It was a pristine Saturday morning. The autumn breeze brushed against my hair as I lightly trekked down a deserted street in East Baltimore. My ghostly shadow glided past the vacated shops and inns, the empty alleys and the pothole-littered pavement.
Finally, I arrived at my destination, a shabby five-story building, overshadowed by the new, gleaming skyscrapers of downtown Baltimore. Dangling above the door was an old-fashioned sign that read "Helping up Mission - Rehabilitation Center for the Homeless, since 1882."
I was greeted with a firm handshake from my host, Kris Sharrar, a middle-aged man who works as the volunteer director at the center. We had previously arranged this meeting so he could give me a brief tour of what is known as the "little oasis."
On our way down an airy corridor, we met someone named Skooley. Skooley, who had the distinct look of the stereotypical gangster, was one of the 50 permanent residents of the center. Dressed in a baggy black hoodie and long, dangling shorts, Skooley recounted a passionate tale of his past life in Baltimore's biggest gang.
"It was real hard to get clean," Skooley said, "'cause my life was always under threat ... there was this unspeakable kinda fear." He recalled that he had been involved in street fights almost every day. The constant urge to hurt another human being, Skooley explained, almost felt like "being on drugs."
According to Skooley, possessing this aggressive state of mind is not uncommon in many low-income neighborhoods throughout Baltimore. Growing up in an environment where broken families often fail to provide a healthy environment and proper education for children, Skooley is a sample product of this evolving trend. "After high school, I was 17 and had nothing to do, and I got bored," Skooley said.
Without the parental care and guidance one usually receives, Skooley naturally thought that it was the "cool thing" to tread the perilous waters of Baltimore's many gangs.
During his time as a gang member, Skooley never enjoyed a moment of peace, oftentimes traveling back and forth across the threshold of the local jailhouse.
Fortunately the Helping Up Mission shelter became Skooley's new home, providing him with a particular sense of peace and security.
Later in the morning, Kris gave me a brief tour of the shelter's facilities. As we proceeded down the creaking staircase towards the basement, I heard joyous laughter from a cheering crowd.
Apparently, a group of around 20 residents was holding a cheerful Saturday morning Ping-Pong tournament. Although some might have needed a little more practice, it was clear that everyone was actively engaged in the excitement of the game.
On the far side of the room, another 50 seated themselves comfortably before a large-screen television, intently watching a Discovery Channel documentary.
In the shelter's kitchen, volunteer homeless residents were busy preparing a delicious hot meal for everyone at the center. The mouth-watering scent of tender roast chicken and freshly baked brownies danced around my nostrils as my anxious stomach growled.
As I strolled around the room and watched their all-too-ordinary faces, I noticed their smiles. It was really a phenomenon to find this gleam of happiness in one of the unlikeliest places.
Indeed, inside a shabby East Baltimore building, a small oasis of peace, security and comfort still persists. In fact, it's thriving.
