Dallas' The Bridge Homeless Center's Progressive Approach May Actually Make a Difference

Despite his vigorous funding pursuits, Faenza has done his best to preserve the unlikely coalition of social services, business and government entities, whose interests, diverse as they are, have enabled The Bridge to come into being. The county's need to reduce its jail population, the city's need to curb the growth of its most destitute group and the business community's need to get panhandlers off the streets created a perfect storm to address the issue. "The stars are aligned," Faenza says. "It's a golden moment where people want to do something."

"This is a major step for the city of Dallas," Rawlings adds. "At 2014 we need to be at zero. That's what people don't get. We're not here to manage the problem. We are here to end it."

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Before homelessness in Dallas can end, The Bridge has to open, and the center's ribbon-cutting ceremony has been delayed more than once. Construction glitches, as well as Faenza's perpetual state of urgency, have heightened the level of tension surrounding the project.

"He is like the Energizer bunny," says Feiner, who is also a former colleague of Faenza's. "He is very focused. And I think he sets a standard of work that probably not everyone can reach. People may find him exasperating because of this single-mindedness, but no one can ever say he has hidden agendas."

Late to a management meeting in March, Faenza needs a cigarette, tearing the filter off before he smokes. He loads his coffee with four packs of saccharin, and then he drives helter-skelter to a facility in Coppell where his management team is planning to give him an update on The Bridge.

When he arrives at the meeting, his eight administrators, two of whom were formerly homeless, are seated in a large conference room. They're eating tuna sandwiches, and one of them nudges a sack lunch toward him. He ignores it, too busy to eat. "A lot of stuff is challenging to get done," he says, now seated at the table. "A lot of us are new. I hope that folks feel candid about saying, 'This is what I need.'"

He is met with silence.

Then one person thanks the rest of the group for their work on the center. It's not the frank discussion Faenza had hoped for. He tries again. "There must be an area where it's hard for you or you have confusion or need some help?"

Finally, another person speaks up. "I have some questions about the signage at the center."

"We can get bids on that," Faenza answers. "Things have to get done fast."

The Bridge's manager, Jay Dunn, has some questions about staffing. At the center, a barber shop and cosmetology room will take care of the grooming needs of the homeless, that is, if he can find the people to work there. "If we don't find people...in the next week and a half or two weeks, we won't be ready for opening."

"I cut my own hair," Faenza jokes. "I could do it."

The meeting wraps up. While returning downtown, Faenza talks about hiring a staff that understands the "guest services" philosophy of The Bridge. If they buy into it, he might avoid the crippling turnover that plagues those who work with the homeless. He gave his management team a list of difficult scenarios that could transpire at The Bridge when dealing with the chronically homeless: The police deliver an angry person...A consumer spits in the face of a staff member... A staff person is ridiculed by a consumer, dozens of people laugh, and the staffer bursts into tears.

"We have to promote a culture that the staff will respect," Faenza says. "It's not easy to work day after day after day with people who never thank you—who seem the opposite of thankful. But that can't drive the staff's behavior on the surface. It could be too much for them to take. None of this is easy."

For Faenza, it's never been easy. Seemingly too shy to become an advocate, he hated speaking in front of his class at school and spent much of his childhood in the small Indiana town where he was raised trying to blend in. "Because I had some of these struggles, I became more aware of people outside of myself. I thought of how other people were feeling: people who were poor, people who didn't have nice clothes, people who weren't white. It came to a time in my late adolescence that I decided to help people who were down and out."

He describes the early part of his career as a "one-man social service agency," mobilizing efforts to fight unsafe housing in the East Chicago projects. When he saw people in the same neighborhood suffering from poor nutrition, he wrote letters to a food stamp agency and was admonished by the board president of his nonprofit for stirring up trouble. He's riled many people over the years, he says. "I don't try to compromise what is right for political expedience."