Too many homeless die every year. Because Pittsburgh is a very cold city, every year we end up losing a handful of our brother and sisters due to the weather. On Monday, December 21st, there was a candlelight vigil to pay respects to the homeless who lost their lives in 2009. Among the deceased were people that we ministered to at the labor halls, ALIVE, or in one of the shelters. Please keep in prayer the families and friends of those who lost their lives, and pray for those who still sleep outside in the elements.
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Annual service recalls the homeless who died this year on the city’s streets

By Sadie Gurman, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
photo by John Heller/Post-Gazette
Tuesday, December 22nd, 2009
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Debra Leonard had a bold spirit, a hearty laugh and a powerful addiction.

Michael Mulvey had two dogs, a knack for poetry and a hard time staying off the streets.

Walter Loucks had an independent streak and little else.

They were some of the people who lived and died this year on the city’s streets, known by most for what they lacked but recalled last night for who they were.

About two dozen mourners — mostly volunteers and social workers who reach out to homeless people — huddled under a highway ramp at Grant Street and Fort Pitt Boulevard, holding flickering candles against a biting wind and the roar of rush-hour traffic.

For more than a decade, the social service agency Operation Safety Net has held a service for the homeless under the bridge where many have slept. On the first day of winter — the longest night of the year — they paused to mourn each of the 11 who died this year, a high number, organizers said. They offered memories and songs and a glimpse into the daily struggles of homeless people.

Among the dead were Michael Branchen, 45, who liked to wear Pittsburgh sports paraphernalia and sensed his addiction was killing him. Wanting “to go out feeling as good about himself as he could,” he and some friends grilled filets and shrimp one summer night under a bridge, said Melody Miller, a case management representative. He died shortly later.

There was Charles Johnson, 67, who liked to tell racy jokes, came to Operation Safety Net in need of boots and later died of a heart attack.

There was Kenneth Lindner, 55, found last week in a sleeping bag near the railroad tracks off Freeport Road in Harmar; Curtis Mulvihill, 41, who accidentally drowned in Millvale; Victor Kulcsar, 47, found unresponsive at a North Side shelter; and Terry Reynolds, 59, who died of hypothermia under Seventh Street Bridge.

Paul Spradley, who works with homeless people, met Mr. Reynolds on a blustery Saturday morning as he lay shivering on a pile of rocks underneath the bridge.

“I said, ‘Terry, why are you here, what’s going on?’” Mr. Spradley told the small crowd. Mr. Spradley offered him soup and hot chocolate. But Mr. Reynolds was so cold he could barely speak but to utter, “‘I’m OK.” Mr. Spradley returned the next day and found Mr. Reynolds dead.

“It was hard meeting someone one day, and the next day they’re gone,” he said. “I feel bad that I couldn’t help him more.”

On any given winter night, between 100 and 150 people sleep on the city’s streets, said Jim Withers, an Operation Safety Net founder and medical director. He led last night’s service, against a backdrop of a concrete wall covered with plaques bearing the names of homeless people who died in years past. Since 1991, 116 have died, he said.

“These folks are our brothers and sisters, mostly folks who grew up here,” Dr. Withers said.

Some homeless people choose the streets and others cannot leave. They’re a disparate group, some suffering from unbreakable addictions and other problems that keep them bound them to streets and outdoor camps despite efforts to find stable housing.

Mike Sallows, a co-founder of Operation Safety Net, goes on “guerilla outreach” missions almost nightly, as he did last week, to check on homeless people, making sure they get shelter if they need it or have sturdy sleeping bags if they don’t.

Family ties have eroded for many, leaving friends, volunteers outreach workers to mourn.

“It’s important that we remember people as they were at their best,” Dr. Withers said. “For us, it’s a very sacred thing.”