A dozen homeless people huddled in the Tacoma cold. Then Mr. Terry’s food truck arrived
It was cold in the shadow of Interstate 705 Monday.The harshness got into you, biting at your vulnerable spots.
The street I was on — if you can call it that now — is supposed to run under the freeway overpass. Just off Pacific Avenue, not far from the T-Dome, ideally it would serve as a backdoor entrance to the southern end of Tacoma’s thriving downtown corridor, if such a thing existed, connecting the tip of the Thea Foss to the bustling urban landscape above.
Today, this small stretch of roadway — a paved-over tentacle of Dock Street — has largely been abandoned, aside from a few stragglers who don’t seem to have much choice in the matter.
Just under the freeway, a lake of standing water covers the neglected stretch of road, severed in recent years from the world of comfort most take for granted.
On Monday, just before noon, there were roughly a dozen people standing there. It’s where Kevin Woods told them to be. It’s a place the 46-year-old knows well.
Employed by Tacoma Recovery Center and Cafe, Woods performs homeless street outreach, working to help the city’s population of unhoused people access services, in particular addiction treatment (something he’s also familiar with).
Woods has spent a fair share of time in the vicinity, he told me — and areas much like it. He’s been homeless and addicted, he said. He’ll celebrate two years in recovery in November.
Just about then, the driver of a lumbering white food truck cranked the wheel and turned toward us, maneuvering the vehicle so a small window cut into the side faced the crowd.
It was Mr. Terry, Woods told me.
Since late last year, his food truck has provided free meals to area homeless encampments.
Mr. Terry’s full name is Terry Hayes, the man himself later explained, poking his sizable head out of window after a long line of people had accepted his offering. The honorific “Mr.” is something the kids at his church gave him, he said.
When Hayes isn’t selling $5 sandwiches and steaming cups of jambalaya — or, in this case, giving them away — he can often be found at Zion’s River, a nondenominational church on South 56th.
“Known coast-to-coast, like butter and toast,” Hayes playfully boasted of his notoriety, before shouting to see if anyone within earshot was still hungry.
The big idea
Nothing about this rendezvous was random. A week prior, I received an email from Joe Foss, a 76-year-old lifelong Tacoma resident who retired from the car audio system business.
In some ways, Foss is the polar opposite of Hayes, who’s boisterous and loud. One thing the two men have in common is Zion’s River. Both are members of the congregation.
Foss wrote to tell me about the idea he’d had one Sunday after church, driving to brunch. Mostly, he marveled at the way it took off, and what the experience taught him.
Alone in the car with his wife, Foss drove past a growing encampment, he explained. That wasn’t unusual, he added. But the light bulb that went off was.
Foss credits his epiphany to something the preacher said, though he can’t remember exactly what it was.
He reached out to Hayes when he got home.
“The thought occurred to me that we were going to one of our chosen restaurants for a nice brunch, and it wasn’t likely that they were going to be enjoying the meal that we were,” Foss said of driving by the encampment that Sunday last year.
“Immediately, I got thinking about a friend at church who runs a food truck business,” Foss continued.
“Terry is who I thought of.”
Since November, Foss and his wife have footed the bill for the food, which in reality costs only a few hundred dollars a month, he said.
He also struck up a partnership with the Multicultural Child and Family Hope Center, which signed on to help organize the grassroots effort and make it official.
Hayes does the rest, serving hot lunches roughly every other week, usually on Mondays. He picks favorites from his repertoire of recipes and doles out the goods.
The money gets stretched, Foss told me. He suspects Hayes goes above and beyond, using his own funds as well. The meals are top notch, he said.
“I’ve seen the gratitude in people’s eyes. I’ve seen people thinking that people really care for them,” Hayes offered through the small window.
“Anyone can just throw something together.
“I’m putting out quality food.”
Opening doors
The Multicultural center also runs the Tacoma Recovery Center and Cafe.
That’s where Woods and the work he performs comes in. When the nonprofit helped turn Foss’ vision into a reality, it deployed Woods to work alongside it.
Delivering homeless outreach in conjunction with Hayes’ food truck helps Woods build bonds with people living on the street, including earning their trust.
These days, Woods counts the people he’s coaxed into local detox centers with the assistance of a hot meal in the dozens.
He was excited when he heard about the idea, he said. Now he’s convinced.
“This is a win for everybody. Food is universal; it helps me do what I do. I get them into detox and treatment pretty quick,” Woods said.
“It’s working.”
Together, the three men — with the help of Hayes’ old food truck — make a formidable team.
On a frigid afternoon, Robert and Crystal, two of the people who eagerly awaited the food truck’s arrival, agreed.
“I’m grateful,” Robert told me between bites. “And I’m thankful.”
With three months under their belts, Foss indicated there are no plans to stop serving people in need anytime soon.
The big goal is to “shift our community from thinking of homelessness as their problem to thinking of it as our collective problem,” he explained.
Long term, he’d like to see the upstart program expand.
Foss also wants to inspire others to come up with their own ideas for helping to solve a problem that’s grown too large to ignore, he said. That’s why he emailed.
Like the simple idea he had on the way to brunch after church, he thought it might help.
“I feel like God makes calls on all of us. Sometimes we miss those calls. Sometimes we honor them. I try to be obedient whenever I feel like I’m being prompted,” Foss said.
“It’s a nice gesture that lets some homeless folks know this community does care about them and they’re not forgotten, he added.
“Providing food turned out to be a door-opener.”
This story was originally published February 12, 2024 at 5:00 AM.
