As pandemic spreads, an army of volunteers help, one knock on the door at a time
The time is 11:27 a.m. when Tee Sexton, a saint in sweats and Jordans, walks to a porch on 40th Street and knocks six times on the front door.
The time is 11:29 a.m. when Carmen Montaro, an elderly woman in a bright green shirt, answers with a smile you can see from the street.
Montaro wanted a hug. Sexton did, too. But the virus. Sexton wore blue rubber gloves as she placed a white plastic grocery bag containing Swedish meatballs, stewed tomatoes, cabbage and fruit on the doorknob. She took two steps back and waited.
Montaro struggled with the bag at first. This was all so much easier when Sexton could come inside. There are guidelines now. Rules, here and everywhere, in an attempt to slow the spread of the COVID-19 coronavirus. Six feet of distance. No touching.
Even without the hug you could see Montaro’s gratitude.
“I appreciate what they’re doing for me and for everybody,” she said. “But we’ve got to take care of you people because you’re growing up.”
Montaro is one of about 50 Kansas Citians who rely on volunteers from Shepherd’s Center for some combination of meals, pet food and disposable underwear. There are hundreds like her, probably more, relying on services such as Meals on Wheels, various church organizations and other assistance.
Many of the Shepherd’s Center volunteers are elderly themselves. Some aren’t comfortable continuing as the virus spreads, further thinning an organization that was already short of hands. The pandemic is affecting everything, and everyone. Here, the impact is direct and personal.
This is more than just a meal for Montaro. Other than a nurse who comes by once a week, this is often the only human interaction she has until her son visits on the weekends. She needs the food, too. She’s on medication — “a bunch of medicine,” she said — and needs to eat before she can take the pills.
“I think it’s going to get worse,” she said of the current situation. “I hope not.”
Sexton is the kitchen coordinator for Shepherd’s Center. She does this during the week, and on weekends she works to serve meals to the needy at Morning Glory Ministry. That’s right. Seven days a week, this is what Sexton does — she serves meals to those who otherwise might not eat.
She gets this from her grandparents. They relied on deliveries like the ones she now provides, and in some ways they were lucky. They also had family. Some of Sexton’s clients don’t. This is all they have.
Sexton isn’t worried about herself. She feels healthy and likes to say she’s “covered by the blood of Jesus.” But her clients? That’s a different story.
“Their immune systems are compromised,” she said, “and I look forward to seeing those same faces.”
It’s all different here, on the front line of aiding and protecting our most vulnerable. Whether by policy or preference, they open doors with their hips and sleeves now.
Anyone who passes through must have their temperature taken. Janet Baker, executive director of Shepherd’s Center, found no thermometers at the first three stores she checked. At the fourth, a Walmart, she saw two in an employee’s cart. Apparently, they were the last of a shipment of 100.
A preschool operates out of the church, but these days the playground is quiet, an unnecessary reminder of the times. Baker isn’t sleeping much these days. Lives depend on her program, and not just that. Some of Kansas City’s most vulnerable depend on her at a time when this virus disproportionately attacks the most vulnerable.
She has thought through all the scenarios — what if the government shuts down all non-essential agencies? She knows in her bones that this is essential. What could be more essential?
But she also doesn’t know what proving that would mean. Who would she call? What are the criteria?
“I’m about to cry right now,” she said.
All around our city are everyday heroes like Baker and Sexton and the others who help at Shepherd’s Center. They are schoolteachers putting together lesson plans that can be done at home. They are restaurant workers providing meals for the needy, and, for that matter, they are those who getting takeout and tipping heavily to help those restaurants stay in business.
They are neighbors helping neighbors, whether it’s as simple as a run to the store or as personal as substituting for a caregiver who can’t make it. They are high school coaches counseling their athletes, and teachers helping students through what’s been lost.
They are, especially, the doctors and nurses and administrators and clerical workers in the medical field preparing for what promises to be an overwhelming flood of patients and terrible decisions.
They are thousands of acts of kindness around this city and country every day. We do not know what this will look like in a week, or a month. Maybe this is isn’t enough. Maybe it’s only temporary.
But what we do know is that it helps, for now, whether it’s donating money or time or whether it’s Sexton knocking on this door on the ground floor of a midtown apartment building.
She took two steps away from the door, just like on Montero’s porch, except this time her back pressed against the opposite side of the narrow hallway. A television blared through the wall. A voice called, asking for a moment. Sexton smiled, undoubtedly knowing from experience that this is exactly how it would go.
The woman in the apartment opened the door, then invited Sexton in. Sexton smiled.
“Miss Diana, I can’t come in,” she said. “This is home delivery meals.”
Sexton waited, then watched as Miss Diana’s arm reached around the door to grab the white plastic bag. The door shut, another meal served, different than before but a day made better. Sexton slung the coolers over her shoulder and walked to her car.
“I’m fulfilled,” she said. “It’s good to know you can help.”
This story was originally published March 20, 2020 at 5:00 AM.