By Gretchen Keiser

The largest church-run night shelter in downtown Atlanta, Central Presbyterian Church, is opening its doors for the eighth year Nov. 15, but is desperately in need of volunteers.

"We are desperate for volunteers this year," said Katie Bashor, who is coordinating the volunteers with the aid of her husband, Mark. "We still have 10 nights in December to fill and two nights in November. Last year at this time we had them all filled."

The story of Central Presbyterian night shelter is a story of great commitment on the part of a relatively few people who have poured themselves into sustaining the shelter for the homeless throughout winter months. And they, in turn, have been enriched for the effort by the friendships they've made.

"I have never been treated better than when I'm down there" at the shelter, said Mrs. Bashor, who is the mother of two small children. She began to help out at the shelter while dating her future husband, a toxicologist who works at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. One of the stalwarts of the Central Presbyterian night shelter, Mark Bashor was working there at least every other night. "If you can't beat 'em, you better join 'em," Katie Bashor said as a joking explanation of how she began bringing pots of soup to the shelter from the restaurant she managed.

She and Mark are now both part of the small group of trained volunteers who work outside Central Presbyterian Church on "street duty," standing in the chilly air as dozens of homeless men line up in hopes of being admitted to the shelter for the night. Those on "street duty" distribute tickets to the first 75 men on line. For safety, the shelter can only take a limited number of men, who sleep in the second-floor gymnasium at the church, which is the size of a regulation basketball court. In the past the shelter accepted a small number of women, who slept in a separate area, but this year will only take men.

Those on "street duty" bring the men inside the shelter in small groups, reviewing the rules that ensure order; then the men come upstairs where they are met by volunteers distributing the night's food. In the first years of the shelter, giant plastic bags of bologna and peanut butter sandwiches, made by church groups and schoolchildren and then frozen, were the standard, bare-bones fare. Now the shelter is able to offer hot soup every night, and sometimes a hot "one-pot" meal like chili or spaghetti, Mrs. Bashor said.

After getting their food, the men spread out in the gymnasium, taking up mats or cots on which to sleep, another improvement from the earliest days when the bare floor, or garbage bags and cardboard rifled from trash cans, were the mattresses of street people.

Two shower stalls have also been added and, by a sign-up system, the men can use the hot showers and soap to erase some of the signs of street life at the end of the day. One night a week, foot care is available to heal some of the damage done by endless walking and standing, often in ill-fitting, cast-off shoes.

The shelter was the first, large-scale response by the Christian community to the plight of homeless people in Atlanta. One congregation, Clifton Presbyterian, was already helping a small number of homeless, but Central Presbyterian opened its doors, in the beginning, to several hundred men a night.

Since then many more churches have opened smaller shelters, and the city has provided one location that is only opened when temperatures drop below freezing, a concession won by advocates for the homeless after several street people died during the night in a freeze several winters ago. Central Presbyterian has reduced the number of men it shelters, but still is the largest and still is needed to try and respond to the growing number of homeless who are in danger during the winter on the street.

The volunteers are needed either to spend the night or to come and spend several hours from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. during the time when the men come in, and are provided food and settle in for the night. One method some congregations and parishes have used is to make a commitment for a particular night and then send people in two shifts one to come early and the second to arrive at 9 p.m. or so and stay the night. Some people, of course, commit themselves the entire evening and night.

The minimum number of volunteers needed from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. is five, including at least three men. Three people, including at least two men, are needed for the overnight stay. However, the experience is more comfortable and enjoyable for volunteers if five or six spend the night, since the chance to sleep in shifts and to talk with one another is heightened with a larger corps of volunteers.

Last year, unexpectedly, the shelter was graced with an abundance of volunteers. "Suddenly it seemed to be the yuppie cause, which was wonderful," Katie Bashor said. This year, "I kind of feel like I have the plague when I call people and they don't return my phone calls."

Yet the need is constant and the invitation to step forward is re-extended. An "Army brat" who grew up in Vermont, Katie Bashor said she is "very surprised" to see how deeply involved in the shelter and the lives of the homeless she has become. "I don't think I ever would have predicted that for me. It's been very fulfilling. I think I've gotten much more out of it that I've ever put into it."

Mark Bashor, who responded to an appeal in a church bulletin to become a volunteer in the early days at Central, quickly became a committed worker, whose nightly dedication made observers wonder how he could sustain his daytime workload at the office on so little sleep. Last year he was given the Federal Employee of the Year Service Award for his night shelter work, Mrs. Bashor said. Fellow CD workers have become accustomed to efforts to add their names to the volunteer list. In addition to nights at the shelter, the family also spends hours at home developing and maintaining a volunteer list, coordinating the effort, making endless telephone calls.

Nicknamed "Sarge" by the men for the faded green jacket he wore nightly, Mark Bashor quietly became a friend to many, who responded to him in an unusual way.

Katie Bashor, who was dubbed "the Private" after their love became apparent to the shelter guests, acknowledged that she has seen men open up to her husband, responding to "an incredible compassion for them and feeling for them" that he has.

In the last three years, two men they met at the shelter have lived with them temporarily at their home in Decatur, in an effort to help the men break free from the street life. Randy, a 40-year-old man they had known at the shelter for several years, lived with them for nine months. Now, although he has moved into his own apartment and is employed, he continues to spend holidays with them and is a regular visitor, to the delight of their son, Ryan. A second man, who was elderly, lived with them briefly, but eventually returned to the Union Mission and then disappeared again onto the streets, although Mrs. Bashor believes his time living in a home probably saved him from freezing to death that particular winter.

The slow disintegrating of barriers that block people with home lives for meeting people who are homeless begins at night shelters.

Mrs. Bashor recalls working at the shelter Christmas night two years ago. "It was snowing, cold. I'm standing there feeling so bad for these people," some of whom will be turned away because of lack of space. But they are asking her, joyfully, "Did you have a good Christmas? Did you have a good dinner?" and expressing gratitude that she would come and work at the shelter on Christmas. When Ryan was a baby, they brought him to the shelter one night dressed in a Santa Claus suit, and Mrs. Bashor recalls the men coming to the sandwich table and stopping to touch, with delight, his little hands.

"I think it's important that we all go down there and just see how alive the human spirit can stay even through the most trying of circumstances," she said.

(The open nights in November are Nov. 24 and Thanksgiving. In December volunteers are needed Dec. 2, 3, 8, 9, 12, 14, 20, 23, 26 and 31. To help, please contact the Bashors at 373-8486).