Over the past few weeks, we have all experienced some fear and uncertainty. We are asking what the future will bring and how we can handle this current health crisis.

For many of us those questions have risen from the global concerns of COVID-19, but for the homeless neighbors we serve, these were already daily worries.

Amid the concerns of COVID-19, Peter & Paul Community Services is continuing to make the health and safety of our residents, staff, and community our top priority. Thankfully, so far none of our residents are showing symptoms. As we care for men and women that are homeless, we have instituted several proactive measures in adherence with the CDC and Department of Health guidelines.

WHAT WE’RE DOING:

• Our Soulard Shelter, which is typically open overnight, has gone to 24-hours a day, 7 days a week.
• Temperatures of all our clients are being checked daily and often 2-3 times a day.
• We deep clean all of our facilities throughout the day and are educating our clients on proper hygiene and cleaning protocols.
• Residents at our Soulard Shelter, Labre Center, and Positive Directions programs are sheltering in place.
• At our Garfield Place Apartments, as much as possible, tenants are staying inside their apartments.
• In order to achieve social distancing, our Meals Program which usually serves 160 – 200 meals from the 2nd through the 21st of each month, has changed from congregate meals in the parish hall to distributing sack lunches by our staff, outside the building. We have also rented an outdoor hand washing station for clients to use.
• We are working with local commercial kitchens and chefs that are preparing and providing meals for our housing programs and sack lunches for our Meals Program. If your commercial kitchen wants to help, please contact Shane Taylor, our chief development officer, at shane.taylor@ppcsinc.org.
• With the shelter in place order, we have temporarily suspended all volunteer opportunities and gift-in-kind donations.
• Staff members are covering many extra hours every day, preparing additional meals and doing all the other tasks usually done by our generous volunteers. In order to compensate the staff for their increased workload and dedication to our clients, we have instituted temporary incentive pay for essential front-line employees.
• Currently, we are short-staffed and contracting for additional staff through a temp agency. We are hiring part-time, full-time, and PRN Shelter monitors and Behavioral Support Technicians with wages up to $18 per hour. Our job openings are listed here: https://ppcsinc.org/about-us/employment/

HOW YOU CAN HELP:

Since the men and women we serve are some of the most vulnerable to the spread of this potentially deadly virus, we need your help.

Due to the extra safety measures, we are currently facing $10,000 in additional weekly expenses. Now more than ever, we recognize that hope and the support of our community is truly the only way that we can “solve homelessness together.”

Your gift, no matter the amount, will help care for our clients’ needs, supply added meals, provide cleaning supplies, and cover all the extended staff hours.

Please consider giving to our neighbors without homes from the comfort of yours.

CLICK TO DONATE

Please continue to follow us on social media for future updates.

Thank you!

Steve Campbell,
Chief Executive Officer

Xavier Jallow, a freshman at St. Louis University High School, sits in the chaotic warmth of Peter & Paul Community Services’ emergency shelter, ignoring shouts and clattering trays, eyes fixed on his opponent. Jallow and one of this evening’s residents, Jerrod “B.B.” Booth, are engaged in a silent fast-pitched battle. They reach to slide and capture, knights and bishops knocking heads as they’re swooped off the board. A small crowd gathers, drawn by the power of the men’s concentration.

Finally the game reaches a point of no return. “He’s in a bad position—bad position,” Booth explains, “and his queen can’t even help him.” Still, they play it out, the moves stretching apart as the men give each other room to think.

Ed Rataj, a retired law partner from Bryan Cave, watches fondly from the sidelines. Nicknamed “Chess Man,” he started this program, and he’s at Peter and Paul or Biddle Housing Opportunities Center four nights a week.

“You’re never sure who’s going to be there,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll go in, set up the boards…nobody. But by the time we leave, two or three guys are lined up to play next.”

Rataj (pronounced with the “j” silent) played chess as a kid but only got serious when he volunteered for city schools that wanted programs. Delighted, he boned up on strategy. Soon after, he was at Peter and Paul, dropping off a packet of bonds used to recruit Union soldiers in the Civil War (“I donate weird stuff to charity auctions”) and mentioned that he was on his way to teach a chess class. A staffer looked up: “Did you say chess?” They’d had some interest, especially from one guest. Maybe he could start a program?

“I thought I was going to be teaching people to play,” Rataj says, laughing. “I never beat Eduardo. Never once. He’d move his piece then get up and do a dance”—he demonstrates, feet kicking high and arms windmilling—“and the whole time, he was obliterating me on the chessboard.”

When Rataj tried to recruit more players from his parish, Immacolata, they protested, saying, “All I know is how the pieces move.” He nodded briskly: “Perfect. We’re trying to build up the homeless guys’ self-esteem and your humility.”

These days, better players are volunteering—because they find worthy opponents. Corey Reinig, an actuary for Anthem, joined the world-class St. Louis Chess Club but also plays regularly at the shelter. Samuel Roth, a grad student in business at Washington University, “was kind of interested to play at a less formal place. You get some really creative, aggressive players here.”

Rataj agrees, but he’s noticed that many “have terrible openings. I’ll say, ‘People have been working on this for 1,000 years. Here’s the London opening. Here’s the Colle Zukertort. Instead of you opening in a way that’s weak and gives me all sorts of advantages you’re going to have to overcome…’” He sighs. “Often they want to play it their way.”

Eddie Morris regrets that stubbornness—in life as well as chess: “When I was young, I made some very, very foolish moves.” We talk at the Biddle shelter one sharply cold evening; cots are being brought in to increase capacity, so we have to wait to set up the chess boards. Of grandfatherly age, Morris is wearing a Mizzou Tigers hoodie and carefully coughing into his elbow; there’s a hoarse rustle in his deep, calm voice. “I learned the fundamental moves when I was in the penitentiary,” he says. “The strategy you have to develop on your own, but my downfall is, I never read the chess book.”

That hasn’t stopped him from wiping the board with volunteers, though. Above high cheekbones, his eyes curve into a merry squint, like Santa’s. Chess, to him, is “a mind game. You can apply it to life situations, figure out what moves you’re gonna make. If a person gets angry with you, are you gonna come at them strong, push forward real fast, or hold back and speak to them in a calm and gentle manner?” He gropes for a word, pulls out his phone. “OK Google, what is the word when you rush into something without thinking about the consequences?” He peers at the screen. “Impulsive.”

Roth, whose life has been softer and more stable, wants chess to teach him to “stay aggressive, stay hungry. I’ll start losing more often when I’m starting to be defensive, and I have to remind myself to, when I’m threatened, punch back harder. Don’t go into a shell.” He starts a game, a black and a white piece concealed in his closed fists. His opponent chooses black, which gives Roth an instant advantage. White always opens.

A skinny guy approaches Rich Esswein (chess coach for SLUH) with his hands up in front of his chest, as though to ward off embarrassment: “It’s been a while since I played.” Esswein goes into teaching mode: “The pointy-headed guy is the bishop…” Slowly the guy relaxes into the game.

Relationships form here. Players aren’t swapping stories or asking about one another’s families, but “you get a sense of who your opponent is,” Rataj says. “He becomes a person to you.”

I ask Rataj for his most moving experience, expecting a poignant redemption story of some sort. “I beat Ken!” he exults. “He did not see the checkmate coming. I have lost so many games to Ken!”

Across a chessboard, people play as equals, and everything else drops away.