  It was a no-brainer YES.  And so, the circle of giving widened this year.

Sixty has been the magic egg number for years.  At times, we have eggs left over, but the shelter always uses them later.  However, when we showed up that Monday morning, the population at the shelter was 66.  We were surprised to have that many people so early in the season.  If we cooked two eggs each for even half that number of residents, it would take 66 eggs.  

Some people just have coffee and don’t eat breakfast.  Others don’t want to tie into a big breakfast and instead opt for fruit, a muffin, or a bowl of cereal. Feeding seventy percent of the residents a hot breakfast that includes eggs is a pretty good rule of thumb.  So, to be safe, Nelson made a run to Handy Foods and bought a few dozen more. 

We got to the shelter at 6:00 a.m. and began getting ready in a kitchen we’d never been to before.  Everything was in a different drawer or cupboard.  We spent a lot of time finding things.  An electric stove replaced the gas range.  It took a while to get organized.  My old omelet pan disappeared, but a new one took its place.  We slowly got the hang of it.

We found the baking sheets, got the tater tots in the oven, put the ham in a crock pot, and located cheese for the omelets.  We cook eggs to order, but we promote cheese omelets because they’re well-received and quickly made.  Breakfast was underway.  Nelson took the orders, and I manned the stove.

The coils on the burner of that old electric stove smoked.  I don’t know if someone spilled grease on them or what, but it was annoying.  The burner that best fit the omelet pan and was handy to the supplies was not only smoky but badly tilted.  I was able to level it up by sliding a table knife under the front coil.  You have to adjust.

I  cooked four omelets on that smoky burner before the alarm went off.  It was pretty loud for a smoke alarm.  I looked for a round white disc on the ceiling or wall, but couldn’t find it.  Usually, when that happens, I take something flat and fan the air under the sensor, and it goes off. 

This was a different deal.  It was a hard-wired, full-fledged fire alarm system.  Staff came into the kitchen and announced they were evacuating the building.   6:45 a.m., and everybody had to go outside.  The fire department would soon be on its way.  Oh boy.

Nelson and I joined the stream of people coming from the old Y gym, now divided into men’s and women’s dorms.  Most had been roused from sleep and looked dazed.  Many were wearing pajamas and socks.  We stood on the sidewalk and the berm at the corner of Jackson and Paul.  The air was cool and the sky cloudy.

In all the years we have volunteered at the shelter, I’d never seen the whole group in one place at one time.  Sixty-six residents plus staff and volunteers.  No one was really worried about a fire.  Nelson and I were probably the only people who had seen smoke, and we knew exactly where it came from.

The staff did a great job of managing the evacuation.  A young staff member took charge, explained that the fire department would be coming to check out the building, and would decide when we reentered.  He took roll call to make sure everyone was out.  When he butchered their names, he laughed at himself, and the crowd laughed too.  Everyone was very accepting of the situation.  I looked around at us.

I counted seven babies in their parents’ arms with blankets wrapped around them.  A double stroller held two toddlers.  There were people of all ages, shapes, and sizes.  I’m 74 and was likely among the oldest in the crowd. I ended up standing next to another older man who walked slowly with a walker.  I looked down at his feet, and he was barefoot.   I asked the man if I could get him a chair.  He declined.

“I’m going to sit on that little concrete post over there.  It’s my favorite.  I got one with my initial on it.” 

There were four concrete posts about three feet high, probably installed as bollards to protect the former west-facing workout room with all the windows from a runaway car on that corner.  It’s now the dining room.  Each post has a letter on it.  It looked as if someone had written on the top of each post with a nail when the cement was wet.  Y-M-C-A.

I walked over with him.  He backed up carefully and lowered himself onto the M.  I sat next to him on the C. 

“So, what’s the M stand for, sir?’

“Marvin.  Nice to meet you.”

He stuck out his hand, and I shook it.

“I’m Dave.  Does this mean if some guy named Charley wants my seat, I gotta move?”

Marvin laughed.

“No.  Once you sit down, nobody knows.”

He looked at me a little closer.

“When did you get in?  I haven’t seen you before.”

“My partner and I are here cooking breakfast.  I’m a volunteer.”

“Yeah?  What’s on the menu?”

“Eggs how you like them with ham and potatoes.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for coming.”

A fire truck with flashing lights was coming East on Jackson Street, and another approached down Paul Street.  Firemen in full gear got out of their trucks, put their hats on, and walked towards the building.  As they came through the crowd, I stopped one and explained to one of them that I was cooking eggs, the stove was smoking, and that probably caused the alarm.  He looked at me blankly and went on in.  I sat back down next to Marvin.  I don’t usually talk to residents about their problems, but Marvin seemed different.

“What brings you here, Marvin?”

“Oh, you know.  Circumstances.  My legs started going bad, and I couldn’t work anymore.   When money got tight, I gave up my place and moved in with my girlfriend.  That worked for a while, but her daughter and two kids got kicked out of where they were living and needed a place.  She doesn’t like me much.  Thinks I take advantage of her mama.  I didn’t want no trouble, so as soon as she moved in, I left.  One thing led to another, and here I am.”

“What do you plan to do next?”

“The staff here are talking about me taking my social security.  But I’m only 63.  I always figured I’d go till 65, get the most I could, but I don’t know.  I’m what they call ‘a guy with limited options.’  No kids, no family to speak of.  What I really want is a job.  But I don’t whose going to hire me with this damn thing.” 

He banged a fist on his walker.  I just listened.  The staff at PADS will help him decide what’s next.

“But hey, sounds like I got a hot breakfast coming.  Could be worse.”

As he said that, it started to sprinkle.  Mothers with babes in arms pulled up the blankets to cover their heads.  The Mom with her toddlers in the stroller pulled the collapsible roof out to keep them dry.  The adults just kind of took it.

Soon the rain stopped, the firemen gave us the all clear, and we went back into the building.  The staff member who took roll call came into the kitchen.  We opened a window and cracked an outside door near the stove for better ventilation.

The evacuation changed our routine.  Usually, people get up slowly and eat breakfast over a couple of hours. But because of the evacuation, everyone was up and wanted breakfast at once.  It got a little frantic.  But Nelson kept everything cool.  People ordered, then leaned up against a wall in the hall and waited calmly for their orders to be filled. In about an hour and a half, we had everyone who wanted a hot breakfast fed.

After the “fire”, Nelson and I  filled 32 more orders of eggs for a total of 36.  Somewhere along the line, I ran out of yellow cheese for the omelets, scrounged up a bag of shredded Mozzarella and a shaker of Parmesan, and finished off making cheese omelets with those.  They were a hit.  I may start with them in November.

Marvin ordered his eggs sunny side up, and I threw in an extra one.  I hope he settles on a plan that results in him finding a home, and I don’t see him again in November.  Because there but for the grace of God go you and me.  Count your blessings and pray for Marvin, the babies, their parents, and all of us who stand together in the rain as one with our futures before us.

 

*FFA – Future Farmers of America