A slice of life and a little blue pill at Joy Junction.

By Jeremy Reynalds
web posted April 22, 2002

It's 3.20 p.m. on a relatively calm Sunday afternoon in the main
building of Joy Junction.
A pregnant guest holding a baby is distraught about the recent
abandonment of five children at Joy Junction. (The kids ended
up being placed in foster care). She says, "I just want to go out
and find that woman. But my husband says 'Maybe she was
suicidal so perhaps the kids are in a better place.'" I ponder
briefly their vastly different reaction to the abandonment.

A man with physical and mental problems staggers into the office
and says, "I hate channel four," (the NBC affiliate). Someone
asks him why and the man replies, "Because they always cut
out."

Just as the channel four hater is staggering out of the office, a Joy
Junction staffer comes in. He's casually dressed in a plaid shirt
with a blue undershirt and blue jeans, with hair sticking up. He
asks the shelter pastor, "That girl you had at the movies. Was
she 18?"

"No, she was in her mid 50's," responds the counselor.

"Okay, just trying to scare you," says the parking lot attendant.
That's typical humor at Joy Junction. I've heard that humor like
this is a coping mechanism that often shows up in environments
like ours.

A few minutes later I hear a snippet from a sad conversation
drifting out of a neighboring office. "He drinks too much and he's
already hit her."

It's now 4.30 p.m., and dinner is well under way. Most people
are sitting down eating their evening meal but about a dozen or
so are still standing in the serving line. There's not much audible
conversation going on from my fairly unobtrusive listening post a
few feet away–just a few laughs here and there.

I can only see one person not eating. She's an elderly black
woman with greying hair sitting quietly on a couch. Her vacant
staring into mid-air personifies the stereotypical image that many
people have of the homeless.

The overall atmosphere resembles a busy, well-ordered and
well-structured beehive. While it appears (to me, anyway) to be
a comforting, reassuring environment, I wonder how many of the
scores of people I can see eating dinner are as comfortable with
it as I am. Maybe my comfort is due at least in part to me being
the director and because I've been here so long.

By 5.10 p.m. supper is over and all the tables have been stacked
to one side to make way for the upcoming church service. As a
faith-based ministry, church services and Bible studies form a
core part of what Joy Junction is all about.

I hear another snatch of conversation coming out of an office.
Someone says, "All you had to do was answer the question."
Another person answers, "Tough it out."

The first individual responds, "I'm tired." 

A couple of minutes later, two tall men begin their after- dinner
chores of methodically sweeping and mopping the floor prior to
the chairs being put back down for church. Daily chores are
required as a condition for staying at the shelter. Continued
refusal to do chores will eventually result in being asked to leave
the shelter. It's all about trying to help our guests be responsible
and transition back into the real world

The black woman is still sitting in the same place. The only
difference is that she now has a soft covered Bible balanced on
her lap. There are about a dozen people sitting on the couches
which line the perimeter of the building. Nobody is reading.
They're all just looking.

A couple of minutes later, a kitchen worker drops off some
meals for the workers on an upcoming shift. He's a troubled but
affable young man who needs some positive male role models in
his life. I ask him if he's behaving. He says, "Yeh, I was just
dropping off lunches. See, I've stacked them nice and neat." He
knows who I am and he's anxious to please.

The kitchen worker disappears from sight but then a man comes
by and stops at the office right in front of my listening post. I ask
him how he's doing. He says, "Not so good."

I ask him why and he replies that because he's broken up with
his spouse, his stay at Joy Junction has now reverted to overnight
status. He's disappointed and says, "I had a lot of plans. I had a
lot I could do for this place. See these three couches? That's
what I used to do for my business-fix them."

I utter condolences, saying "Yeh, that's what happens." I don't
know if he knew my position at Joy Junction.

He responds, "Rules are rules," and walks off. This is the man
who's been accused by his wife of hitting her. Even though I've
worked with the homeless for almost 20 years and think there's
nothing left to surprise me, some things still do. This man is
apparently more concerned about his inability to fix the shelter's
couches than he is about his relationship with his (now previous)
wife.

People continue to sit.

At 5.35 p.m. with the chores being completed, chairs are being
put back on the floor for the 6 p.m. church service and the sound
system is in the final stages of set up.

At 5.40 p.m. the band's practicing. A handful of people are
sitting in the brightly colored orange and yellow chairs waiting for
the service to begin. A smiling African-American woman waves
to me and points proudly to the baby she has cradled in her lap.
The pastor's making some last minute adjustments to the sound
system. A number of people are sitting around on couches.

It's now 6 p.m. and guests are singing, "Sing a joyful song unto
the Lord, praise the Lord with gladness because He alone is
God."

There's a small amount of slow clapping going on. 17 people are
standing up, about 15 percent of the entire crowd. I'm reminded
that while most of those singing don't have a home, some of them
still want to sing and worship the Lord. It's spiritual hope in the
midst of physical despair. I realize that a similar scene is
duplicated in hundreds of gospel rescue missions across the
country.

While the singing's under way, a man at the back of the building
who's not singing stands looking on. He's supported by a walker.
Just behind him in the building entrance is a shopping cart piled
high with clean bed linens ready to be put away. What a
contrast! A "normal" church service occurring at the front of the
building with a "normal" homeless scene at the back.

At 7. 55 a.m. I'm back at my vantage point in the office of Joy
Junction's main building. It's very quiet, with just a couple of
people sitting around on chairs.

A woman approaches and says to me, "(I don't know if she
knows who I am) "I was in bed for 30 days with the flu. My
doctor years ago in Arkansas gave me a little blue pill which had
no side effects. I had to take it every day. It was just an allergy
tablet. It's allergies. I was just born with that retraction. Some of
the people here really don't care. Their brains still race. I just
wanna get rid of these sinus sniffles. It's been an infection."

She stops for a moment and I look across the building where a
man is doing his morning chores; slowly and methodically
mopping the floor. Chores are always on the agenda at a shelter
the size of ours.

The woman continues talking and says, "Spanish people, they
talk so fast, amigo, amigo. Four years of it-I beg their pardon.
You think they talk slow. They don't."

She suddenly switches gears and blurts out, "You ever been
down to "La Jumbo Fish, crawfish pie? Why is it so important to
remember the names of songs these days?"

The woman wanders off momentarily but returns quickly with a
purposeful walk and says, "Did they ever cure whiplash? I was in
a vehicle accident in East Texas. I was a passenger and
impacted by an 18 wheeler. What do you have to do to get a
neck brace? Go in the ER?" She puts her hand on the back of
her neck and wanders off again.

I realize that while she's apparently pretty seriously mentally ill
I've nonetheless heard much worse during the almost 20 years
I've worked with New Mexico's homeless.

At 9. 40 a.m. it's still very quiet. A couple of boys are walking
around aimlessly. One of them is swinging a couple of socks.
Four people are sitting at the table talking. A lady is sitting at a
couch apparently engrossed in something, although it may be
nothing.
I hear snippets of conversation from a neighboring office. A
voice says, "Michael is going to be upset when he gets home."

Someone responds, "I seem to have no eyesight when I first
wake up. I just can't find it." I love Joy Junction humor. My staff
say a lot of it is my fault!

I'm startled out of my brief reverie when an unknown guest
appears in front of me and says, "Hi Jeremy. I didn't know you
were Jeremy." She walks off without saying anything else.

There are now six people in the multi. A woman is sitting on the
couch with her suitcase in front of her.

At 1 p.m. the suitcase lady is still sitting on the couch. An elderly
looking woman who I suspect is much younger than she looks
comes to the office door and looks at me, but talks to herself.
She then puts her hand on her stomach and moves away.

At 3.35 p.m. it's quiet. I can see five people. 

At 4. 15 p.m. a woman calls and asks if she and her three
children can come to the shelter. She and her husband had
stayed with us some years ago, had committed their lives to the
Lord and we thought they were doing well.

However, I learn that her husband has quit his job against the
advice of his pastor and wife and instead of looking for another
job has been reading the Bible and delving into Bible prophecy.

The wife says the situation has become too much for her to
handle and when she told her husband to get a job, he ended up
hitting her. Not surprisingly, she left.

As the woman is checking in to the shelter I hear her gratefully
exclaim, "Thank God that at least we've got a place to stay!"

"Where?" asks the youngest of her three children.

"Right here," says mom, pointing to a couch before it was
decided that they would be given a room.

"Weird," says the little girl while she is clutching a donated stuffed
animal. "Very weird." Out of the mouth of babes!

It's 5.07 p.m. and supper is being held up briefly as volunteers
are coming in to serve supper and they're not all here yet. There
are about 25 people sitting around – some at tables and some
sitting on couches.

At 5. 22 p.m. everyone is quietly seated at tables waiting to be
served by the volunteers who have all now arrived. The
exception to the "quiet" is a crying baby in its mother's arms.

It's 8.10 p.m. The building is full of people getting ready to go to
bed. People are lying on mattresses and couches all around the
building.

At 8. 20 p.m. a young child is running around. From my vantage
point just inside the door of the main office I hear someone
asking for a toothbrush. The driver comes in clutching a donation
of eight dozen maple donuts- a staple for shelters. He asks for a
key to the kitchen.

A couple of minutes later a former guest who's here again says
hello and thanks me for helping her out again. She's in
Albuquerque for the night. She has come to bail out her husband
who is in jail (it sounds like) for public drunkenness.

She says "I miss this place; that's why I'm volunteering tonight."
She doesn't tell me just exactly what it is she's volunteering at.

At 8.55 p.m. a woman comes into the office to talk to the
women's counselor who is doing double duty answering the
telephones.

The woman has been written up for being "disruptive" during the
previous night's church service and is very annoyed. She says
that she wasn't at all disruptive but had been laughing at a funny
comment made by the pastor.

At 8.58 p.m. a child is crying loudly. The amount of noise has
increased from a quiet busy hum to a plain loud.

At 9.01 p.m. the lights should be out but things are running a little
late. Most people are now lying on their beds talking or reading.
I see one man sitting on his mattress fiddling with a roll of toilet
paper and a woman sitting on her mattress drearily combing out
her hair.

At 9.04 p.m. the lights are turned out in the multi. (Lights are
turned out in common areas at 9 p.m. and at 10 p.m. in private
rooms). It's almost the end of another day at Joy Junction.

Jeremy Reynalds is a freelance writer and the founder and
director of Joy Junction, New Mexico's largest emergency
homeless shelter. He has a master's degree in communication
from the University of New Mexico and is pursuing his PhD in
intercultural education at Biola University in Los Angeles. He is
married with five children and lives in Albuquerque, New
Mexico. His work can be viewed here and weekly at
www.americasvoices.org. He may be contacted by e-mail at
reynalds@joyjunction.org.

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