Brandon Marsh stared intently at the dessert cart. Gianna, a fellow volunteer with her name scripted neatly on a tag, described the options available for Marsh’s guests.
“And there’s chocolate cake, pecan pie…. What about, like, vanilla? They might like that. What about an oreo cake?”
Marsh, his trademark long hair tied neatly in a bun and tucked under a winter hat, piled a bit of everything onto his cafeteria tray. He hustled back to his assigned area. Like each of the other servers last Tuesday evening at St. Francis Inn, Marsh was responsible for two tables of four.
The Inn’s dining room seats 40 at a time, but two or three hundred individuals were expected to show up for a hot meal between 4:30 and 6:00 p.m. People started lining up near an entrance on Kensington Avenue about half an hour beforehand. Older folks and families were given priority for seating. Temperatures were in the mid-20s and Eileen, another volunteer, served hot chocolate to the guests waiting outside.
Some people ate fast, others lingered a bit and socialized. As soon as one person left, a volunteer bussed their spot and set a place for the next guest.
“And let’s be clear, these are our guests,” a volunteer named Pete told me soon after I arrived. An engineer from Salem, NY, Pete had helped out at the Inn sporadically in the past. Recently, however, Pete decided to relocate to Kensington for a full month to serve meals every day. He works his engineering job remotely.
“It’s a restaurant. We run it just like a restaurant,” Pete explained. “We treat everyone who comes here with dignity and respect.” Pete’s words were consistent with the mission statement on the Inn’s website: “We empower persons to break the cycle of homelessness and poverty and address structural injustices. We seek to build relationships with those whom we serve by respecting their human dignity, by helping them to restore hope in their lives, and by living simply among them.”
Marsh had very clearly taken the Inn’s attitude to heart. The young outfielder humbly welcomed guests to his tables, offering them tea and water in a soft voice before picking up entrees plated by his manager, Rob Thomson.
Thomson, working with another volunteer, plated the food as fast as Marsh and the other servers could deliver it. Hot roast beef, mashed potatoes, and peas were the meal of the day. lt smelled delicious, and it took every ounce of professionalism I could muster not to snatch a plate for myself. (Full disclosure: I did have some of the hot chocolate while talking to folks outside. It was incredible.)
This would be the only food of the day for many of the guests. It’s why the Inn serves a sit-down meal seven days each week. “Hunger doesn’t take holidays,” proclaims the website. Father Michael Duffy, who has served at the Inn since the late 1980s, told me the organization never cancels meal service, even during emergencies. Since the Inn’s founding in 1979, it has faced challenges such as fires, snowstorms, and, most recently, a global pandemic. Through it all, the Inn has found a way to serve. During the pandemic, for example, sit-down service was prohibited but the Inn handed out meals to go.
The distanced pandemic setup was disheartening, Father Duffy explained to me, because the Inn aims to foster a sense of community through its sit-down meals. Volunteers are on a first-name basis with many of the guests and, in better weather, folks often stick around after eating to socialize in the Inn’s outdoor space.
The St. Francis Inn is the type of place that can warm even the coldest of hearts. It’s easy to see why volunteers stick around for months, years, and sometimes decades. Marsh and Thomson have volunteered at the Inn in the past. In fact, Marsh told me he flew to Philadelphia from his home in Arizona specifically to participate in this and other community service events organized by the Phillies over the past week.
More than anything, I was struck by the dedication of the Inn community to treating guests with the respect that every human deserves. Kensington is infamous for its open-air drug market, its crime rate, and the number of unhoused individuals sleeping on its streets. On social media, accounts often share dehumanizing video footage of people struggling on Kensington Avenue, for shock value or to make political points. Rarely is this footage accompanied with compassion. And rarely does it include reminders that the men and women on the Avenue are mothers and fathers, daughters and sons, sisters and brothers.
At St. Francis Inn, nobody needs reminding.
That’s not to say the grim reality of life outside the Inn is ignored. Signs on the walls remind guests that the Inn provides free doses of Narcan, a drug that can reverse the effects of opioids and save someone’s life in the event of an overdose. The Inn offers clothing through its “Marie’s Closet Ministry” and job application assistance via a career center. “We serve in Kensington because we see these people who have been counted out by society, and want to work to fulfill their most basic needs,” the Inn’s website says.
The Inn community is also keenly aware of the changes taking place in the neighborhood. Whatever one’s thoughts are on the pros and cons of gentrification, it is hard to dispute that the process displaces longtime residents. Guests outside shook their heads in bewilderment when we talked about the luxury condos across the street or recently-flipped houses nearby. “$2200 fuckin’ dollars a month they want,” a guest named Mike told me about nearby apartments, his raspy voice coming across in the Philly accent’s purest form. “And guess what. They want three months upfront! It’s crazy.”
Philadelphia Mayor Cherelle Parker’s plans for the neighborhood were also a frequent topic of conversation. Kensington was a focal point of the new mayor’s campaign. She vowed to crack down on lawlessness and eliminate the neighborhood’s open-air drug markets, even suggesting she may call in the National Guard to help patrol the streets. Many volunteers and guests were hopeful that Mayor Parker will create positive change in the community. But they also wondered what exactly the city planned to do with the people on the neighborhood’s streets. If the unhoused were to be relocated, where would they go? Would there be resources to help those struggling with addiction, or would they simply be arrested? Would the area’s inhabitants be treated with kindness and compassion, or would they be bulldozed aside?
The Inn’s workers know they can’t control such decisions. They leave the policy debates to others, and instead do what they can each day to help the individuals who visit them. They may not have all the answers, but they can make sure a person eats that day. So that’s what they do.
As the evening wore on, the excitement created by Marsh and Thomson’s visit died down. Phillies staffers who gave out t-shirts, hats, and other merchandise began to clean up the area they’d commandeered. Volunteers washed dishes, scrubbed tables, and carried trash to the dumpster. Guests shuffled out into the remnants of the snow and ice storm that had hit earlier in the day. It was unclear where many would spend the night. But every one of them knew they could count on a meal at the Inn again the next day.
