Portfolio at NYU

Posted 03.31.03
The Salvation Army at Ground Zero

By Mike Woodsworth

A few steps from Ground Zero, exhausted workers gather beneath a black plastic tent to drink a cup of coffee, munch on brownies, read newspapers and relax their tired legs. Greeting them with a smile or a pat on the shoulder as they enter, Salvation Army volunteers and chaplains offer them medical supplies, a change of socks, or grief counseling.

This intimate refuge at the corner of Liberty Plaza and Church Street has earned an affectionate nickname: "The Hard Hat Cafe". Providing emotional and religious guidance as well as physical support, it represents the core values that have guided the Salvation Army's disaster relief efforts since it launched "Operation Compassion Under Fire" on September 11.

"What we think is most important is servicing the client with immediate relief, while also providing compassion and accountability," says Capt. Moises Serrano, the Salvation Army's director of disaster services for Greater New York.

The Salvation Army began dispensing food and drinks near Ground Zero less than an hour after the attacks on the Twin Towers. Since then, the Army has served over 2.1 million people, providing almost 1.6 million meals and dealing with 62,000 mental health and social services cases. In addition to the 24-hour feeding sites around Ground Zero, Army staff and volunteers have served food at three mobile kitchens around the New York area and provide grief counseling and financial assistance at the Family Assistance Centers at Pier 94 and 141 Worth St. All told, it has become the Salvation Army's largest mobilization ever on U.S. soil.

The Army initially set up five food stations in the "red zone" closest to Ground Zero, although it later scaled down to three. Because local restaurateurs complained that the availability of free food at Ground Zero was depriving them of valuable business, the Hard Hat Cafe and two other "hydration centers" now provide beverages and snacks instead of hot meals.

Salvation Army volunteers do continue to serve copious meals in a heated tent at the corner of West Street and Murray Street. Colorful banners thanking the "heroes" adorn the tent, and thank-you cards from around the country sit wedged between flower vases on the tabletops.

J.D. DeSantis, a Lieutenant Paramedic for the Fire Department, has "practically lived at Ground Zero" since September 11. Devouring a heaping portion of the surprisingly tasty turkey dinners served up in the week before Thanksgiving, he says he's eaten more at the Salvation Army tent than he has at home in the past two months.

"I owe these people a deep gratitude," he says. "They're volunteers, they don't have to be here. They've done a great job, and they provide a welcome break from what happens outside on the pile."

As if to prove DeSantis' point, Maj. William Dickinson, the site supervisor, hands the fatigued paramedic a yellow envelope. DeSantis pulls out a wad of drawings from school children in Wisconsin, who made them specifically for the paramedics of the FDNY. DeSantis stops eating and shakes his head, smiling, as he leafs through the messages.

Major Dickinson traveled from Tucson, Ariz., for a two-week period to help coordinate supplies and meal service in accordance with the Salvation Army ethic.

"As an ordained minister, I was called into the pit on a body recovery on my first day here," Dickinson recounts. "I was very privileged to be part of that. I've also provided in-depth grief counseling to about nine people. I try to share with them and let them know it's okay."

Alfred Truesdell, a mechanic, welder and operator who has worked intermittently around Ground Zero since September 12, says the Army does small things to make his days more pleasant.

"The hospitality here is fantastic," he says, tucking into a plate of turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, bread, peas and carrots. "They've always got smiles on their faces, they always say hi. And the food is good."

Just putting that food on the table presented huge challenges for the Salvation Army, ironically because they had too much of it. In the immediate aftermath of September 11, shocked citizens around the country deluged relief organizations with supplies of all kinds.

"We quickly got to a point where we were saturated, inundated with enormous amounts of stuff. " says Maj. George Polarek, who coordinates the Army's emergency supplies in conjunction with New York City's Office of Emergency Management.

Supplies soon spilled out onto the sidewalks outside the Army's Command Center on 14th Street. By September 13, 17 trailer trucks filled with bottled water sat idly in the parking lot.

At Polarek's request, Mayor Rudolph Giuliani publicly announced on September 14 that only financial donations were needed, yet the supplies kept coming, causing severe logistical problems. In response, the Army set up a warehousing system on the city's outskirts. Trucks delivering food, clothes, water, and rescue equipment from around the country were diverted to four State-run warehouses before they got to Manhattan. The Army then hired a warehousing expert from Wal-Mart to help organize supplies in a one million square-foot hangar at J.F.K. airport. But obstacles kept arising each time a public requests for specific supplies resulted in unexpected overstock.

"We asked for only new clothes, specifically t-shirts, socks, steel-toed boots," Polarek says. "But some people went and cleared out their old clothes closet. All that stuff has been sent to our regular adult rehabilitation centers around the city."

"We made a plea for 50 respirator masks, and the next day we got an 18-wheeler with 3500," Polarek recalls, laughing. "Across the country, people still think we need respirators."

Unloading and sorting through supplies that had been hastily and chaotically thrown together by well-meaning communities far from the crisis proved to be extremely time consuming.

"The bulk of our staff and volunteers were diverted to dealing with that for a month," Serrano says. "And a lot of stuff had to be tossed away."

Ten weeks later, the Army is still storing approximately 200 tractor-trailer loads of food and water. Now that food vendors around Ground Zero have resumed selling food, many donations initially earmarked for disaster relief will go toward other purposes.

"The ethical thing to do would be for the excess food to go into a general assistance program at Christmas rather than throwing it out," Serrano points out.

The principle does not apply to monetary donations, however. "We've had to be very aware of donations management," says Army public information officer Simon Henley. "Money donated for a disaster is a restricted fund." All $57 million donated to "Operation Grace under Pressure" will be distributed to people affected by the events of September 11, even if this year's Christmas funding drive falls short of previous years' levels because of donor exhaustion.

"I'm thinking in terms of long-term response," Polarek insists. "I'm thinking of how to use these dollars to plan 10 years down the line. They are still counseling people who survived the Oklahoma City bombing. In 6 months to a year, how many people might drop out of work and need counseling, need to talk about trauma they never expressed before? Five years from now, who knows what health problems might afflict people who have been inhaling asbestos, lead, human remains?"

Salvation Army officers, who are ordained ministers and, for the most part, experienced grief counselors, arrive in New York from all across North America to coordinate ground operations. They come for short stints, never more than two weeks. This continual rotation of enthusiastic newcomers accounts for the high morale at Army sites around Ground Zero. Army officers have worked a total of over 35,000 hours to date, according to Pam Hughes, the Army's liaison officer in New York City. They are joined by volunteers, who have carried out the bulk of the feeding efforts at Ground Zero, putting in almost 90,000 hours of service up to November 20.

Amid this epic effort, the Army keeps spiritual healing at the core of the services it provides. More than just a charity, the Salvation Army is a church, an offshoot of Methodism that has developed its own distinctive character since founder William Booth began distributing meals in the slums of London in 1865.

The Army is known above all for its quirky symbols — the red shields, uniformed marching bands, and Christmas kettles — but it also ranks as a highly efficient organization. The American Institute of Philanthropy rates it among the best charities in the U.S., one that consistently channels a high proportion of funds to people in need. Among the main reasons for this efficiency are heavy reliance on volunteers and a dedicated, deeply religious staff.

According to Henley, one of the rare laymen employed by the Army, the organization "maintains very low administrative costs because the officers work out of a true passion for the ministry."

Motivated by their spiritual mission, the Army officers work long hours in emotionally and physically draining contexts for very little pay. Polarek, for example, worked 12 to 16 hours a day for the first two months of the crisis. He took only two days off.

All Army officers earn between $12,000 to $15, 000 a year, and also receive free housing and a transportation allowance. There is virtually no discrepancy between the salaries of the highest and the lowest in the organization's hierarchy; the national director, John Busby, makes only $13,000, according to Polarek.

"A unique thing I have seen has been the spiritual ministry that has been going on," says Henley, who came from Knoxville, Tenn., to help produce press releases. "To be part of a relief effort that extended spiritual relief in addition to catering to direct physical needs has been wonderful. I wanted to be part of something that is kingdom building and that helps people in a Christian way."

At the Hard Hat Cafe, bleary-eyed workers can help themselves to eye drops, cotton swabs, bandages, gloves, socks, and ointment, as well as New Testaments, various religious pamphlets, and copies of a book called "When God Doesn't Make Sense", by Dr. James Dobson. They can also pray with Army chaplains or members of the Billy Graham Foundation who help out at Army sites.

However, most of the 430 engineers, iron workers, mechanics, operators, and firemen who visited the tent between 3 p.m. and 11 p.m. on November 16 showed little interest in talking about religion. Instead, they exchanged pleasantries with some of the New Yorkers who have volunteered steadily for the past two months.

Liz Carvajal, an energetic 29 year-old Queens woman with a radiant smile, seems to know all the workers around Ground Zero. She began volunteering at the site only hours after the twin towers collapsed and helped clear rubble for the next four days, sleeping in doorways whenever she could. After retiring to her apartment for one evening, she went back to Ground Zero on September 16 and stayed there for ten consecutive days and nights, sleeping in a Burger King that had been converted into a triage center.

Since she joined the Salvation Army volunteer team in early October, Carvajal has dedicated 40 hours a week of her time. Whereas she worked frenetically for the first few weeks, preparing meals, offering medical treatment when she could, and moving supplies around, her role now consists of providing workers with a sense of comfort and stability.

"Most of the time you just listen," Carvajal explains. "They want to get it out. For the most part we don't say very much. I just try to provide something normal, to make them feel like they're with their mother or their girlfriend."

Carvajal's friend Mia, who has also been volunteering since September 11, truly managed to make one ironworker feel like he was with his girlfriend. The two met at the Hard Hat Cafe and are now dating full-time.

The facilities set up by the Salvation Army and the Red Cross, which has converted a portion of the former Marriott Hotel into a lounge and buffet, provide places for workers to get away from the pit, both physically and emotionally. Their eyes red and irritated, their faces raw and soot-covered, their hands caked with dirt and calluses, the Ground Zero laborers work 12-hour shifts seven days a week. Some have worked up to 50 consecutive days. They sometimes talk to intrigued and concerned volunteers about the dangers of their jobs.

Harold, an oilier with the Local 15 union tells a fascinated Billy Graham disciple about how fragile piles of rubble have collapsed beneath the weight of excavators twice within the past week. One machine fell three or four stories, Harold says, but the operating engineer was not seriously hurt. At another table, William Howell, a structural engineer, explains the intricacies of securing the unstable foundations to Maj. Calvin Fudge, a chaplain from Newfoundland, Canada.

Fudge supervised the Hard Hat Cafe for two weeks in mid-November. He says that what makes the Salvation Army special is their use of spiritual expertise to help people deal with traumatic experiences.

"For example, I started talking to a worker from the Millennium Hotel who was buried under the rubble for 45 minutes when the buildings collapsed," he recalls. "He had a piece of steel imbedded in his back, and he's been having nightmares. He's been keeping a diary, and I read his diary with him and we pray together."

Hand-written instruction sheets are posted around the storage area of the West Street food tent to inform all involved with the Army of three main objectives. The first is to "Give 'em Jesus", the second to "Serve with a Smile" and the third is a reminder to "sign in and out, report to supervisors, and provide statistics."

Joan Sendef, a chaplain from Philadelphia who was wiping tables and sweeping the floor of the West Street tent on November 16, indicates says the Army doesn't try to evangelize. However, she never forgets to "give 'em Jesus."

"I'm here to provide service to God and man," she says. "Some people question their beliefs and ask: 'Where was God?' Well, I reassure them that God gave us free will and that he's still here. I tell them it will be alright because the terrorists can't take away our faith or our joy."

Debbie Jackson, a Jewish volunteer from Brooklyn Heights says that despite the religious framework, serving people always takes precedence over serving God.

"It's a very non-denominational operation." Jackson says. "The focus here is on helping people, not on making converts. The Salvation Army people are amazing, incredibly good-hearted. It's a real honor to be here with them, despite the difference of faith."

In addition to listening and counseling, the Army provides financial assistance to the forgotten victims of September 11. "The Salvation Army is the last agency people will see when they're done what we call one-stop shopping," Henley says of the Family Assistance Centers. "We want to catch those who fall through the cracks."

Henley says indirect victims the Army helps include illegal immigrants, whom the Army doesn't ask for any documentation. Workers whose incomes were indirectly tied to the World Trade Center, such as limousine drivers, can also apply for Salvation Army aid when government bureaucracies ask for too much paperwork.

According to Ed Speranza, director of publications in New York, "the Army augments and fills the gaps for people who need assistance but are caught in bureaucratic delays."

The Army itself has experienced difficulties keeping up with demand, as shown by the fact that they have only spent $5.2 million of the $15 million raised in New York City, a portion of the $57 million nationwide. According to Serrano, the man in charge of the operation, they have been providing assistance with three week delays.

"We were really behind," Serrano says. "But every step of the way, our actions are better coordinated and planned, and now we have a database of people in need and a satellite to connect the Command Center directly with the 141 Worth St. Assistance Center. We're definitely catching up."