Molly McPherson
A dog sits in its kennel behind the serving line. Volunteers with Neighbors feeding Neighbors hand out food and drinks at 5th and Washington Wednesday-Saturday starting at 9am. (Molly McPherson/Emerald)
The first time Georgia Quinn encountered an unhoused person was when she was six years old and living in Arkansas. She now believes what her mother said about the man, that he came from a wealthy home, was to teach her a lesson that anyone could end up in his position.
Quinn has worked as White Bird Front Room volunteer coordinator since August 2023 and although she is no longer clocking in for work, she is still technically employed. Quinn has dedicated a part of her life to helping the unhoused community and still continues to feel anxious about what will happen to White Birds’ remaining services after WBFR closed in December 2024.
“I look at pictures sometimes and it’s heartbreaking to think that that place isn’t there anymore,” Quinn said. “I’ve never had a big family. I feel like a lot of us are traumatized people for lack of a better term. We come to this work even if we haven’t been houseless because we’ve been through some hard sh—.”
Quinn sat in her living room dressed in all black, wearing a WBFR T-shirt. She flipped her red hair back with her long maroon nails as her black cat, Bruce, rested on his heating pad beside her.
Quinn came from a liberal lower-middle class family in Arkansas. It was just her parents, her sister and herself. Years later, from 2019 to 2020, she found herself experiencing homelessness just like those she helped while working at WB later in life.
“I am very well aware that I have gotten lucky in terms of that,” Quinn said. “It’s always been luck and privilege that has kept me from sleeping on the street.”
Quinn said that while she was living in Paris as an au pair in 2019, she became unhoused after the family’s home underwent renovations and they asked her to leave. When Quinn was able to get back to the United States, she was unhoused again in Colorado.
Quinn said that experience has helped her understand the unhoused community.
“All of a sudden, I was like ‘oh sh—, no wonder I like doing this work.’ I actually have been houseless before,” Quinn said.
Quinn said the closure of WBFR has been difficult to navigate and still feels anxiety and stress when thinking about the potential future for WB and its other programs.
“I had the nice side of not technically being in front rooms. I was in administrative work. I didn’t have the fear of losing my severance if I said the wrong thing,” Quinn said.
Quinn looked down as tears welled up in her eyes as she shared some of her favorite moments working for WB.
“It’s really hard when you know certain clients are really vulnerable. I was going to go run some errands and I saw them in a nice warm, safe space, just in passing by,” Quinn said. “It’s so nice to be able to see, even if I can’t say hi, just to glance and be like, ‘thank God.’”