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March 23, 2000
Doe Fund Plays Role in Changing Lives

by Sandra Yin
Unlike some advocates for the homeless, George McDonald, founder and president of the 10-year-old Doe Fund at 232 East 84th St., endorses Mayor Giuliani's position on the homeless. "If people have a right to shelter, they have a responsibility to participate in a plan that brings them to self-sufficiency," he said. "And establishing work habits is the first part of it."

"It doesn't do anybody any good to be laying around and not have anything expected of them."

McDonald called the February court decision not to require able-bodied, able-minded, socially dysfunctional people to work "a cruel joke." "It's nuts," he said, his voice rising. "It's crazy. It's un-American. I mean, how did we build this great country of ours? Through immigrants coming here and working hard for a better life."

About one-third each of the Doe Fund's 1999 revenues of $15 million came from federal contracts with the Department of Housing and Urban Development; city contracts with the Department of Homeless Services to operate shelters; Housing Preservation and Development, to repair vacant apartments in city buildings; and private donations.

Most of the 450 homeless men in the non-profit Doe Fund's Ready, Willing & Able program would be classified socially dysfunctional, with 70 percent convicted felons and 40 percent on parole or probation. Almost all had drug or alcohol problems, McDonald said.

A familiar sight in bright blue uniforms, the street-cleaning Ready, Willing & Able workers earn $5.50 to $6.50 an hour, pay $65 a week for room and board and put $30 a week into savings accounts. Upon entering the program, they drop all public assistance, except medical, and promise to stay off drugs. Most leave about nine to 18 months later, sometimes with a nest egg of at least $2,000, which includes $1,000 in savings. After three years, 62 percent still have jobs and apartments, according to the program's founder.

Trainees are recruited from shelters in Brooklyn, Harlem, Jersey City and Washington, D.C., and work 35-hour weeks, most on street cleaning crews. Last year, during the summer drought, they watered over 12,000 trees a month in the city, said Donald Lewis, deputy director of operations. They also routinely steam clean park benches. Some workers learn construction, prepare food or learn data entry.

The average wage for new graduates is $9 an hour. A few earn $48,000 a year making water deliveries. After they have one stable job on their resumes, it's much easier finding better jobs, said McDonald, who began searching for solutions to homelessness in 1980, when he ran for Congress against Mark Green.

Decades ago, John Hodge, a 1978 Golden Glove boxing champion who is now one of the 198 residents of the men's shelter in Harlem run by the Doe Fund, said he told then-sportscaster Howard Cosell: "I'm going all the way."

These days, the 46-year-old Hodge compares himself with a train that reaches a certain point, but never gets to the other side. "I always fell short of the glory," he said.

On his arm is a tattoo he has been trying to remove. "It says champ," he explained, "but it should say chump because of my mistakes."

Finding a job was never a problem for Hodge, who spent nine years in jail for stealing, robbing and selling heroin. But he could never hold onto one for long. "If you don't have consistency or vision," he said, "you can't get where you're going."

The former Sing Sing inmate said he thinks God's intervention put him on the same streets he used to "drink and drug on." During the week, he sweeps the sidewalks from 66th to 77th Streets along First Avenue.

According to McDonald, at least 80 percent of the homeless are capable of working their way out of homelessness. But some advocates for the homeless are skeptical. "Each homeless person's needs are unique," said Shelly Nortz, deputy director for policy at the Coalition for the Homeless. "Shelter-based work programs are not a panacea for everyone."

One graduate, Norman Butler, 64, now coordinates transportation as a dispatcher for the Doe Fund. From his late 20s to his late 50s, he lapsed in and out of a heroin and cocaine habit.

One day, during one of his stays at Rikers for auto stripping and drug dealing, he looked around. Almost everyone else, he said, was young enough to be his son or grandson. His reaction? "This is stupid," he recalled. "I'm right where I was 40 years ago." The men in the program have already reached bottom. "Basically, you have to be self-motivated here," he said. "If you want the help, it's here for you."

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