Father Dollar enriches LA's Skid Row, one bill at a time

Thursday November 28, 2002

By PAUL WILBORN
Associated Press Writer

LOS ANGELES (AP) On a chilly, gray Sunday morning, Rev. Maurice Chase, better known as Father Dollar Bill, motors slowly through downtown's Skid Row like some modern pied piper.

His white Toyota does about five miles an hour emergency flashers pulsing and two American flags flapping in the breeze. Chase waves through the window. Behind the car, men follow, pushing shopping carts. A sunken-eyed woman, wrapped from her matted hair to her slippers in a filthy gray blanket, stumbles along in his wake.

Stuffed in a bag under his car seat are more than $3,000 in crisp new bills, most of them single dollars. Chase, an 83-year-old retired Catholic priest, will spend the next ten hours giving away the money, something he's done for the past 20 years.

An estimated 12,000 people live on these streets just three blocks from City Hall, many in residential hotels or shelters, but at least 5,000 of them sleep in tents, refrigerator boxes, or under blankets and tarps in one of the largest concentrations of homeless in the nation.

During his career, Chase moved among the rich and famous, raising money for Loyola Marymount University. Now, his money comes from many of the same donors which have included Bob and Dolores Hope, businessman Eli Broad, Gregory and Veronique Peck, and Frank Sinatra. Sinatra's widow, Barbara, still supports his Skid Row Charity Fund.

At the first of three stops Chase will make in a 10-hour day, more than 300 people have formed into three haphazard lines along a wrought iron fence. Some have waited for two hours.

Chase emerges in a red sweater over his clerical collar and a Notre Dame cap pressed onto his gray hair. A cross dangles from his neck.

Few in these lines divided into women, the disabled, and men know his real name. Some call him Father Dollar Bill, but most have shortened it to just the initials DB.

``Yo, DB, how you been baby,'' one man calls from the street.

Chase turns and waves, looking like a casting director's idea of a priest. He is a big man, with large hands, and a ready smile.

He stands on a throw rug at the head of the lines. As each person approaches Chase shakes their hand or places his hand on their shoulder or their face. They talk briefly, Chase often asking their name or where they are from.

Finally, Chase's hand emerges from his pants pocket with a dollar, sometimes more.

``They like the dollar,'' Chase says, during a break. ``But it's more than that. Mother Teresa said 'touch the poor,' and that's what I try to do.''

Chase said he always makes sure to look each person in the eye.

``By my looking into their eyes, I'm saying 'you have dignity, you're a human being, you are made in the image and likeness of God,''' Chase said.

William Wiggins, 52, who comes for his dollar every Sunday, knows the power of that look.

``When my spirit is down, he brings me back up,'' Wiggins said. ``It's not the dollar. It's the way he inspires you.''

Willie Jordan, who has worked among Skid Row's homeless for more than 50 years, said Chase's touch is really the secret.

``The most important thing he does is to shake a hand, put an arm around a shoulder. The human touch is so important. These people are used to being shunned,'' said Jordan, who runs the Fred Jordan Mission.

Chase said he has seen the numbers of homeless grow during his 20 years on the streets.

``I started out giving away $400 or $500 every Sunday,'' he said. ``Then it became $1,000, then $1,500, now it is creeping up toward $4,000.''

His regular donors keep him going, and he writes letters before the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays to generate more cash.

Along with the singles, Chase carries some $5 and $20 bills. At Thanksgiving, he also brings a few $100 bills for people with special needs.

He knows that some people are angling for the bigger bills.

``The phonies are there but after 20 years, they are pretty easy to catch,'' he said

Wiggins, who has seen people try to scam Father Dollar, said most of them fail.

``You can't trick him,'' Wiggins said. ``He looks in your eyes. You can't put it over on him.''

Jordan, who has known Chase since 1988, said he recently asked her for a favor.

He told her he had set aside some money to pay for a chartered bus. When he dies, he wants Jordan to fill it with the homeless and bring them to his funeral.

``That's just who he is,'' Jordan said. ``He's a very special man. The star of Skid Row.''

The dirty woman wrapped in the gray blanket finally has her moment with Father Dollar. She speaks incoherently and quiets as Chase's hands move to her face.

``May the Father, Son and Holy Ghost descend on you and heal you...in God's holy name,'' Chase says.

His hand goes into his pocket and pulls out a wad of bills. The woman clutches the money, as she stumbles away.

(Copyright 2002 by The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.)