Most days, Manna House manages to serve breakfast to 250 hungry people with as few as four volunteers. On Thanksgiving Day, though, the number of volunteers at the Baltimore soup kitchen swells to an unwieldy 65 -- and there would be even more if director Esther R. Reaves hadn't put her foot down 11 years ago.
"We don't accept anyone new," she said. "I've got the Loch Raven Optimists manning the kitchen, bless their hearts. Everyone else goes out front."
The story is the same all over the Baltimore area. For 364 days of the year, most local soup kitchens struggle to find enough volunteers and funds to provide meals to thousands. But come the fourth Thursday in November, the programs turn away would-be volunteers.
Various forces drive this holiday generosity. People who have lost mates through death or divorce hope to find new rituals to give the holiday meaning. Parents see it as an opportunity to teach their children about helping those less fortunate.
Others may be responding to the increased visibility of fund-raising campaigns, from street corner Santas to the annual Bags of Plenty food-and-money drive.
Whatever the reason, the Thanksgiving volunteer glut is a mixed blessing for the nonprofit and religious groups that run area feeding programs. Directors are torn between the desire to encourage people's good intentions and the knowledge that too many cooks can spoil the turkey -- or at least make it difficult to maneuver in cramped kitchens and dining areas.
Meanwhile, rebuffed volunteers can quickly lose the holiday spirit. Some show up uninvited, sure of their usefulness, and are disappointed to be assigned to washing dishes, rather than serving hot food. Others are stung by the rejection.
"People get angry," said Mark Conroy, dining room manager for Our Daily Bread, a downtown lunch program that experiences a slight dip in attendance for its holiday brunch because of the large number of alternatives. "They say, 'I'm trying to volunteer. How can you turn me down?'
"I ask: 'How about another day?' Some say OK, but others say: 'Oh no, that's the only day I can do it.' "
He wasn't needed
Teddy Jackson, 21, who works for Asplundh, started calling soup kitchens this week and was surprised -- and disappointed -- to find that no one needed him.
"It's the first time I've volunteered for anything," said the Glen Burnie man, who was looking for a new way to celebrate Thanksgiving because his parents have moved to Dallas. "I just wanted to do something different this year."
The places he tried included Beans and Bread, but the Fells Point soup kitchen had reached its capacity for volunteers almost two weeks before the holiday. The former synagogue is too small to take everyone who wants to help.
"We have to call some people to say we really can't use them," Sister Eleanor Noll said.
Christmas also prompts an increase in impulsive philanthropy, but providers say the desire to serve seems most urgent on Thanksgiving, with its food-centered traditions.
Feast or famine
This feast-or-famine trend comes even as the number of feeding programs continues to grow. There are almost 100 soup kitchens in Baltimore, according to the Maryland Food Committee, up from fewer than a dozen at the dawn of the 1980s.
Every soup kitchen has its own way of coping with the Thanksgiving onslaught.
At Our Daily Bread, the regular Thursday volunteers are given first crack at their jobs; the rest of the 30 to 40 slots are filled on a first-come, first-serve basis.
Beans and Bread tried lengthening its feeding time so that it could use two shifts of volunteers, effectively doubling the number of people. But the arrangement proved to be a logistical nightmare, said Sister Mary Louise Zollars, volunteer coordinator.
"It got to be a real zoo when theshift change was taking place," she said. "This year, we decided to ask if people could stay the full time." Most could -- but that meant the soup kitchen could accept fewer volunteers.
Manna House on 25th Street uses the extra people to make Thanksgiving Day "a little grander," Ms. Reaves said. "The volunteers make it nice for the clients, which makes the volunteers happy. And that makes me happy."
Others recommend that people call Bea Gaddy, figuring her huge sit-down dinner in East Baltimore can always use another worker. They're right. "We need everybody," Ms. Gaddy said.
Ms. Gaddy's organization, Patterson Park Emergency Food Center Inc., relied on 3,000 volunteers last year to serve thousands of Thanksgiving dinners at Dunbar High School. She hopes for another large turnout this year.
The soup kitchens that operate on a smaller scale try to turn the annual volunteer glut to their advantage.
Mr. Conroy, for example, begins the annual orientation at Our Daily Bread with this gentle reminder: "Homelessness is not something that only occurs on a holiday."
Sister Eleanor tries a different tack. "If they really want to do something, I say we're in need of home made pies, someone to cook turkeys, donations of stuffing mix, mashed potato mix."
The Maryland Food Committee, which fields many of the calls from would-be volunteers, has decided to set up a "volunteer bank" to match the well-intentioned to the needy.
The committee has surveyed soup kitchens to pinpoint their needs and hopes to train volunteers so that they have more realistic expectations of the experience.
"The need is for a commitment to a regular time over a three-month period, whether it's once a week, once every other week or once a month," said Linda Eisenberg, director of the Maryland Food Committee.
As for Mr. Jackson, he said he might pitch in another day.
"A couple places asked me for Christmas," he said. "I told them I'd get back to them."