Spending the night in Citizens Bank Park
My experience at the Covenant House sleepout
As a former binge drinker, I’m familiar with the experience of waking up in a strange location. Frat house floor, Taco Bell bathroom, back of a police car, etc.
But this was… different.
Rubbing my eyes and stretching my neck on this particular morning, I found myself in Citizens Bank Park’s outfield grass. I was cold, even in a thick winter coat and a sleeping bag. My back hurt more than usual. The lights were bright and everything was slightly moist. Others slept and milled about nearby.
We were at the ballpark to raise money for Covenant House, an organization dedicated to fighting homelessness and human trafficking. They partnered with the Phillies for one of their Sleep Out fundraising events, held each year in cities across North America. Donations topped $1 million for this Philadelphia event alone.
I was happy about the fundraising success. But by 4:00 a.m. I was physically miserable. Stiff and achy, I Frankenstein’d my way toward the CP Rankin Club and its restrooms—one of the many perks afforded to participants that made us wonder what we’d do if we were actually homeless.
Walking along the third base line, I thought about Paul for the thousandth time that night. I pictured him waking up in Kensington’s Needle Park and deciding where to piss.
Gotta be easier for guys than women, I reasoned. But hell… what did April do?
Reflexively I pushed the images out of my brain. Those thoughts can trap you if you let them.
My younger siblings were homeless off and on—mostly on—for the better part of the last decade. April, two years younger than Paul, turned 30 this past Spring.
My baby sister and brother. Still kids to me. But now at an age where the special empathy and hope reserved for the young begins to fade.
So. Haunted by an inability to help my siblings but blessed with a platform that can raise money, I signed up for the Covenant House event. The Phillies connection made it a no-brainer.
Phils fans donated thousands of dollars to “the Cov” through my links. An overwhelming display of generosity for which I am forever grateful. As one of the night’s top fundraisers, I was invited to a meet and greet with Cole Hamels, Larry Bowa, John Middleton, Milt Thompson, Mickey Morandini, Tom McCarthy, and others in the Phillies’ orbit who volunteered to participate.
The celebs spent the night at the ballpark like everyone else. Hamels told me he flew to Philly from Texas just to take part in the event.
After the socializing, we gathered near home plate for a fireside chat-type discussion with Covenant House alumni.
One young woman talked about arriving at the Cov as a teenager, with a child in her arms and another on the way. She’s now a successful young professional in a position to help others. Two other alumni who spoke currently sit on the Covenant House Pennsylvania Board of Directors. They fought back tears as they told their stories. I did the same as I listened.
I wondered if I would walk right past these incredible individuals if I saw them sleeping on the street. Probably yes, I admitted to myself. Sometimes without even noticing them. The same way others would walk right past April and Paul.
In a breakout session held in the media room, another alum spoke on her experiences with sex trafficking. Plucked from the streets as a child, she was held captive and abused for years in a Kensington rowhome, just blocks from where I grew up. Right here in the wealthiest nation in the world.
The twenty-something-year-old sat where Rob Thomson dissects each summer night’s ballgame for reporters. She spoke about the evil she faced, the FBI raid that freed her, and the resources that Covenant House provided as she recovered.
More tears.
Following the breakouts, we went back outside and congratulated ourselves for our do-gooding. Citizens Bank Park public address announcer Dan Baker handed out some awards.
My mind was stuck on the stories I’d just heard. I am sure others felt the same way.
The night stretched on and I remembered joking with my siblings as kids, teasing them about their fancy Catholic schools. (April went to Little Flower and Paul went to Roman.) I told them they were too soft for Philly public schools. They told me I need Jesus. Before their lives spiraled, April graduated from Lincoln Technical Institute and Paul went to the University of Pennsylvania on a full scholarship.
People walking by my brother and sister on the street in more recent years wouldn’t know any of that. These people never saw the two as babies, full of promise. They didn’t see them at their father’s funeral as toddlers. They never saw them fighting or clowning or trick-or-treating on Halloween.
Paul dressed up as Batman one year. April was a Teletubby.
After the awards, we each picked up a sleeping bag and a cardboard box from the Bank concourse and wandered onto the field. I was surprised nobody had claimed the area near “Monty’s Angle” in left-center. Spreading out my bag next to the State Farm sign and settling in, I wondered how many people were sleeping outdoors that night. All with their own childhood stories. All staring up at the same dark sky.
I wondered how much worse I’d feel in rain or snow.
I slept for just a few hours before my CP Rankin bathroom break. Organizers had set out soft pretzels and bottles of water inside—more small comforts that felt undeserved.
Unsure of what to do next, I returned to the outfield and snapped some pics. Around 4:30 or 5:00, a group started singing Take Me Out to the Ballgame to wake those who were still sleeping. I packed up my bag and tossed it in the donation pile. Then I left the Bank quietly and drove away.
Minutes later, after climbing into a warm bed, I sent a text to my brother. He is currently living in a sober house in the Philly suburbs. Paul has a long road ahead of him, but on that night he slept with a roof over his head.
April died on October 25th of this year, between the day I signed up for the sleepout and the day it took place.
My sister was kindhearted and beautiful and maybe just not really meant for this world.
I hope she is at peace. And I hope the Covenant House continues to help kids just like her.
You can donate to the Cov here.
This is the section of the newsletter where I make you look at more photos of my sister.
After seeing your fundraising efforts, I was looking forward to your story on this event, and I'm in tears. SO so sorry about your sister, but I love the way you memorialized her in your piece.
Thanks for writing this John. Moving and heartfelt. I'm sorry about your sister and appreciate all the hard work you're doing for a good cause.