I picked up a new project at work that has me going around in underserved communities in the county, seeking out food pantries or emergency food programs and interviewing them about the foods they have available.
Today I went to a food closet in a notably underprivileged community, and interviewed a volunteer that I’ll call Dick. (Not his real name, but he reminded me of an older Dick Van Dyke, so Dick it is).
Driving up to the closet, I surveyed the neighborhood. I had heard so much about how disadvantaged the community was, I guess I was expecting much worse. I found it fairly clean, and the houses had character; there were lots of mothers walking their babies on sidewalks and people waiting at bus-stops.
I pulled up to the closet site and wandered in. There were two volunteers outside – unpacking boxes and shifting them around. I asked one of them whom I should speak to, and he directed me to an older man in a cramped office toward the back. He was on the phone, dealing with what seemed like a very important matter, so I waited until he hung up.
When Dick hung up, I introduced myself and mentioned that I’d called before and he said, “Oh yeah! That was me!” with a big smile on his face. He had these gentle, blue eyes, and was tall – too tall for that little office. He seemed to be at least in his late 70’s, looking a bit disheveled with his hair pointing in seven different directions, but in good health and good spirit. He sat me down and I explained the food project to him as best I could all the while listening intently and nodding along. After I explained, we gathered around a desk and started the survey.
We sat together, reading through the survey, and everytime he answered a question he smiled and his eyes would shrug a shrug that said, “Well, that’s what we get…” Sitting closely, I could see the slight shaking his body made. His wrists were about the size of mine, and I could see the palpitation of blood moving through the underside of his forearm. The bald areas on his head were freckled with sunspots, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved his salt-and-pepper beard in a couple days. But his eyes were bright and kind, and being around him somewhat felt like being around a happy toddler.
When I asked about whether or not they serve cookies he said, “We only give those to the kids – we try not to give the older adults what the kids want to eat… [plus it’s no good for them.” He mentioned that they got some of their produce from leftovers at the local farmer’s markets: “But we only get the basics… None of that fancy stuff, that bok choy stuff…” I laughed to myself.
Halfway through the interview he got a phone call, and I excused myself. Looking around the office, it was a hodge-podge mixture of what looked like donated furniture, some of it more space-consuming than useful. They had somewhat of a file system going with labeled folder bins to indicate IN or OUT and all the forms they needed. (I – of course – went through all the furniture in my head and thought about how I would rearrange the space, what I’d throw out, etc.) I came across this picture, which I found really interesting:
And this one:
Apparently it is Dick, and a woman who I’m assuming to be his wife. It’s a newspaper article on their humanitarian work in the community. (He was wearing the same shirt that day as the one in the article picture).
In the background on the phone, I could hear Dick saying something along the lines of: “Well tell PG&E he’s on dialysis so they can’t cut his power…” Something like that… (Sad)
We went through the rest of the survey and came to the section on the quality of fruits and vegetables. He took me out to where the produce was, opened the fridges and rummaged through all the boxes with me. (His program had more fruits and veggies than I’d seen at any of the other programs). He showed me the milk cartons and told me about how they only distribute them up to a week after the expiration date. “Oh and we just got this fridge… It’s from Rotary.” Nice fridge.
Another volunteer showed up and Dick greeted him with a big smile and hug. Seeing that I shouldn’t take up too much more of his time, I asked: “Are you all volunteers?” “Yeah,” a different volunteer replied.
“What about you, Dick? Are you like Head Volunteer?”
“Well, I’ve been here the longest.”
“How long have you been volunteering here?”
“I guess since 1988.”
Wow.
I thanked them all and shook Dick’s hand, and as I was walking toward my car he shouted, “Rosette!” I looked back and he was holding up a box of Entelmann’s white, powdered donuts. “See?” He cried, with that same, big smile. I laughed and turned away.
When I got to my car, I got inside and cried like a baby.
Thank you, Dick. We need more people like you.