Pat Morgan

In 1983, I answered the call from my church’s priest, whose compassion for homeless people and his work to help them in Memphis (and nationally) defies description. The scene when I walked into Calvary Episcopal Church’s elegant “great hall,” was stunning, but not because of the massive chandelier or the red velvet drapes at the windows. Seated in the solid oak chairs along the wall were about a dozen ragged, forlorn, and sickly men. I had been a real estate broker, banker, and elected official in the county government previously. So, not much prepared me for the hardship and illnesses I was about to encounter.

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