The Worst of Times

John Elizalde, manager of the Ecumenical Ministries of Oregon’s
(EMO) Northeast Emergency Food Program, stands rubbing his head,
wondering at the incredible increase in people who have come through
his door seeking food.

“I have no idea what’s going on, but something weird is happening
out there,” he says, a tone of wonderment creeping into his voice. Last
year at this time, his pantry, located in the basement of Northeast
Portland’s Luther Memorial Lutheran Church (4800 NE 72nd), fed an
average of 21 families a day. Today it was 34.

As we speak, two men patiently walk among the shelves picking out
their allotment of proteins, frozen meats, and various other
foodstuffs. A volunteer guides them through the process. “You can
either have the chili or the stew, but you can’t have them both,” he
says gently.

This is grocery shopping without money. It doesn’t have the
selection of a Whole Foods Market, but it will provide these men enough
food for three to five days. That’s the hope, anyway.

Talking to Elizalde, you’d find it hard to believe that he spends
four days a week as a witness to his neighbors’ hardships. He is
congenial and full of energy. “Did you see the art?” he asks.

He’s referring to the murals that take up a good deal of wall space
around the pantry: Coyotes howl at the moon and an ocean scene washes
up on a three-dimensional pebbly beach, complete with seashells. It’s
obvious that much has been done to make this a place of
refuge—rather than a depot of poverty.

OLD MOTHER FOOD BANK

Just one of the multitude of emergency food pantries in the greater
Portland area, the EMO pantry offers food to all comers, the only
stipulation being that they answer a few questions for statistical
purposes. Enter with empty pockets and leave with grocery bags.

The EMO pantry is one of 348 emergency food pantries around the
state that receive a portion of the 30 million-plus pounds of food
distributed by the Oregon Food Bank each year. This allotment is
augmented by community donations and fresh offerings from local farms
and grocery stores.

But hard times are not just hitting the 194,000 individuals who use
emergency food from the Oregon Food Bank each month; they are also
hitting the food bank itself. Problems began last fall, when food bank
volunteers were feeling a bit like Old Mother Hubbard. Shelves were
beginning to look empty and dusty. This was due in part to increased
need from Oregonians, as well as decreased commodities from the US
Department of Agriculture and flagging donations. The alarm bell was
sounded. Fortunately communities around the state responded over the
holidays, which helped—however, the food bank still finds itself
having to purchase more and more of the food it provides.

When the food bank buys food, they get the absolute best price on
whatever they purchase. Unfortunately, the cost of that food has
increased significantly.

You think your trip to the grocery store is hard? Yeah, you might be
disappointed that the cost of your Annie’s Organic Gorgonzola and Dead
Sea Salt Cheese Doodles have gone up by a quarter, but imagine shopping
for the entire state.

Prices for dry goods have risen, in some cases by 50 percent, in the
last year. Some of this has to do with the increasing price of corn as
more and more is being used to create biofuels. Other factors in the
price increase include higher global demand for grain and increased gas
prices, which have driven up the cost of shipping.

If the economy does shit the bed in a major way, it’s quite possible
that the lifeline for thousands of families could be significantly
weakened. The problem is that the same devilish market forces that are
increasing food costs around the globe are affecting both Oregon
families and the food bank.

Still, many local grocery stores have filled the gap with a program
called Fresh Alliance. Daily, trucks make the rounds of local grocers,
picking up fresh and frozen products that have passed their “sell by”
date. These are then delivered to emergency food pantries where they
can be distributed to the public within 24 hours. The best thing about
this program is that people who use the pantries are able to have a
wider variety of fresh and healthy foods, rather than high-calorie,
high-carbohydrate, pre-cooked meals.

THE NIGHTMARE SCENARIO

So, let’s just say for the sake of illustration that a depression
does hit the US and my wife, Kitty, loses her job. That would leave me
as the major earner in the household. It’s not the best idea to rely on
a writer’s income. In fact, it’s insane.

Like most people I know, I live practically paycheck to paycheck.
Sure, there is some disposable income (for booze and cigarettes and the
occasional movie), but if we were hit by a medical emergency, we would
be simply screwed.

In fact, we would be as screwed as about 47 percent of the working
families who rely on emergency food boxes every month. Most emergency
food recipients are working, but distribute their money toward bills
and medical costs.

For Kitty and I, as soon as the money dried up, we might very well
find ourselves in the basement of Luther Memorial, with dour faces and
grumbling stomachs. John Elizalde would greet us warmly, attempting to
erase the shame of being poor. We’d be interviewed before being
shuffled through the pantry to choose from a selection of canned foods
and frozen meats. We might get a bag of rice, or a box of matzo ball
soup. We could get a package of frozen pig feet or chicken livers. If
we were there on the right day, we might even get some vegetables. On
the day that I visited the basement of Luther Memorial—luckily as
a reporter rather than a patron—they had just distributed bags
that included tomatoes, potatoes, parsnips, lettuce, and garlic. But
the problem would remain. What would a self-confessed food snob do with
parsnips and pig feet? The answer is simple: Call in a ringer. [Meet
our ringer, and her food bank recipes, on page 9.]

Luckily for all of us, the pantry doors of Luther Memorial remain
open, because when you think about it—how financially safe are
you?