LYNN — A measure of how far we’ve come, and how very far we’ve yet to go: As millions across the country line up for COVID vaccines, millions are still lining up for help feeding their families.
Just before noon on Tuesday morning, they arrived at the parking lot by Manning Field in Lynn, where the Salvation Army runs a food pantry four days a week: There were newish cars and beat-up minivans; elderly couples chatting, parents trying to contain giddy toddlers, drivers alone and peering at their phones as they waited.
They were unemployed or underemployed, the dry cleaners and restaurants that once gave them full-time work shut down or still limping. Or they were working plenty, but still trying to dig out of holes the virus dropped them in months ago. They were bus drivers and heavy laborers and kitchen workers. Some never dreamed of needing help like this. Others have been unable to survive without it for years, teetering on a cliff edge that suddenly got more crowded a year ago.
“I never visited a food bank before this,” said Barrios, 39. Like most who agreed to talk, he didn’t want to give his full name. The golf course employee got COVID in April and missed a month of work. Then his restaurant worker wife got it and was off for two months. Her hours haven’t come back because of the pandemic. They have three kids, ages 8, 12, and 17.
“We got seven months behind on the mortgage, and on bills and credit cards,” he said. “We live check to check. It’s scary.”
The rescue package approved by Democrats a couple of weeks ago will likely allay some of that fear, with cash assistance and child tax credits that could total more than $10,000 for his family. But Barrios seemed not to realize how much help was headed his way.
Others, like Julio Santana, 59, were well aware. The pandemic shut down his construction job, and he recently had shoulder surgery which will keep him out of work for a while. The pharmacy where his girlfriend works cut her hours.
“We are waiting for our $1,400,” he said.
But there were also people in the slow-rolling line who can expect no relief from the federal government because they are undocumented immigrants, working low-wage jobs in an economy built on their cheap labor.
“We won’t turn anyone away,” said Captain Kevin Johnson, who heads the Salvation Army’s Lynn citadel. On Tuesday he helped load boxes filled with produce, pasta, dairy, and canned food into trunks while others added muffins, frozen chicken, and other extras Johnson had wheedled out of stores and suppliers.
Before the pandemic, this operation was busy enough helping about 80 visitors a day, mostly individuals. The need exploded last March, to as many as 700 families daily. The pantry had to move here from downtown Lynn because all the cars brought gridlock to the city’s narrow streets.
These days, with some folks going back to work, the food bank is feeding about 250 families a day, four days a week. Since last March, the Salvation Army — just one of many organizations trying to meet the need — has distributed more than 21 million meals across the Commonwealth.
In the short term, the federal checks will be life-changing for many, especially those with families. But unless some of the rescue plan’s provisions become permanent, the reprieve will be temporary and, for too many, desperation will return.
Their renewed pain will serve as a testament to one of this country’s most enduring failures: Too many of us live so close to the edge that any disruption — let alone a global catastrophe like this ongoing one — is devastating.
“Look at your neighbors,” said Elizabeth, 56, who is behind on bills, lives with two elderly relatives, and still isn’t back to full-time work at her dental office. “A lot of people don’t say they need help, but they do.”
And what they need goes far beyond charity and a bread line. They need the America we ought to be, the one that made those big promises to the tired and the poor.
Globe columnist Yvonne Abraham can be reached at yvonne.abraham@globe.com.