By Gretchen Keiser

Driving down Spring Street in Atlanta just before a Georgia Tech home game requires quick reflexes, as the traffic slows to a snarl around the stadium and the handkerchief-waving attendants try to lure each car to competing parking lots.

Some Yellow Jackets’ fans, though head unerringly for the lot behind the Catholic Center, returning like homing pigeons to a favorite roost. And no wonder.

They are greeted at the fence by 67-year-old Floyd Garfield, Jr., waving a handkerchief and holding aloft two fingers, the sign of the two-dollar price of admission. In return, the football fans receive Floyd’s dedicated supervision of their cars while the game’s in progress--and, whether they are aware of it or not, help the St. Vincent de Paul Society.

For the last five years, Floyd has spent every home game Saturday at the lot, parking cars for the games and donating the proceeds to the inner city office of the Society, which in turn uses the funds to help people in need.

The tradition started, at first, as a matter of security at the old Catholic Center offices further away from the stadium, according to Floyd, who, with his family, has provided custodial service to the Catholic Center at both the old and new sites.

At first, the money made from parking cars when to pay a person who stayed at the lot on Saturdays.

Five years ago, Floyd retired from his job as a truck driver, after 30 years and six months at it, and was able to take over the Saturday post, giving his time and the proceeds to the Society.

At the old site, a day’s dedication, beginning at about 10:45 a.m. and ending when the last fan drove away, sometimes netted very little, perhaps two or three cars. Floyd waits until the last car leaves, even, as happened once, when the driver doesn’t return until 8 p.m.

The new offices, within passing distance of the Tech stadium, seem to have rewarded the faithfulness invested in the early years. With the help of St. Vincent de Paul Society members, Floyd usually has the lot full and locked up a half-hour before kick-off.

Some of the customers “have been coming for the last five years,” Floyd said, and his banter with passing drivers on Spring Street will break, every so often into a cry of recognition to someone and the plea: “Don’t go strangers! Come home!” On a recent Saturday, drivers seemed to find it hard to resist.

Some also know that the donation goes to the Society, Floyd said, and go out of their way to park at the Catholic Center, where they’re likely to find the Society’s executive secretary, Betti Knott, and her husband, Chris, helping with the parking lot logjam.

Floyd shrugs off the time commitment involved. “The way I look at it, you have to share on this earth,” he said. “If I can help, I help.”