In helping the homeless, she found a calling

Joan Burke was a young, idealistic college graduate with a degree in philosophy when she married a young, idealistic graduate of Harvard Law School.

In the early 1970s the future looked good for the couple, but that didn't mean it would be lucrative.

Her new husband, Rich Fathy, announced he had landed a job in a place that didn't necessarily reflect the prestige of his new degree: For $800 a month, he would be the sole attorney for Greater Bakersfield Legal Assistance.

"I told her Bakersfield has some issues in terms of aesthetics and meteorology," recalled Fathy.

But nothing he said could dim Burke's enthusiasm.

"We were devoted to the ideal of making a difference and that you didn't need material things to be happy," Burke said.

Some things never change. The 60-year-old Burke is now a veteran in the battle to end homelessness and an unsung force with Loaves & Fishes, Sacramento's nonprofit beacon for hope and lighting rod for controversy.

These days, Fathy is a successful private attorney. The couple have two adult sons – Burke, named after his mother's family; and Jake, named for Fathy's father, a popular San Francisco used car dealer known as "Jake the Snake."

Life at their upscale suburban home could be described as comfortable, idyllic, secure. It's 12 minutes by car and a world away from Burke's threadbare office on North C Street. Outside her downtown office is the flip side of the world's most prosperous nation.

People stream in and out of Loaves & Fishes, the wayward and the rudderless, the entrenched and the temporary. They look for a meal or clothing. Some sign up for a comprehensive life skills course. Some just hang out. Some are just trying to hang on.

"I'm old enough to remember when it was absolutely shocking to encounter a homeless person," Burke said.

Though she said she believes that it's wrong to have children sleeping out in the cold, that it makes no sense to arrest the homeless for camping when there is not enough shelter, Burke is not a natural-born agitator.

In 2001, she forced herself to speak up before the Sacramento County Board of Supervisors, which had been reluctant to provide more shelter beds. Burke and other advocates were appalled.

"I'm very shy. I'm not a good public speaker. But I knew things other people did not, so I felt a duty," Burke said. "We wanted Sacramento County to accept responsibility for providing shelter to every woman and child."

The standoff became a showdown by 2002. Burke and others organized a fast and sit-in at the supervisors' office. Scores of people participated, longtime activists and first-time activists fasting a day at a time, rotating in and out.

"We thought we would just do this as long as it takes – well, we were there six months," Burke said.

Those who have been on the receiving end of Burke's forceful advocacy know there is no escaping it.

"We've had a long relationship both as a partner and adversary," said Penelope Clarke, administrator of the Countywide Services Agency. "She is very passionate about the homeless and she can seem confrontational at times, but we know her intentions are good."

Said Burke, "I do get very impatient and angry with elected officials who choose not to see things, and by closing their eyes they feel free not to help."

Burke was not raised to be an activist, and she was not out front waving placards when she came of age in the 1960s. Her parents were devoutly Catholic, and she attended all-girls Catholic schools from kindergarten through college. Her degree is from Marymount University, where nuns made the rounds nightly to bless the students.

After three years in Bakersfield, Burke and Fathy moved to Sacramento, where Fathy had a job with the state Department of Consumer Affairs. He went into private practice in 1980.

In 1987, Burke was a stay-at-home mom raising her boys when she read a newspaper story about two nuns who had opened a place at Loaves & Fishes called Maryhouse, which helps homeless women and their children.

"It brought me back to nuns – nuns are an absolute force for good," she said. Burke began volunteering at Maryhouse once a week.

"I look at Joan as someone who recognizes that she has a good life and she's really grateful," said Sister Libby Fernandez, executive director at Loaves & Fishes.

It wasn't long before Burke became immersed in the struggle. She eventually was offered a paid job as director at Maryhouse. She took it on the condition she would be a part-time co-director so she could still spend time with her sons.

Burke is energized by "being exposed on a daily basis to the goodness of people, women who are 90 years old who spent the winter knitting scarves for homeless women or the woman who is sending $5 a month – month after month."

But Burke has also seen despair, some of it overwhelming. She laughs when she recalls how her husband would ask her at the dinner table to limit her stories to two a night. Burke could have gone on and on.

"I consider myself a strong person, but I could not do what she does." Fathy said. "It's just too painful."

Burke is also aware that some people don't want to hear stories about the homeless, that the issue to them seems hopeless.

Some also blame Loaves & Fishes for helping the homeless but not demanding anything of them, for attracting blight to downtown neighborhoods.

"If Loaves & Fishes didn't exist, I think we'd have a far greater homeless problem," she said, noting that her employer accepts no government money. "People don't come here unless they have to, and they do so reluctantly. Some of the people who criticize Loaves & Fishes have never been here."

Burke would like nothing better than to see Loaves & Fishes shut down altogether and find herself out of a job – once the homeless problem is solved.

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