Alex Primm, an oral historian, and his spouse Cathy reside in Springfield, Missouri. He is 80 years old. She is 78. They are long-time civic and humanitarian volunteers. Alex agreed to record and read for us an essay he wrote about an experience he had volunteering for the night shift at a local homeless shelter — during a blizzard. Cathy intermittently chimes in, during the reading, with blessed words of encouragement.
The following is a transcript of Alex Primm's essay, edited for brevity, titled: "Coldest Night at the Overflow Shelter."
The text message came about 3 p.m.
“Can you come in?” it asked.
Just a week ago I signed up as a back-up, in case a volunteer had a problem. It had only warmed up to 10 degrees this February afternoon and snowed all day.
“Sure," I said. "I’m good with coming in.”
This will be the second time I’ve worked the all-night shift at our church, one of a number of churches here in Springfield, Missouri that operate homeless shelters. How many would die on the streets without these volunteers and churches?
I manage to make it to the church. We night-shift volunteers have to remain awake through the night.
A volunteer named Jorge serves coffee and donated snacks for two hours before our unsheltered folks, wearing required COVID-19 masks, settle in for the night.
Near the snack table someone has taped a photocopied sign which reads:
"In case no one told you today: You are beautiful. You are loved..."
Two guys across the room seem to be having trouble sleeping.
"You are needed..."
One old guy comes up to tell me he's having trouble getting his paperwork together.
“They want proof of address for me to get food stamps," he said, "but I don’t have an address and my birth certificate isn’t enough for them.”
You are alive for a reason…"
Shortly after midnight a man stumbles into the shelter with all his stuff in three thin plastic shopping bags.
“I just got off from working at Denny’s,” he explained.
"You are stronger than you think..."
At 2 a.m. I look up from the book I’m reading. It’s a woman rapping on the window by the door. She’s wearing a blanket over her head and coat to keep out the cold. I show her to a cot.
"You are going to get through this..."
It's now the middle of the night. Another guy comes to the snack table. His neighbor is hassling him, he said. I go over and talk with the neighbor who has lots of issues, a lot of anger. But he listens, and so do I. He's cold and needs some extra clothes. I bring out different donated sweatshirts. He finally agrees one is right for him, nice and heavy with a cool logo.
"I’m glad you are alive…"
Lots of coughing and occasional snoring echo across the big basement room filled with men and women. Mainly they sleep, mostly still in their clothes, wrapped in blankets.
"Don’t give up…"
Ted turns on the lights at 6:30 a.m. Most everyone is already up, some going outside for a smoke. It's 12 degrees above zero.
A big guy walks in, smiling, showing only a few teeth.
“I see you got those big brown shoes in there," motioning to a box of clothes. "I think they might fit me.”
He tries them on. They fit.
“Always good to have a little extra room for more socks in cold weather,” he said, still grinning.
A little after 7 a.m. the city bus arrives. In less than ten minutes, everyone’s gone. Me and another volunteer clean up, spraying a bleach mix on the cots and pillows. A cast of other volunteers arrive right on schedule to sweep and get everything ready for the next night.
"Remember, you are loved...by our huge community."
###
The following is Alex Primm's original essay:
The Coldest Night at the Overflow Shelter
This has been a winter to remember. The text message came about 3 p.m. A man who signed up to work at a nearby church taking in homeless can’t make it. “Can you come in?”
A week ago I signed up as a back-up in case a volunteer had a problem. This tonight was indeed a big problem. It had only warmed up to 10 degrees on this February afternoon.
It snowed all day and stayed so cold I hadn’t bothered to get dressed. Just read and did some writing in my jammies because our apartment warmed up so slowly. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a storm in the Ozarks as we've had this frigid President’s Day.
“Sure, I’m still good with coming in if I’m needed.”
Only the second time I’ve worked the all-night shift at the Unitarian Church. I was definitely needed. Lots of different people are helping out. Other churches in Springfield have also been taking in people with no place to shelter for the night. How many would die on the streets without these volunteers and churches?
I catch some sleep on and off. Mainly I stay awake, as it’s required: one of the two shelter volunteers should be awake all night. Ted watches movies on his laptop. We have 17 men initially.
A volunteer named Jorge serves coffee and snacks for two hours as people settle in. He’s an engineer, he’ll be driving to Texas County, the largest jurisdiction in Missouri but one of the least populated, to work overseeing a factory manufacturing electric parts. Ninety miles each way four days a week. Today, dangerous highways.
Near the basement door a table has coffee, hot chocolate and donated snacks. On the large plastic ‘sneeze protector’ of plexiglass someone has taped a photocopied sign:
In case no one told you today: You are beautiful…
You are loved…
Two guys across the room seem to be having trouble sleeping. Ted and I talk about all kinds of things, and especially about Herman Melville because I’m auditing a class at Missouri State on Early American Literature. I’m reading Melville’s first book, "Typee," about his jumping ship on a South Sea island, the hard life of sailors, and related adventures. Somehow escaping on a South Sea island, even with possible cannibals, seems desirable this evening.
You are needed…
One old guys comes up to tell me he’s ready to work, but is having trouble getting his paperwork together. “They want proof of address for me to get food stamps, but I don’t have an address and my birth certificate isn’t enough for them.”
You are alive for a reason…
Shortly after midnight a guy comes into the shelter with all his stuff in three thin plastic shopping bags. “I just got off from working at Denny’s,” he explains.
You are stronger than you think…
At 2 a.m. I look up from the book I’m reading. It’s a woman rapping on the window by the door.
“Eden Village said I should could by here,” she explains. She’s wearing a blanket over her head and coat to keep out the cold. I show her to a cot.
You are going to get through this…
Another guy comes to the snack table in the middle of the night. His neighbor is hassling him. I go over and talk with the neighbor, who has lots of issues, a lot of anger. But he listens. He mainly needs some extra clothes which have been donated to the church for homeless. I bring out different sweat shirts. Finally he agrees one is right for him, nice and heavy with a cool logo.
I’m glad you are alive…
Lots of coughing echoes across the big basement room filled with sleep. Occasional snoring. They put on their COVID 19 masks when they come out for snacks. Mainly they sleep, mostly still in their clothes wrapped in blankets. Ted or I check the room each hour. No one wants to talk in the earliest, coldest time before dawn.
Don’t give up…
Ted turns on the lights at 6:30 a.m. Most everyone’s up. Some are going outside for a smoke. “It’s -12 degrees out there,” Ted says in amazement.
A big guy comes in, smiling, only a few teeth. “I see you got those big brown shoes in there. I think they might fit me.” They do, he’s happy and says, “Always good to have a little extra room for more socks in cold weather.”
A little after 7 a.m. the bus arrives. In less than ten minutes, everyone’s gone. Ted and I do the initial clean up, spraying a bleach mix on the cots and pillows. It’s all fixed for other volunteers to come in right on schedule to sweep and get everything ready for the next evening.
Yes, you are loved by a huge community…
