Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, October 16, 1995 TAG: 9510160070
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MARY BISHOP STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
David Hayden says he realized a year ago that he couldn't go on being the 24-hour-a-day live-in shepherd of Justice House, the community he had founded for Roanoke's homeless.
The first decade, he thought he could keep up his crusade against homelessness - keep on gaining and losing a quarter of his weight in well-publicized fasts, keep on sleeping on the streets of Washington, D.C., during demonstrations, keep on being on call for all the needy people who lived down the hall from him in Justice House.
He and close friend Mitch Snyder, the nation's best-known champion of the homeless, took pride in never taking a break.
Four years ago, Snyder hanged himself at age 46. Others among Hayden's friends died, and then Suzanne Hayden, his ex-wife and overworked bookkeeper, cook and all-round helpmate at Justice House, suffered a stroke.
David Hayden decided to start taking care of himself at 48, a year ago. He said Roanoke Area Ministries agreed to be a support system for Justice House - as long as Hayden stayed away so RAM could lure back church donors driven away by his radical rhetoric.
In an impromptu farewell ceremony, Hayden said he took down the "Woe Unto the Rich" banner that hung for years from a Justice House balcony. It and Hayden's contempt for mainstream churches irked downtown workers who parked behind the two-building complex at Elm Avenue and First Street Southwest.
Hayden moved to Floyd County in January. He works with developmentally disabled children. He runs, lifts weights, makes grape jelly.
A slimmer, healthier-looking but newly distraught Hayden returned to Roanoke on Sunday afternoon to talk about why Justice House might be on the verge of shutting down. Residents are struggling with unpaid utility bills, a leaking roof and reports of crack cocaine being dealt out of one of its 20 apartments.
Tears welled in Hayden's eyes when he heard the residents want him to come back. "This has been incredibly painful," he said.
Hayden said he never wanted to be a leader. "I never have wanted to run anything." When he left Justice House, he wanted residents to provide their own leadership and move on to a new stage as a community.
For that to happen, he needed to get out of the way. "Probably," he said, "I had delayed it too long."
Hayden feels betrayed by Roanoke Area Ministries. "RAM said they would be there to help, to be the ones to be called on" by people at Justice House.
Wendy Moore, who became RAM's director after late-1994 discussions with Hayden about Justice House, has said RAM agreed only to consider running Justice House and eventually decided it was too expensive.
Hayden said it was far more definite than that. He said a RAM official talked about a large grant that could be used at Justice House.
"Somebody here is not telling the truth," he said, "and it's not David Hayden."
Julie Hollingsworth, RAM's former director, said Sunday, "What RAM was looking at doing was to provide no financial assistance or no legal arrangement but more of a supportive network ... a situation to help the people tend to their own books and learn how to fix up their own apartments without [RAM] becoming a parent."
Hayden also is distressed about what he sees as his former denomination's lack of compassion for Justice House. The Mennonite Church, which defrocked Hayden several years ago, is investigating whether it still owns the apartment buildings.
"Here we are," Hayden said, "talking about the lives of people, the very survival of people, and the powers that be are simply bickering about their own legal position."
It hurts Hayden to have people see him as a quitter. "There's nothing in my history that says I walk away. ... I don't see what my crime has been. So I go off to Floyd to find some healing in my life. I was exhausted after years of struggle and pain and the loss of people I loved. I neglected myself. I neglected the intimate side of my life."
Though he speaks more softly now, he insists his theology is as radical as ever. "I haven't lost the convictions. The kingdom of God will live in fullness. My call for the redistribution of wealth has not changed."
But if he could live his Justice House years over again, he would behave somewhat differently. "I think there were times when I could have used better language."
Sunday morning, a dozen Justice House residents gathered in a spartan apartment living room to talk about what to do. Their buildings are of sound construction. With paint and materials, they could fix up the place.
"You're looking at a carpenter - me," said Rodney Richards. "He's a painter," he said, pointing to another man.
A young mother interrupted angrily. "If everyone's a carpenter and painter, how come the plaster fell on my baby's head?" She held her curly-haired 16-month-old daughter on her lap.
Nurse Linda Harman said Justice House was doing OK when she moved in last year. "We paid our contributions, the bills were paid, and there was no problem."
Then, a resident who managed Justice House in the post-Hayden months moved to Franklin County. Other tenants stepped in. At least $800 in rent is missing; according to resident Daryoush Khalajabdi, bills total more than $2,000.
Justice House resident Gail Andrews says Hayden did the best he could. "I think David got tired."
But now that he's gone, she can't use her bathroom sink and there's no hot water in her kitchen.
She hopes people who didn't like Hayden won't hold it against Justice House. "If they can put all that to the side, they can see there's more to this place than David Hayden."
Because, she said, "If the right people don't come in here and run it like it should be, it's going to run down and people will be back on the street. Somebody needs to be responsible."
by CNB