"The bitter part is in the divisions," says an earnest young litigator to the jurisprudential gentleman by her side. He nods gravely: the divisions can be bitter. They're not talking about divorce settlements here. This meeting of legal minds has to do with grapefruit.
"We'll ask if people want grapefruit," says a third lawyer as he blithely sections the pulp from the bitter divisions with a paring knife. "We've never offered it before."
It's the lower level of Osgoode Hall on Queen Street, and from the way these elegantly suited lawyers, judges, law clerks, legal assistants and bar-admission students chortle and schmooze, you might think you were at a Law Society cocktail party. Except that it's the crack of dawn, and they're all wearing white aprons.
Lawyer Nancy Backhouse, a blonde in a navy blue turtleneck, hikes up her sleeves and checks her watch. It's 6:45. "Are we ready?"
"Bring 'em on down!" yells a judge from the kitchen.
The doors open, and the first group of 100 homeless men and women filter into the Bar Admission Course cafeteria. The guests seat themselves as if they were in a restaurant, while the legal team springs into action like high-class waiters, delivering steaming plates heaped with everything from pancakes and bacon to scrambled eggs, sausages, fried potatoes and toast. There is also grapefruit.
"Good morning, sir have you been served yet?" asks a female law student of a man in a greasy Leafs toque and shapeless topcoat. He hands her a paper ticket. She serves him breakfast and, when he finishes, brings him more -- as much as be wants.
Every Thursday morning at 6:45, and again on Wednesday evenings at 5:15, about 350 people get fed here. Some take their meals to go; all are offered a sack lunch after breakfast. On alternate Wednesday nights, the lawyers also extend free legal assistance. The program was started in March of 1998 by Martin Teplitsky, a partner in the downtown firm of Teplitsky Colson. A tall, gregarious fellow in his late 50s, Teplitsky got the idea after volunteering at the St. Andrew's Church Out of the Cold program run by investigative journalist Stevie Cameron. "I was very impressed with Stevie's commitment," he says. "One day, it occurred to me -- why can't lawyers do what she's doing?"
So far, volunteers at Teplitsky's program have spent more than $72,000 on food and served in excess of 50,000 meals. He pays most of the operating costs out of his own pocket and is reimbursed through donations made by lawyers, their firms and the public. Endorsed by the Law Society of Upper Canada, the program runs with no government or LSUC money, no institutional structure and no formal fundraising.
Of course, no good deed in Toronto goes unpunished. From the start, the lawyers took heat from members of their own profession who found the idea of feeding hungry people "distasteful." The program has also endured a vitriolic media onslaught (LAWYERS PLAN TO FEED HOMELESS ON A WEEKLY BASIS -- MOVE LIKENED TO MARIE ANTOINETTE DOLING OUT CAKE, read a Toronto Star headline).
"It was just lawyer bashing, and it really left a sour taste in my mouth," says Nancy Backhouse, who oversees the breakfast program. "I mean, why shouldn't lawyers be doing this? There are almost 30,000 lawyers in Ontario, and we're an educated, well-off segment of society."
The LSUC program is not one of Toronto's 20 official Out of the Cold meal programs. Nevertheless, judging from the line snaking out the east door of Osgoode Hall twice a week, it's filling a great need. Hunger and homelessness are spiralling out of control in the megacity. Toronto's Daily Bread Food Bank alone provides a million pounds of groceries to 125,000 people every month, and about 5,000 Torontonians sleep in emergency shelters each night.
"Street Post," a newsletter written by homeless people, recently rated the LSUC program Toronto's top soup kitchen. Teplitsky notes that when some well-meaning groups provide charity, those on the receiving end often feel demeaned. "The homeless go into some places where they're handed a spoon," he says. "That's what they have to eat their meals with -- a spoon. They like coming to Osgoode Hall because we have knives and forks. They can have stuff like salt and pepper. For us, this little stuff is commonplace; for them, it's unusual. Just being treated with dignity is unusual.
"I don't personally get into debates about the homeless," he adds, "because some of these problems are not within my ability to change. But something I can do is feed hungry people. And for lawyers to do it -- why not? Lawyers are used to serving the public, and not always in the most pleasant circumstances. We have thick skins out of necessity."
They're also very Type A. "To do volunteer work with lawyers is really a hoot," Backhouse says. "I get here at six in the morning, and there's this whole group here before me. I think, 'What time do these people get up?'"
As the last breakfast guests pick up their sack lunches and head out, a homeless man approaches her. "Nancy, I've got some good news to share with you!"
She stops wiping a table. "That's great. What is it?"
"This is my last time here," he says, beaming. "You won't see me any more -- unless I come back volunteering."