Keeping the Peace (House)

Peace House Community doesn't offer shelter, clothing or even lockers where the homeless can store their few worldly possessions. Nonetheless, for 25 years, the people who live on the streets of south Minneapolis have been filling its modest meeting room because it offers something they can't get anywhere else: a sense of belonging. "Don't call it a drop-in center," insisted Catherine Mamer, a 23-year volunteer and the facility's coordinator. "This isn't a place where people just drop in; it's a place they keep coming back to."

Located at 510 E. Franklin Av., it was launched by Sister Rose Tillemans of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet, which still funds it. Her approach was simple: Listen to people.

The lonely, homeless, abused, disenfranchised, addicted and mentally ill -- those who have "no one else to listen to them" is how she put it -- all get a sympathetic ear.

"There's no judgment here," said Mamer, a retired high school teacher who took over as coordinator when Sister Rose died in 2002. "This is a place they can feel at home whether they have a home or not."

That's how it's been for Coretta, a regular since 1997. Asked what keeps bringing her back, she said, "All these wonderful people. They are definitely like my family. That's what we are: a family."

On the other end of the spectrum is Danielle, a newcomer who was there for only the third time. It wouldn't be her last.

"The spirit here, the strength, is just amazing," she said. "I plan to keep coming back."

Community rules

Peace House attracts between 80 and 100 people a day, many of whom are there from when it opens at 10 a.m. to when it closes at 3 p.m. Most spend the time chatting with friends or volunteers. A few plop down in chairs and fall asleep.

"We used to have a rule that they couldn't sleep in here," Mamer said. "But then we realized that for some of them, this is the only safe place they have to sleep."

Marge Sullivan has been volunteering at Peace House for 21 years. She has to stretch to reach 5 feet, and she's 84 -- a number that describes both her age and weight. But don't be misled by that; woe betide the person who tries to diminish the center or anyone who uses it.

"This is a place where you can get together and be friends and be honest with each other," she announced to a group of people. Then she added in a no-nonsense tone: "And if I ever see any drugs in here, you're gonna be in trouble."

In addition to the no-drugs policy, anyone who has been using alcohol is turned away. People turned away are disappointed when that happens, but they comply because they know that the rules are made by the people who use Peace House.

"We don't call them clients or guests," Mamer said. "They are members of the community."

Every day at 11:30 a.m. the front door is locked and everyone gathers in the main room. The agenda varies. Sometimes it's a meditation. Sometimes it's a meeting of the community members. On this visit, it turns out to be literature day, in which people bring something they want to read aloud, an eclectic sampling that ranges from a book of children's poetry to a biography of Cher. Each reading is followed by a brief discussion (especially brief in Cher's case).

The readings are followed by lunch. Much of the food is donated, and it's up to Joseph -- Mamer calls him "Master Chef Joseph" -- to figure out what to do with it.

"I came in here because I was homeless at the time and I was looking for help," Joseph said as he rummaged through the refrigerator, picking out the makings of what would become a pasta salad that he would serve along with frozen pizzas that he enhanced with his own creative flourishes. "That was a year ago. Now I come in to cook about four days a week."

He doesn't get paid for that. In fact, the Peace House offers very little in the way of paid jobs.

"There are five jobs, each of which pay $5, and we have a drawing for them every day," Mamer said. "They include things like cleaning the bathroom or sweeping the floor. We wish we could do more, but that's all the money we've got."

The annual budget is a mere $84,000. How do they manage to do so much with so little?

"Volunteers," Mamer answered, alluding to a roster that runs from high school students to retirees.

Keeping the peace

Curtis Davis is the glue that holds the day-to-day operation together, Mamer said. In his eighth year of volunteering, he's on duty five days a week, doing everything from answering the phone to making sure that the Peace House remains peaceful. But don't think of him as a bouncer, he requested; he uses his words more than his muscles.

"The people who get mad, they're not mad at us," he said. "They're mad at something else that is going on in their lives and just bring their anger here. So we talk to them, we get them to calm down and, if we can, we give them a referral to someone who can help."

Even after all her years there, Mamer still marvels at the loyalty that Peace House creates.

"We have people in jail who will call us to see how everyone is doing," she said. "And when they get out of jail, this often is the first place they come."

Which is not to say that people never leave. In order to turn their lives around, many of them need to distance themselves from the negative influences that they associate with their old neighborhood.

One side of the meeting room is covered with photographs of former community members. Mamer is particularly proud of a picture of a smiling sixth-grader.

"We call him our Peace House baby because his mother was homeless until he was 2 and spent nearly every day here," she said. "He's 12 now, and he's getting straight A's in school. His mother calls every week to check in."

One of the main concerns at Peace House these days is what is going to happen to it. The building is in part of an urban-renewal project known as the Franklin-Portland Gateway. The project has slowed because of the recession, but Mamer is convinced that eventually a move is inevitable.

"It's been a long and arduous process," she said of the negotiations. "In fact, I'm the only one [on either side] who has been there from the beginning. Originally they wanted us to move 10 blocks away, but that's too far for people who have to walk everywhere. Now we're talking about two or three blocks. We can make that work, especially if we get a nice new building out of it."

Still, it's not the building that makes Peace House special, Danielle pointed out to the volunteers. "If not for you, none of us would have a place to come to," she said.

Jeff Strickler • 612-673-7392