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The Greatest Gift

Posted Aug 8, 2010 by Kris DiGiovanni

Updated Aug 8, 2010 at 04:27 PM

You have to cut the bananas in big chunks, not slices, or they will get too mushy.  That’s because they are more than slightly past their prime.  So are the grapes, the peaches, and the nectarines, but we pare away the brown parts, and amazingly, we end up with enough fruit salad to feed 150!

It’s early morning in the crowded prep area of the St Vincent dePaul Soup Kitchen in Clearwater.  A few of the small band of loyal volunteers have been here since 6:00 a.m.  Weekdays, these volunteers masquerade as business professionals, or lawyers, or even doctors.  But today they are cooks, servers, dishwashers, and janitors.  They’ve sacrificed their Friday night social life and those precious extra hours of sleep on Saturday morning to prepare and serve a hearty meal to anyone who walks in the door.  Before it’s even light, they are here to chop, stir, pour, and mash – and lift huge pots onto burners and slide giant trays into the oven. 

On the menu today: chili, mashed potatoes, green salad, fruit salad, vegetable soup, bread, and cornbread.  Desert is brownies or small pastries and sweet rolls.  Except for the freshly made brownies and cornbread, donated by yet another volunteer, the offerings are mostly day-old, past the sell-date, bruised and damaged food from local supermarkets.  For many, this will be the only meal they eat today, so it hardly matters that they are eating dinner at the same time most other people eat breakfast   The daily main course depends on whatever protein remains the freezer and needs to be used first.  It might be stew, beef tips with rice, or spaghetti - something that can be stretch a small amount of meat to feed the 150-300 that show up on any given day - but it is always hot, well seasoned, and nutritious.

At 9:00 a.m. the doors open and the people who’ve been lined up for over an hour outside shuffle in, sign a register, and accept a sectioned metal tray. For the next two hours, a slow parade of the homeless, the downtrodden, the sick passes by.  They traverse the line quietly and respectfully, and most say “please” and “thank-you.”  A few don’t speak English, but point eagerly when asked to choose applesauce or fruit.  Despite the clearly worded sign on each serving station that warns them not to ask for larger helpings, a few do.  It’s hard to say no, but if you do it for one, you must do it for all, and the food will run out.

Everyone is served with a smile and addressed as sir or ma’am.  A few regulars trade quips with the long-time volunteers.  Some are much cleaner and better dressed than you might expect.  There are a few scammers – like the chatty Hispanic man–boy with a side-slung cap and brand new lavishly embroidered hip hop jeans.  But he is the exception.  Right after him, I serve a used-up-looking man with a split lip and an eye so swollen and black he probably can’t see out of it.  He smells of very old sweat and alcohol.  An elderly Oriental man, thin as a rail and still wearing his hospital ID band is carrying a bag that connects to his catheter.  That leaves just one hand for his tray, so he takes only soup.  A volunteer eagerly steps out of the kitchen to ensure the old man gets plenty of food and help him get seated.

I am humbled to be among these people – who could be spending their time off with their family, or on the golf course, or at the beach, but choose to be here instead.  So selflessly choosing to be here in a hot, cramped kitchen, sweating while they use both hands to stir a huge vat of beans or lift an enormous pan out of hot soapy water.  Who glove up and dexterously scoop macaroni and applesauce, nod understandingly at a guy who tells them he just got back from Venus, wink, and sneak an extra brownie only a child’s tray.  Who instead of just writing a check, (which many have already done), come to mop the floors, wipe the tables, leaving the area spotless and ready for the next day’s group.  They choose to give the greatest gift – themselves.

Good job guys and gals!  I’m proud to know you.


Maybe there’s a place like St Vincent’s near you that could use another set of hands.  Let your fingers do the walking through the Google.


The author may be contacted at Kris DiGiovanni [at] gmail [dot] com or on FaceBook.