Holiday Helpers

Just like the drunk uncle at a Thanksgiving gathering, Paul Schafer spent Thursday morning discussing his various ailments and following it up with a bad joke.

"I had a seizure and I wasn't even drinking," the 54-year-old said, unleashing a belly laugh that could have been heard a block away. "Maybe I haven't been drinking enough; I haven't been putting enough away."

It was Thanksgiving Day, but Schafer wasn't on center stage at a family gathering. Instead, his holiday was spent on a bus stop bench. He hunched over a plastic grocery bag and to his delight pulled out canned meat, bottled water and a loaf of bread. Tears streamed down his face.

"Thank you so much for stopping by," he said. "I didn't think I'd see anyone today. It's kind of a family day, and I don't have any family but myself."

Schafer was the last stop for Linda Lera-Randle El and Bev Campbell, two women who started out at 7 a.m. on Thanksgiving cruising Las Vegas with a minivan packed with food, water, blankets and knit hats.

They scoured empty lots, bushes and behind shopping centers in search of the homeless.

The women represent Straight from the Streets, a program founded by Lera-Randle El.

They know that Catholic Charities offers free Thanksgiving meals to homeless people, but the duo believes lifting spirits can be as important as providing food.

"You see (homeless) people at the Mission eating, but no one is going to talk to them," Lera-Randle El said. "They are going to leave the same way they went in, except they're full."

The two headed south on Decatur Boulevard when they spotted Tony Brock. Lera-Randle El pulled her van alongside Brock as he shuffled through a parking lot.

"Are you hungry? We have some food," she said.

Brock was leery. He later explained that strangers make him nervous. He has had friends on the streets who have been jumped and beaten. Campbell packed the 52-year-old a bag of food and filled out an application for food stamps, and the two agreed to meet up next week.

"This is a hard time of year," Brock said. "You start thinking about your family. I know I will be."

A native of Salem, Ore., he recently lost his job as a window washer.

"I can't believe this," he said gratefully as he watched Campbell. "Most people aren't nice enough to do something like this."

Lera-Randle El once served as the executive director of MASH Village, the primary provider of services to the homeless. She quit MASH to pursue her own program; her husband offered to work multiple jobs to support her efforts. Campbell, a social worker involved in Clark County foster care licensing, helps Straight from the Streets by volunteering as a caseworker.

Together, they not only feed transients but spend time coaching, as opposed to lecturing, them about their lifestyle and services that are available to them.

About 7:20 a.m., Lera-Randle El steered her van into an empty lot littered with brush and trash bags along Lake Mead Boulevard. The average passer-by never would spot the people who live there, but Lera-Randle El knows they are there.

After the van rumbled to a stop, heads popped up from sleeping bags. Terry Krogg stumbled over from behind a bush where he has lived for more than two months. Krogg worked most of his 63 years as a mechanic, but his body is falling apart, and he has no tools and no identification. He gave up after all his job applications ended up in what he calls the "circular file:" the trash can.

Krogg admits that he now spends most of his time drunk.

"Alcohol is not doing your body any good," Lera-Randle El told Krogg as she handed him bus passes. "We want to see you off the street. Alcohol is a tough one to quit, but you can do it."

Krogg has been to the WestCare rehabilitation clinic and compares it to jail. No one is allowed to smoke, he complained.

"You're so intoxicated right now, I'd be surprised if you smoked and didn't go right up in smoke," Lera-Randle El told him.

"You need to eat, drink water and get health care," she tells the members of the homeless camp. "We don't want to be calling your name out at the homeless memorial."

The limited clothing the women had to offer was as popular as the free Thanksgiving meal.

"Ahhhh, I got a beanie," said Mark Sapolich, 53, as he pulled the knit hat over his bright red ears.

For the first time this fall, temperatures on Thursday morning dipped into the 30s. The average high temperature is 63 degrees this time of year; the high Wednesday was 59 degrees.

Lera-Randle El spent three chilly hours scouring the streets for people she could help. About a dozen received meals, but she knows there are more who are needy.

She realizes she has to balance her altruism with her family; she was eager to make Thanksgiving dinner for her 86-year-old father.

Still, heading home to a nice, warm meal and a heated home is not easy.

"I've always had a social conscience," she said. "I took it a little far. I just get caught up in the people themselves. I've learned to try to turn it off, but it's extremely hard. What is compelling is, who knows how lonely these people are? Who knows the depth of that loneliness?"

Paul Schafer is one who acknowledges the loneliness.

Sitting at the bus stop wrapped in his down jacket, Schafer guzzled his 42-ounce beer and dug into his Thanksgiving meal.

"I know I'm a loner, but it gets real lonely out here," he said. "Sometimes I fall asleep crying."

Contact reporter Adrienne Packer at apacker@reviewjournal.com or (702) 384-8710.