Our group of ten stepped off the shuttle. Whistles rippled over the group as we got the first look at the great, green expanse rolling out before us.
The tour guide stood ramrod straight in an expensive blue pantsuit with matching sapphire earrings. Her hair was pulled back in a sharp bun, and her makeup was lightly, but charmingly applied. She carried a clipboard, but did us the favor of keeping it at her side as she shook our hands and greeted us.
“Now, we are going to show you around and give you the opportunity to see with your own eyes all of the incredible things that we’ve achieved here in the mere year that we’ve been open...” She gestured at the fleet of golf carts, and the drivers waiting to man them. “But before we do, I’d like to give you the context of exactly what you’re going to see.
“We are standing on over one hundred acres of land,” she began, “and on this land we have the largest food bank in the state, the second largest clothes bank in the state, and five free clinics with doctors and surgeons on-site who can, and do, perform all emergency procedures and operations. We have single homes—full and proper homes complete with full kitchens, bathrooms, and bedrooms for all the unhoused members of our community who walk through our gates.
“No more bunk beds, gyms stuffed with dozens of people inside, or trudging through a cafeteria line,” she said. “We return privacy, dignity, personal space, and choice to those who’ve lost everything. And yes, that applies to adults who come here alone, and those who arrive with a family—all are allowed to reclaim their own space again.
“And within that space, they have access to cooking classes, GED classes, applications to our microloan program, parenting classes, elder care services, mental health specialists, driving classes, and legal aid and lawyers on retainer. We offer substance abuse programs, gambling addiction programs, employment assistance, job assistance, and jobs for those who graciously choose to work for this great community.
“We have not one, or three, or five, but six libraries,” she said, “three community centers, two movie theaters, and two sports facilities. For the minors and underage runaways that come to our doors, we have group homes, yes, but what makes us different is that we don’t assign five-to-tenchildren to one caregiver—no,” she affirmed, voice firm. “We assign one, I repeat, one caregiver to one child.”
“One?” someone remarked.
“One.” She smiled at us. “One person to love, care, and devote to this child who has found their way here through circumstances that were most certainly tragic. And while that child or teenager lives with us, they’ll receive a full education in a traditional school environment, or even a non-traditional one—for those with special needs who require a different pace or accommodations.
“While living at the shared home, every child has their own private room, but when they’re outside of that room, they’re free to enjoy the theater, the soccer field, the basketball courts, swimming at the community center, or just kicking back with their friends. They have a home here,” she stressed. “Not a facility or a program. But a home.”
She paused, taking in a deep breath. “And last, I must mention the program closest to my heart, our disability support and service program. Here we are fully equipped to care for and support children and adults with all disabilities. I can attest that one of the fears the parent of a child with a severe disability has is: what will happen to my child if something happens to me? Who will love them, who will care for them? Who can they trust?
“And while I pray that no force in this world will ever s-separate a parent from their child,” she croaked, “I also need the world to know that it’shere. This is the place where they’ll be loved, respected, and cared for by people they can trust.”
“Wow.” The group burst into applause, adding more color to the guide’s cheeks than was already given by the balmy Florida morning. “Amazing. Simply fantastic.”
“Truly impressive,” the woman to my right agreed. “You certainly have a lot to offer, but you’re also very out of the way. We are miles from the nearest town. How is the average person in need supposed to get here?”
“That is a great question, and thank you so much for asking it,” the guide replied, “because we had the same question when we chose this location, and the answer was simple. We have partnered with every major rideshare company in the country. The only thing a person in need has todo is give our name, and they will be driven—for free—to the many pickup locations we operate in all fifty states.
“Pickups within the continental US will be driven here by shuttle. Pickups in Hawaii and Alaska are given flight vouchers directly to our nearest airport here in Florida, where we again, are waiting to receive them.”
That got a round of impressed looks and raised brows.
“But isn’t there the potential for abuse in this free-for-all,” called the grumbly voice of the cynic who spent the whole shuttle ride bitching and moaning behind me. He clearly wasn’t pleased that his wife wanted him to donate their yearly charity tax write-off to this place. “What if all these people you’re giving free food, houses, and money to are just a bunch of freeloading wastes who would be making something of themselves and contributing to society if you didn’t make the need to do so obsolete?”
The guide didn’t lose her smile. “Also, a very great question. This is a fear that many of our potential donors have. You’re good people,” she said. “You want to make sure that every cent you donate goes to people in need, and not to those who seek to take even more from those without.
“That is why during the tour, I will go in depth into our vetting and application process, criminal record check, security, and our close and personal relationship with local law enforcement,” she said. “I do not mind telling you that we had an incident three months ago with a man who did pretend to be unhoused, so that he could gain access to our grounds.
“We went through all the standard motions, which included taking a photograph and sending it to every man and woman who came here escaping partner violence. One of those brave women immediately identified the intruder as the violent husband she traveled three states to escape. That man was arrested and escorted off the property without ever stepping foot past the welcome center.”
Another round of applause lit the air—me clapping loudest of all.
“I assure you, Mr. Bryant,” she continued when our claps subsided. “We are just as determined, if not more so, to ensure that everyone who comes here, does so for the right reasons.”
“Yes, well... uh...” Bryant clearly didn’t know what else he could say that wouldn’t make him sound like an ass judging people who were down on their luck and struggling. “Very good to hear. Thank you.”
The guide tipped her head. “Any more questions before we begin the tour?”
“Just one.” A blonde woman at the head of the group raised her hand. “What made you think of this? I mean, this is truly the most comprehensive charity and social service I’ve ever come across. You’ve taken everything a person could need and brought it under one umbrella. Why?”
The guide smiled. “That is what we have done here, and as much as I wish I could take credit for this vision, the idea was born in the mind of a smart, talented, brave, honest young woman who once found herself in need of many of these services, but didn’t know where or how to get them.
“She dreamed of one place—one home—that would become the place you go, when you have nowhere else to go,” she said. “She entrusted me with her faith, and half a billion dollars—”
That set off a few chuckles.
“—to make her dream come true,” finished Mrs. Finley as she found me in the crowd, and winked. “And so, I did so in the name of her friend, and my son.” Stepping aside, Mrs. Finley gestured to the grand sign stamped bold and proud on the gates. “Together we created Colin Finley’s Home for Everyone.”
