Latinos & Economic Security

31 AUGUST 2010

Miguel: A Story About Kindness

By Gabrielle Canon

In the heart of Downtown Los Angeles, beyond the upscale high-rise buildings and concrete beds of the homeless on skid row, lies St. Barnabas. The sun is beating down vengeful heat though New Years has only just passed. The door swings open to reveal the remaining remnants of the holidays: a giant glowing tree accompanied by a polished menorah. They stand as symbols to preserve the holiday spirit in triumph over the heat that would say otherwise.  I walk into the lounge past the friendly faces of visitors sharing stories over breakfast and into their Cyber Café. Portraits of patrons from days long ago adorned the walls. I see the gleaming eyes of history staring back at me through them. Here were people who had stories to tell. Here were people who were still living those stories, often times, with the help of St. Barnabas. I watch as a senior volunteer patiently instructs a participant on how to connect to friends and family through email on one of St. Barnabas’ computers. And then I meet Miguel.

Miguel is a soft spoken man with a gentle manner and a welcoming smile. As a case manager in the social services department, he spends his day working with low-income seniors to solve a wide range of problems, from translation and immigration issues for the Hispanic community, to finding affordable housing for those who can no longer work. This labor of love has earned him the nickname of “1-800-Miguel,” ironic because one of the many problems he helps seniors solve is figuring out how to convert phone numbers with letters into numbers. Gordon Gibb, Director of Social Services comments, “He is one of the most gifted persons I’ve met and I have felt very fortunate to have him on the staff of social services.” Rebecca Bernard, Vice President of Development and Strategic Initiatives agrees, “His heart is so huge and the work he does—it’s personal. It’s just incredible.” I can sense this from the way Miguel reflects on his own work. “This office is the people’s office” he tells me, “and if I have time to serve others I will do it with all my heart.” He is passionate about his work, and compassionate about those he serves. From our conversation I can feel the respect he has for the people that walk through his door each day bringing with them a host of challenges to be addressed. He is there to support them despite the struggles they may face. He is there to help them fill in forms they cannot read, and to show them how to eventually fill in their own forms. I asked him how he does it—how he connects instantly with strangers, and how he earns their trust so easily. He replied, “The most important thing is to hear what they have to say, because I know behind each face there is something else—there is a history there.”

Miguel has his own history as well. At the age of twenty-four, with nothing but the drive to help his family and to indulge his sense of adventure, Miguel left his home in Honduras to come to the United States. For several months he slept under bridges and survived on nothing but orange juice and the kindness of strangers. He was going to travel north. He was going to go to New York. New York however, was a very long way from where he crossed the river into Texas.

At each step in his journey, he encountered wonderful people who provided him with shelter, work, food, and friendship. He recounts how the first man who picked him up drove him all the way to Houston. He remembers the Chilean couple who took him in when he was hungry and needed a place to sleep.  There was a man named Rusty, who led Miguel to the network of job opportunities that would eventually enable him to send the first money he could, $90, back to his father in Honduras. “I wish I could see them again and give them a hug, and thank them” he remarks. It would be nice if they could see how his gratitude is reflected in the work he does each day.

Determined to continue his journey, Miguel boarded a bus to Los Angeles. He arrived as he had originally into the US—with nothing but the clothes he was wearing, armed only with the determination to find his way and make it in the big city. For three months his home was an upside-down sofa in the park.  He took any job that came his way. Each job led to the next and each job brought with it more security and more opportunities to learn. He was working in a convalescent home, when his sister came from Honduras and began working for St. Barnabas. Through her he was introduced to the organization and hired to work each Wednesday. He began working directly with the seniors— assisting them with activities of daily living, providing transportation, driving for the “meals on wheels” program, and sometimes doing janitorial work. Building on a natural affinity for seniors, a strong work ethic, and the supportive environment at St. Barnabas, he worked his way up. Miguel is now is one of the most sought after case managers in the social services department. I can understand why. He sees the work he does as an extension of himself. “What I like most is to advocate for seniors because, I wasn’t a senior myself, but sometimes I needed services and it was denied for me...I would like to advocate always for them...This is the most important job I ever had.”

In 1991, Miguel became an American citizen. The journey that brought him here was long and hard, but the appreciation and recognition of kindness he received along the way is reflected in the wonderful work he does for St. Barnabas. “I am never going to forget where I come from,” he declares, and it is easy to see that he means it.
Last year, a beloved volunteer at St. Barnabas died of pancreatic cancer. While being treated at St. Vincent Hospital, the man, an immigrant, was asked to provide the contact information for a family member. St. Barnabas was the only family he had in the United States. This is why, when the man passed away, Miguel worked tirelessly, as a family member might, to plan a “celebration of memory” in both Spanish and English so that the man’s only daughter could participate from Peru. “It was a remarkable day,” Gordon said, “everyone could feel connected.”

Like a family. St. Barnabas accepts people, with open arms, when they need help most. Like a family, there are pictures in the café and smiling faces in the dining room. Miguel told me that “Most of the time seniors feel there is no hope, no body for them, but here is St. Barnabas, and we are here for them.” It is clear that what St. Barnabas provides for this community is an extension of the people who work here—people like Miguel, who invest their time, energy, and hearts in the services they provide. Miguel is a member of this family and he is one of the many people that make St. Barnabas what it is. Though this organization is facing budget cuts, and the problems that come with providing services to a growing population of low-income seniors, the dedication of those within the St. Barnabas family will help perpetuate the warmth that has been emanating from St. Barnabas’s open door for over 100 years. I was welcomed into this family on that hot day in January, and you can be part of this family to. When you walk through that door, you will see as I did, what makes St. Barnabas special.