For years, Columbia’s Room at the Inn homeless shelter was much like the people it serves: moving from place to place and spending the winter in whatever warm church would temporarily allow them to stay.
But in October 2023, the shelter became year-round and found a permanent home at 1509 Ashley Street, on the city’s Interstate 70 Business Loop.
On December 19th, 2024, a team of KBIA reporters spent a full day and night chronicling the lives of shelter workers and Columbia’s unhoused community.
A peaceful moment can be quickly interrupted by a sudden fight and tension is often diffused through community. For many homeless people, the warmth of the shelter is a godsend and a stark contrast to the gnawing reality that the barrier between them and the cold streets is only as strong as their ability to not get kicked out.
And for some, one of the only reliefs of the all-consuming, day-to-day struggle of being homeless is knowing that they’ll be off their feet and sleeping on a cot by day’s end.
But getting there still takes a lot of moving from place to place – that starts at 3:30 p.m. in the parking lot of Columbia’s Wilkes Boulevard United Methodist Church.
Waiting for the bus
A chill, December breeze blows as about three dozen homeless people wait for the shuttle to Room at the Inn.
The city’s year-round homeless shelter doesn’t actually open for more than three hours. But before it opens, different volunteer groups offer healthcare, supplies and dinner.
Most of these folks just left the Turning Point day shelter hosted here, where they can wash their clothes, bathe, and use the internet.
People of all races, genders and ages comprise the homeless people waiting in the parking lot. Some are napping against the brick building, while others mumble to themselves or sit silently.
Amy and Tara are sitting together – KBIA usually uses last names to refer to people, but only first names are used for the homeless people in this story.
The two are friends, and both have hopes of getting off the streets soon. But they’re running into barriers.
“Housing is just not happening right now,” Tara said. “The landlords want to be so strict about their rules that you got to have three times the income, you got to have a good credit score, and they're just making it hard for people to get housing, and it's just not fair. We all deserve a place to live,” she said.
Amy said she’s been unable to find a job.
“I've got healthcare experience – a lot of it,” she said. “I was a transcriptionist for 26 years and in data entry for two. I thought it'd be easy to find a job, and I still haven't found one.”
As they talk, a fight breaks out across the parking lot between two other women. They shout and curse at each other. Other conversations quiet down and all eyes are on them.
It’s not clear what they’re fighting about.
“You act like you're the only one going through s–,” one shouts. “It’s almost Christmas and I don’t get to see my kids.”
Before the scuffle comes to blows, bystanders step in and separate the two women. Gradually, the chatter returns.
Tara, who watched the whole thing unfold and die down, said these sorts of incidents are a major source of her anxiety.
“That's why we're trying to get out of here, to get away from all the drama, the violence, the everything,” she said.
Finally, just before 4, p.m., the first shuttle pulls in.
The driver, Rick Mehlberg, hops out to help passengers board. But the shuttle’s 12 seats quickly fill up, and the bus heads for Room at the Inn, leaving most people waiting in the afternoon cold.
It returns 15 minutes later, coming and going again, this time leaving just a handful of stragglers. Finally, it returns and embarks on its third and final trip.
The shuttle is still packed. A significant amount of space is taken up by people’s things. Most homeless people don’t have a place to leave their belongings. If they’re traveling, all of their property is too.
Mehlberg has been working for the shelter since last Spring, but he’d been volunteering for years before.
“I really enjoy what I do, and to get paid for what you do is just wonderful,” he said.
His passengers today are tired and grumpy – it’s been a long day out in the cold, on the streets. That doesn’t stop him from trying to lighten the mood.
“Every day on the shuttle, I try to tell them some funny joke of some sort,” he said.
His joke? What kind of problems do psychiatrists find people have around Christmas time?
“They’re claustrophobic,” he said, to a chorus of laughs. The mood’s been lifted and people begin chatting as the bus pulls into the shelter around 4:30 p.m.
Some folks go inside for dinner immediately, but some head toward an outdoor pavilion.
That’s where CoMo Mobile Aid, a local grassroots aid group, has set up a pharmacy and wound care unit where people can get treatment for acute needs like burns and frostbite.
There’s also a “thrift shop” where folks can get coats and other winter gear. They’ll need them – the temperature is approaching freezing.
Inside the shelter, past the lobby and down a narrow hallway, is the dining area. It’s cordoned off from the sleeping cots by a makeshift wall made of plastic and PVC pipes. Lunch started at 4:30 and lasts for about an hour and a half.
To the left is a long line of people, waiting to be served cafeteria-style. To the right, people fill dozens of tables as they eat and rest. Some talk about their day or politics. Others stick to themselves.
A man named Johnny had been homeless for just three months. He said he and his family lost everything after a car wreck, and the shelter’s caseworker had been helping them get back on their feet. Tonight, he’s glad to be out of the cold.
“They do a great job with helping,” he said. “They make sure everybody's fed and they make sure everybody's out of the elements.
Others are anxious about the night ahead. Vincent and Alexis are a young couple, probably two of the youngest people here tonight. Alexis is 19 and says she doesn’t always feel safe here.
“People think that I look like I'm 12 or I'm 15, and they'll just prey on me for that, and it makes me super uncomfortable,” she said. “Going to sleep at night is also really stressful. I'll go to sleep and then I'll wake up for an hour, and then I'll go back to sleep. I usually get four hours of sleep at night.”
Vincent said when something bad happens to someone, like if someone harasses or hurts a woman, there’s more than a handful of people who won’t hesitate to get violent. But fighting means getting kicked out. And the fear of getting kicked out is an ever-present worry and reminder to be on their best behavior.
“Nobody wants to be suspended from this place,” he said. “This is our only safe haven from the night and the cold here, but a lot of the time, these people test my patience a lot.”
It’s now 6 p.m., which means everybody has to go back outside so staff can prepare for the rest of the night.
While Room at the Inn has a formal check-in process, the dinner service offered by local charity Loaves and Fishes doesn’t. So shelter staff check corners and corridors in search of any contraband, like drugs or weapons, that someone may have hidden during dinner.
They also take the time to sweep crumbs, rearrange tables into a distinct sitting area separate from the sleeping area, and tidy up the cots.
Meanwhile, outside, scores of people are waiting to go back in.
Old men stand in a circle smoking cigarettes as some younger folks lean up against the building, playing classic rock through a portable speaker. The cacophony of wind, chatter and music doesn’t stop some from getting some shuteye; some are sobering up, and some are far from it.
Everyone’s either bundled up, or shivering. The temperature is in the 40s and dropping and they have to wait here for half an hour.
“It's just coming in and out of the cold,” Amy said. “It's just not good for most of us.”
Like before, Tara stands close by. Even though altercations are common, the fight from earlier still has her rattled.
“Why can't people just get along?” she said. “That's the problem. They'd rather use violence as their only answer.”
A few things bring her comfort during the wait.
“Having faith that I will have housing soon, that's what drives me,” she said. “That's what keeps me going, just keeping the faith that I would finally have a roof over our heads, and not just for me, but for everybody who's being compliant and trying to do what they need to do to get housing.
Her friendship with Amy helps too.
“We’re each other’s support system,” Tara said. “Without a good support system, where would you be?”
Finally, a half-hour passes. By 6:30, the inside has been checked, and people line up, single file, to properly check in to Room at the Inn.
People who were here last night are guaranteed a cot. They check in their belongings, their cigarettes, and get patted down by staff before being let in. Newcomers hang back. They wait, hoping that there’s an available cot. As they idle in the narrow hallway, a staff member reads them the shelter’s rules. They sign a behavior contract and head inside.
The collapsable walls have come down and the cots are in full view. Some have personal touches – but it’s mostly the bare essentials. Many people lie down -- sleeping, reading or staring off into space. Others grab a snack prepared by staff and volunteers.
The young couple from earlier, Vincent and Alexis, are playing a card game at the dinner tables. But then, something weird happens.
A man walks away from the game table and retreats to his corner bed. It's not entirely clear what was said, but Alexis and Vincent heard an inappropriate comment made toward Alexis. She’s upset, and Vincent is steaming, raring to fight.
Suddenly, a homeless man resting in a cot nearby gets up with the help of his cane. His name is Greg and his foot is injured. Nonetheless, he rushes over to the couple, then to the man who upset them.
“It was a misunderstanding, because a young lady who looks at me like a father – and I look at her like a daughter – something was said and it upset her, but what was said and what was received was not the same thing,” he said.
He plays mediator between the two parties, easing the tension and calming everyone down.
He says it’s important to step in and look out for each other, especially to hold each other back from doing something they’ll regret.
“I try to find out what's going on and then try to resolve the issue, so that nobody gets kicked out of here because it's wintertime,” he said. “I've got second-degree frostbite. I don't want to see these kids out here like that.”
“This may not be the best place in the world, but it's better than being out in the cold, freezing to death,” he added.
SMOKE BREAK
People are getting antsy as 8 p.m. nears. There’s no smoking allowed inside, and no freedom to step outside alone. Thankfully, a booming voice announces that it’s finally time for a smoke break.
Just a few hours earlier, being forced outside was something to fear. But the nightly smoke break is a peaceful 15-minute reprieve that many look forward to – it helps keep the edge off.
A homeless man named Morris has been here for two months, and said he couldn't be more grateful for the shelter. But as he holds a cigarette between his wrinkled thumb and forefinger, he says some days are better than others.
“I use drugs and alcohol when people hurt me,” he said. “It became habit, and that's the only thing that we have to do while being in the streets, is self-medicate ourselves.
Nine months leading up to A Night at the Inn, KBIA made multiple trips to the shelter to get to know the homeless community and shelter staff.
On previous visits, many of those conversations were with people who were sober and proud of it. But on December 19, some of those same people were not cogent enough for an interview. For their friends and the staff, it was sad to see.
OVERNIGHT
As smoke break ends, cigarettes are extinguished and everyone heads back inside. People shake off the cold, and it’s obvious the mood has shifted – people have now settled in for the night and are sitting talking in smaller, quieter and closer-knit groups – little families.
“We don't have much,” 22-year-old Bella said. “So, being there for each other, like physically with what we need, is a real struggle for us, but emotionally and supportively as much as we can, like we are all out here. We all have all made mistakes. We all have done effed up things.”
She’s been homeless for a while, and said she didn’t struggle with drug use until she became homeless, as it became a way to handle the challenges of living on the streets.
She said her “street uncles,” older men who make sure she’s safe and no one is bothering her – help keep her safe.
Bella added that she’s grateful for Room at the Inn, but shelter here doesn’t come without its limitations. The schedule is very regimented and the fear of doing something wrong and getting suspended hangs over everyone’s heads.
But the rule she dislikes most is not the gendered sleeping quarters or the limited smoke breaks. Instead it’s the 10 p.m. quiet time.
“A lot of people have friends that don't get off work until 10 in the evening. Want to FaceTime? You can't FaceTime after 10 p.m. because people are sleeping.”
As 10 p.m. approaches, Bella and her “street family” make the most of their time. They make their last calls, finish their games and charge their phones, if they have one.
Women and men at Room at the Inn sleep on separate sides of a wall, no matter their relationship or marital status. Of the 95 cots in the shelter, the majority are for men.
Once the lights go out, it’s time for bed. Most folks pull out their chairs and head toward their cots, but a few remain laughing and chattering until shelter operations manager Jacqie Melloway scolds them.
“No talking after 10 o’clock,” Melloway said “You can sit, you can’t talk. No conversations after 10 p.m. Lights out means no talking… It’s always been that way, y’all. You’ve been here long enough.”
People immediately stop talking because they know the consequences of breaking the rules – being suspended means having to spend the nights at the mercy of the elements.
And while this seems harsh, Melloway said rules and routine are essential to maximize rest and safety for the community as a whole.
By 10:34 p.m., folks have settled down and the room is filled with the intermingled sounds of large box fans and snores. Melloway walks through the door after picking up a shelter regular from work.
Some people who sleep at Room at the Inn do work, but just can’t achieve the stability needed to move into a place of their own. Many work jobs with late hours, but they can still come sleep at the shelter once their shift ends – as long as they provide staff with their schedule.
She’s also returned with a van full of clean laundry that she and evening supervisor Don Wisnasky quickly unload in the evening cold. They take turns holding the door and lugging in massive blue bags of clean bedding, while the other two supervisors keep watch at the front desk.
All of the laundry has been cleaned at one of the area hospitals, and Melloway said this is one of their biggest expenses at the shelter.
“They have four bins that we put our bags in and we have to label our bags,” Melloway said. “Drop them in the bins, and then there should always be clean laundry there ready to pick up.”
She and Wisnasky unload towels and pillows and sheets and simple, cotton blankets that are just easier – and cheaper – to clean. They also make dozens of “bed packs,” which include essential bedding materials.
These packs are given to people when they are staying for the first time or every couple of days, as regulars are expected to keep their areas clean.
While the task is monotonous and takes the better part of an hour, Wisnasky said he loves his job and is grateful he gets paid for doing something he’s passionate about – because of his own past.
“I was a homeless addict, so I've been where a lot of them have been, you know,” Wisnasky said. “This is where I know God's got me.”
Wisnasky was homeless in Kansas City for several years and said he used alcohol and drugs to cope. This is a common tale at the shelter. Nearly all of the staff at Room at the Inn have a history of substance use disorder or homelessness – or both.
“We connect on more of a, say, spiritual level, I guess, than just someone who hasn't been there, done that,” Evening Supervisor Christian Petree said
Petree said he's been homeless on and off during his life but he has just hit three years of sobriety. He sits at the front desk while the laundry is put away and fields requests from guests: more toilet paper, Tylenol, an extra blanket and even adult diapers.
“For our population - and I'm going to lump myself up with them - we don't take care of ourselves very well, Petree said. “We don't really know how to and it's something that's been hard for us to learn. We don't know if that's because we think less of ourselves. We think we don't deserve a life… And society kind of backed me up on that.”
By 1:00 a.m., it’s eerily quiet and the loudest sound is the water tank kicking on in the kitchen and the only activity is people shuffling, half asleep, to the bathroom and then stumbling back to collapse on their cots.
Geri Sullivan has just arrived for her shift, which goes from 1:00 a.m. to 9:00 a.m. She puts her creamer in the kitchen fridge and then runs through the notes from earlier in the evening.
“[I’m] checking on the guest log seeing if there was any incidents today,” Sullivan said. “Anybody suspended? Anybody leave early? Just getting updated. So, I start my shift, and these guys can get out of here.”
She and the three evening supervisors sit around for 10-15 minutes and talk about the night before the evening crew packs up to go home. Then the second half of the overnight crew walks in – Jerry Listener, who goes by Ninja.
He and Geri are best friends and have been for years. They used to work together at a gas station and became known as the “G and J show.” They said they never expected to work together at Room at the Inn, but are glad it’s happened.
While the guests are asleep by this time in the night, Sullivan and Listener still have lots to do. They check in one of about a half dozen people coming in from work, they make sure the water jug is filled for those who might need a drink of water and they answer questions and get things for any of the patrons who come up to the front desk.
Then, at around 2:45 a.m., Sullivan takes a call. Boone Hospital is sending over a taxi with a patient who’s been discharged. He doesn’t have any place to go and the hospital doesn’t have any other place to send him.
According to Listener, the night before, there were “five or six of them in the middle of the night – two at two, one at three, two at four.”
And while tonight’s a slow night – only one person dropped off at the shelter by local first responders – checking in the new arrival who’s quite disoriented still takes time. It takes 10-15 minutes to make sure he understands the rules - as best he can - signs an agreement, and has everything he needs before they settle him onto a cot.
Once the check-in is completed, Listener walks to the kitchen to make sure there’s still plenty of coffee. The warm beverage helps as he does a sweep of the building perimeter and picks up any litter as the clock ticks past 3 a.m.
“It's one of the most rewarding things I've ever done, and I'd recommend it to anyone,” Listener said, “it takes a special kind of person to sit there in the dark and watch what's going on in here and stick around as long as I have.”
He and Sullivan agree the work is hard because they’re often engaging with people at their worst.
Listener has been doing this for a couple years now, but before that he was unhoused himself and a regular resident of the shelter.
He said he’s learned to let the jabs from guests and frustration roll off his shoulders, but that’s taken therapy and more thought about his own mental health.
But Sullivan is newer to the role. She just started in October.
“I am struggling myself, honestly, and I hope nobody gets upset with me for being honest, but I am struggling right now,” Sullivan said. “As far as my bosses and my coworkers, I do have support…I have definitely been doubting myself the last week or two, just because people are just so angry and it seems like I am the target.”
She said she’s been talking regularly with operations supervisor Jacqie Melloway, who keeps reminding her that she’s doing a good job.
![Gregory smokes a cigarette during the evening smoke break on Dec. 19, 2024, at Room at the Inn in Columbia. "Don't judge a book by its cover. Just because somebody's living here at the [Room at the Inn] or the Salvation Army or even on the streets does not mean — or because they look a certain way — does not mean that that's why they're there. I mean, you don't know their story," Gregory said. "There's an old song that says, 'Walk a hillbilly mile in my shoes.' And I believe that until you walk in somebody else's shoes, or until you get to know them, you shouldn't judge them."](https://npr.brightspotcdn.com/dims4/default/43ca09b/2147483647/strip/true/crop/4504x3000+0+0/resize/840x560!/format/webp/quality/90/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fnpr-brightspot.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fe5%2Fad%2Fea8c3507439ebf7a64c4220c85aa%2F20241219-20-bas-night-at-the-inn-1012.jpg)
But retaining qualified staff is a real concern for Room at the Inn. Staff are passionate, but small in number. There are fewer volunteers than when Room at the Inn was a seasonal shelter moving from church to church.
And now that operations are every day, it’s much harder to hold trainings or give staff a break – unless they want to leave vulnerable people out on the street, in the cold.
“So, I just hope that I can give them as much love as I have, and if nothing else, just give them a glimmer of hope,” Sullivan said.
MORNING
At around 4:30 in the morning two staff members arrive in the large, commercial-grade kitchen in the back ready to prepare breakfast as the residents sleep.
The mood is sleepy and quiet - the hum of a kitchen fan fills the room as Gayle Rich and Kathleen Sweeney settle into work. Coffee is the first order of business, then bags of off-brand cereals are piled onto a cart and taken to a table to be portioned into bowls. Rich said it’s the same menu as always.
“Cocoa Pebbles. We always make sure we have that…. the like fruity pebbles goes. And we have something that's like Captain Crunch Berry, and Those we go through a lot of.. we have shredded wheat that maybe only a couple people go through.So we only put a couple bowls of that out. And then the oatmeal. We have brown sugar, which is popular, apples and cinnamon and cinnamon and spice,” Rich said.
As Rich turns the counter into a cereal assembly line, she reminisces on her journey that brought her to her job in the kitchen. Born in Illinois, Rich raised children in Wisconsin and eventually came to Missouri, where she started coming to Room at the Inn.
“I was homeless for a long time due to domestic violence, and this place has been great for me, and the people here,” Rich said.
Rich is a graduate of Room at the Inn’s transition program, which helps homeless people get back on their feet and into stable housing through progressively responsible chores.
“And kitchen was one of my chores,” Rich said. “And they came to me and offered me a job if I got out - and I was able to get out.”
Now, she has a place of her own and a stable job in the kitchen with Sweeney. Sweeney is from Eureka, Missouri and now stays in a sober living house and works in the kitchen every morning.
“I wanted a new start. I wanted to get away from everybody that I knew. And I moved here May 7, and I was in rehab first, and I've been seven months clean ever since,” Sweeney said.
Rich and Sweeney chat idly as they load cereal bowls onto the kitchen cart and make sure everything is ready for breakfast service. Once breakfast is prepped, before the lights switch on, the staff gathers around a prep bench to catch up over styrofoam cups of the morning’s first brew. It’s been a rare night of relative silence in the shelter.
“From someone who was a resident, that's unusual,” Rich said.
Usually, Rich says nights can be somewhat restless. People who have taken drugs before coming to the shelter for the night begin withdrawing in the middle of the night - that can mean loud wails of pain and anguish that are tough to sleep through, or medical emergencies that mean all the lights get turned on for first aid.
Some residents have night terrors or make a lot of sound while sleeping, which can be disruptive and make people angry - causing even more disruptive fights. Sometimes, Rich says people just make a ruckus for no reason.
But at Room at the Inn, bad behavior can get you suspended from the shelter. And in the winter months, when demand is higher and beds are few and far between, suspensions last longer - staff member Geri Sullivan said this means bad behavior comes with higher stakes. She suspects this is the reason for tonight’s calm atmosphere.
“It's cold outside, and they know that at this point. If you get suspended, you're suspended for a while. So, because of that, some that maybe aren't aren't such happy campers. Maybe they're thinking about it being cold and then possibly being suspended for months,” Sullivan said.
![Staff member Don Wisnasky prepares a bed for a guest arriving at the shelter from Boone Hospital after midnight on Dec. 20, 2024, at Room at the Inn in Columbia. “What society thinks about the homeless — a lot of society — is that they'll never be a part of society, that they're nobody; they're invisible to them. I've had a lot of rude encounters myself whenever I was homeless. But they straight out don't look at them as people,” Wisnasky said. “If people would come in here in the shelter, even if they didn't want to volunteer to help us, that's fine, because we got it. But if they would sit and talk to the people, get to know them instead of being all skittish about them like they got [something] contagious. If they just come and sit and have conversations with them, they'd find out they're no different than them, but they have problems, and they need help.”](https://npr.brightspotcdn.com/dims4/default/218e50c/2147483647/strip/true/crop/1985x1322+0+0/resize/840x560!/format/webp/quality/90/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fnpr-brightspot.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fa5%2F76%2Fc6141c3d4956a0fc4ab9fd1b0961%2F20241219-20-bas-night-at-the-inn-1646.jpg)
At 6 a.m., the lights come on, and the coffee comes out. The first signs of life appear in the sleeping area. Soon after, breakfast is in full swing. Rich and Sweeney remember what the regulars like, often making playful jokes as residents make their way through the breakfast line.
JoAnn, a metastatic breast cancer survivor who is experiencing homelessness with her husband, has a favorite breakfast at the shelter she gets every morning.
“I like the shredded wheat, a little bit of sugar, and I already have my tea already. Now I’m going to go get some coffee,” Williams said.
Some are quicker than others to wake up. When Bella appears for her breakfast, she’s groggy - but after a bowl of cereal, she quickly perks up.
“I had a dream about cats last night,” Bella said.
As she talks about her dream, she scratches at red bumps that spot her arms - she thinks they’re bed bug bites, but she’s not sure. Sam, a middle-aged man with salt and pepper stubble who Bella calls her “street uncle”, has woken up too. He usually wears a wry smile - but not this morning.
“I woke up in a bad mood,” Sam said.
His phone is broken, and he’s come to the realization that there’s no fixing it - he’ll have to get a new one. Sam has been homeless for several years traveling around the country, so he knows how this goes. But this morning, it hurts more. For the past few weeks, he’s been trying to reconnect with his estranged wife who currently lives in Memphis.
At the front of the shelter, checkout has begun. In the morning, things move quickly - everyone is out the door by 8 a.m.
A few days earlier, Sam went to the food bank to get a few things, and asked to store them in the kitchen at the shelter. Residents are allowed to keep food stored there for short periods of time. Sam had plans to donate part of it to the shelter, and keep the rest for himself. He goes to the kitchen to look for his bags - Rich comes in to join the search.
Sam: “It's a white bag in there”
Rich: “All I'm seeing is one with oranges and with other names.”
Sam: “Where the f– is my s— man?”
There’s nowhere else to look - Sam’s food is gone. Rich is somber - she says she hates when things like this happen.
Sam leaves the kitchen, and Rich takes a moment to chat about her new prized possession - a pair of genuine Ugg boots she found at a local thrift store.
“I'm a thrifter and a clearance person. I love thrift stores and garage sales - Hold on, what the hell was that?” Rich said.
A granola bar has come flying through the door of the kitchen and lands on the floor.
“No, no that ain’t gonna happen,” Rich said.
After, she turns the corner to see a fuming Sam - who says he hit it off the table in frustration.
“No, you threw it in the kitchen. It's right there. This is not knocked off the table,” Rich said.
It’s here supervisor Geri Sullivan steps in.
Sullivan: “What's the problem?”
Rich: “He's throwing stuff. He threw stuff into the kitchen. He's throwing stuff everywhere.”
Sullivan: “Okay, come on. Let's go, bro.”
Sam follows Sullivan up to the tables at the front of the room - it’s behind these tables where the hundreds of bags people brought with them are stored overnight.
Sullivan: “You do understand, though, when you get here, it's not us that are here, right?”
Sam: “Yeah, I know.”
Sullivan: “You understand that when we come in at one o'clock, we don't know what they did, so it's really not it's really not us.”
Sam: “I understand that. And I apologize.”
Sam starts to seem a little panicked. He’s still frustrated, but now – he’s worried.
Sam: Now, I gotta leave now?
Sullivan: “I'm not suspending you. It'd be up to her and Jerry. Like, just be more kind, be nicer. I understand you can do what you want to do. Well, not really, but yeah, you can apologize, you know…”
Sam walks back toward the breakfast line and he mumbles an apology to Rich.
Rich: “That’s okay, i’m not yelling at you, I’m just letting you know”
Sam: “Alright, thank you”
He takes his cereal, says thank you, and moves on his way. Gayle is surprised.
“That was unusual. People don’t usually apologize,” Rich said.
Sam’s bags that went missing included a favorite cereal. This morning, he’s had to settle for the shredded wheat - which has been languishing in milk. Now his cereal is soggy, but the mood is lighter. Sam laughs with friends as he finishes his breakfast.
Around 7 a.m., most everyone is fully awake. Reighna, a trafficking survivor who has become fast friends with Sam, is still reeling from the night before. After only two weeks of knowing each other, Sam has asked her to stand up in his vow renewal as his “best woman”. She’s got weathered skin and bright eyes that well with tears when she talks about it.
“I mean, what an honor. What an honor,” Reighna said.
Relationships and friendships form quickly in this community - people say they need to stick together to survive. And that means they get close - fast.
Bella sits at a table listening to music as she prepares for her day at Turning Point. She’s feeling anxious this morning - a few weeks ago, she said a man at Room at the Inn was harassing her. Room at the Inn staff confirmed he’s no longer allowed on property at the shelter or at Turning Point, but that didn’t necessarily stop things.
“He pulled up in the Turning Point parking lot a couple days ago, and one of the guys had to beat him to get him out of the parking lot to leave me alone,” Bella said.
Bella says it’s just a part of life on the streets as a woman - the only way to stay safe, she says, is to surround herself with trustworthy men who can protect her.
She says finding out who the “good ones” are isn’t an easy task - but she found her street family. And without them, she says she doesn’t know where she’d be.
“He's not coming back to harm me no more,” Bella said.
It’s almost time for the shelter to close - and everyone knows it’s only a matter of time before they’re back out in the cold. Some drag their feet, others seem more accepting - it’s part of the routine.
Leo Mitchell, an older man with a thick southern drawl, eats his breakfast quickly, then spends a few minutes nursing his coffee and preparing for the day. It’s a day like any other - he’ll walk 30 minutes down the street to his job at a car detailing shop. Leo is one of the many residents at Room at the Inn who are employed full-time - but still experience homelessness.
“The income is low. It just makes it hard, but you can't give up,” Leo said. “It's real out there in the streets - been out here five years. Just keep doing that little job. Yeah, give me something to do 8 to 10 hours a day.”
Leo said he hasn’t gone to Turning Point since the summer - he has showers and everything he needs at work. But for the vast majority of residents at the shelter, Turning Point is the next destination. It’s finally time to close up shop for the day. Some get right up to head outside - others clearly don’t want to leave.
Most folks catch the bus to Turning Point while a few others bike off into another day.
Inside, Sullivan finishes checking out the last guest or two. But as 8:05 a.m. rolls around –
“You better get your butt out of here or I’m going to suspend you,” Sullivan said.
Sullivan jokes, but this scene is common when the shelter closes - Room at the Inn is a safe place, one where food is always guaranteed and where fights are broken up before they can escalate into danger. Out on the streets, it’s every person for themselves - there’s always someone who doesn’t want to leave.
Rich and Sweeney get busy cleaning the kitchen while Sullivan heads to the bathroom with rubber gloves and a bucket full of cleaning supplies and the other Jerry heads into the sleeping area with a massive janitor’s cart.
Everything has to be cleaned, sanitized and reset before staff gets to head home. And after a very early morning, they’re all ready for some rest.
It takes about an hour - everyone in a good mood, with loud music playing. But finally it’s time to close up shop on another night at Room at the Inn. Jerry Listener brings up the rear - he strolls down the darkened hallway toward the front door carrying his ever-present coffee and an acoustic guitar.
While he locks the doors, everyone else stands around – bracing themselves against the early morning cold and grabbing a quick cigarette before their rides pick them up.
They're all looking forward to the eventual opening of the Opportunity Campus in town, which will be able to shelter more folks and provide more resources all in a single place.
“Hopefully we, as a community, Columbia, can and hopefully will do better,” Sullivan said.
