Woman director is in charge of shelter for men

February 16, 2010 at 12:00a.m.

CLEVELAND (AP) — Sheryl Thomas didn’t expect to find herself in a men’s shelter.

Five years ago, she said, “I was working with women — helping to counsel them through emotional problems so that they would be motivated to find their true selves.”

The women she counseled ran from those trying to escape poverty to others at “executive level, who were looking to make a change in a career,” Thomas said. “And I was working as a consultant going into agencies such as Catholic Charities and Cleveland State, doing work with their people.”

Then Thomas altered her own path by going to work at the 2100 Lakeside Men’s Emergency Shelter, the largest in Ohio, which has been administered since 2005 by Lutheran Metropolitan Ministry.

“To end up here with 400 men was really a change. But I was looking for a change. I was going through a divorce. I was at that period in my life where there was a little chaos.

“My plan was to come here and stay for a little while,” she said. “I figured that would be something like a year. Four years later, I’m still here.

“I fell in love with the place. Not the shelter — I fell in love with helping the men. I enjoy being a change agent.”

Thomas, 46, is one of five women on a staff of 55. Thomas first worked as community coordinator for one of the shelter’s six “communities,” trying to place working residents in better jobs. She became associate director and was named director of programs in November, helping form a structure to help men develop emotionally, mentally, financially, socially and sometimes spiritually.

They are dealing with more need than they’ve ever seen. Last year, the shelter served 3,100 men, with the help of 2,100 volunteers — community assistance that helped make up for lost foundation money. The limping economy has caused a significant increase in first-time homelessness and brought it to outer-ring suburbs.

“The image of homelessness portrayed in the movies is not entirely accurate,” Thomas said.

The majority are “guys who are working hard to not be here again,” she said, noting that 50 percent are out within 30 days. “When a man leaves this building, I tell him I don’t ever want to see him again.

“And I mean, really — who wants to stay in a shelter? This is not a hotel.”

By 3 p.m. on a recent raw weekday, more than two dozen men were lined up on the sidewalk outside 2100 Lakeside, waiting for bunks to open at 4. Men get dinner and breakfast before being sent out on their own in the morning.

But the shelter is bustling around the clock. Work is steady in the kitchen and laundry. Men who live in one of the shelter’s communities, such as one for veterans and one for those overcoming substance abuse, attend daytime classes and workshops. Others apply for jobs, search for housing, work to re- establish credit.

Thomas puts in long days on what only can be called her own level. She is 6 feet 2 and invariably wears heels that emphasize her long legs.

“How tall are you?” a new arrival asked, looking up. “You’d look good next to me!”

Thomas shook her head. She is used to drawing second looks. She chuckled and kept walking to an office so bright that a visitor might not notice it’s windowless. The air is so fragrant, it’s almost luscious. Thomas joked it used to smell “like feet.”

“I come in here and feel a little rejuvenated,” she said. “I flaunt my girliness in here.”

She grew up in the Lee- Harvard area, went to Cleveland public schools, graduated from the now-closed Erieview Catholic High School, then Ursuline College and earned a master’s degree from Cleveland State.

She has a 20-year-old daughter in college and a 17-year-old son at home in Moreland Hills.

“Going home is a 23-mile trip,” she said, “and I need every last mile. It gives me an opportunity to leave the shelter behind and go into mom mode.”