By Thea Jarvis

A restaurant for homeless people.

Sound like the setting for a Springsteen song? Homeless advocate A. B. Short thinks it's closer to a safe haven for folks whose bouts with unemployment, illness and financial malaise have left them little in the way of self respect and dignity and even less in the way of permanent shelter.

The idea of a restaurant, born of casual brainstorming between Short, Baptist minister, and Atlanta Food Bank board chairman Bob Freeman, seemed a legitimate step beyond the soup line, a move toward normalizing the aberrance of homelessness that nibbles at spirit and soul.

"We're never going to feed everybody," reasoned Short, but the restaurant can "address the emotional issues, the issues of dignity" as they apply to the homeless.

Scouring the streets of southwest Atlanta for a suitable restaurant site this past spring, Short and lawyer sidekick John Pickens met with unexpected success.

"That's the one," Short knew after taking a look at the abandoned liquor store on Edgewood Avenue that now holds a promise of pride. Backing up to the brisk network of the Martin Luther King, Jr. Center for Non-Violent Social Change, it is convenient to Grady Hospital and to the downtown labor pools, traditional gathering places for homeless people.

"It looks like a 1950's diner," Rev. Short admitted wryly, adding that the irony of a neighborhood liquor emporium -- complete with drive-in service -- resurrected as a community outreach facility was not lost on him. Built in 1946, it was open for business until the late sixties, when it closed to become a lonely storage area for the supermarket next door.

From the street, the building is deceptively small. A green tile and glass block façade suggests a forties deco design; neon "CIRCLE DRIVE-IN" and "WINE" signs no doubt drew a thirsty crowd. Now, topside, roofers mend faulty patches to insure a dry winter.

Inside, work has begun. Two large rooms have been gutted to reveal ample space not only for the restaurant but for legal and health services as well. Wide, though boarded, windows hint at light and air and an open-armed atmosphere. A makeshift office holds a business license dated April 11, 1951, a G.E. wall clock stopped at 6:45.

The large back room will house the restaurant, featuring a side door entry and rest rooms accommodating the handicapped. Short envisions a "Waffle House" ambiance, with counter service, small tables and chalkboard menus, as well as an up-front food preparation area fostering "a feeling of openness and intimacy" where people serving won't be separated from people eating.

The hexagonally-shaped front room will accommodate John Pickens' Atlanta Criminal Defense and Justice Project, which counsels low-income and homeless people who cannot afford traditional legal services and fees. When properly partitioned, the space will include a low-tech health clinic staffed by health care professionals and a good-sized conference room.

"If we stay small, we can do things like this," A. B. Short believes, adding his hope that the restaurant would serve as a meeting ground for groups like Alcoholics Anonymous. His own experience with the night shelter at Oakhurst Baptist Church in Decatur and the ongoing Community of Hospitality he and his family maintain in their home makes the vision a genuine possibility.

It was, in fact, input from men at the Oakhurst shelter that helped Short plan the project. Because most items served will come from the Food Bank's "Atlanta's Table" program, in which local eateries donate from their surplus, restaurant meals would naturally be without cost. But street folks at Oakhurst suggested that a small charge for beverages would be in keeping with the goal of dignity in dining.

Likewise, their experience was helpful in planning rules for admittance to the restaurant. Currently under consideration is the possibility of offering guest passes to those turned away at local shelters because of space reasons. Facing a night on the street, such folks would at least be assured of a hot meal and warm resting place the following day. Short foresees a time when "reservations only," i.e. guest passes, would be required, and another block of time when admission was open to all.

The restaurant, scheduled to open early in 1988, will begin with a noon meal program. Expanded hours will develop as service is fine-tuned and policy confirmed. Volunteers will be asked to attend a food service training class, which will include basic serving techniques as well as background information on the causes and meaning of homelessness.

Thus far, the effort has stood on stable financial footing, with a total of $30,000 obtained through state and federal grants. Current needs include monies to fund a full-size commercial kitchen and establish a supplemental food-buying budget.

Rev. Short is depending on private donations, as well as the "divine serendipity" that has smoothed the restaurant's path in its formative stages, to bring the project to completion.

"I see my work with the homeless as peacemaking," he says modestly. Without fanfare, he picks up his hammer and starts on another nail.