By LESLIE BROWN
For The Beachcomber

Harmon Arroyo moved through the meeting hall at the Lutheran church like a man in his element, chatting amiably with several of the men and women eating platefuls of black-eyed peas, ham hocks and succotash.

He rested a large hand on someone’s shoulder, leaned over another and cleared a plate, ambled toward the kitchen where the volunteer crew needed help fixing a drain in the sink. It was chilly in the dimly lit hall, and most of the diners were wrapped in coats. Arroyo wore a loose-fitting T-shirt and khaki shorts. One elderly man in a tattered ball cap grinned at Arroyo as he walked past. “Thank you very much. It was a wonderful meal.”

Arroyo was quick to deflect the praise. The volunteers —on this particular night Sheila Brown, Judy Sarkisian, Alice Block, Jessica Lisovsky and JW Turner — were the ones who bought the food, prepared it and served it. Even so, Arroyo, more than anyone else, has become the face of one of Vashon’s most significant altruistic missions.

On an island known for doing good works, this effort stands out: Seven days a week, volunteers serve meals to those in need — main dishes like hearty stews or lasagna, organic salads and fresh fruit, homemade desserts and whole-grain breads.

Most nights, the meals are offered in churches, with rotating teams of volunteers preparing and serving the food. On Saturdays, two stalwarts from the Episcopal church, Ron and Rose Ellen Albers, hand out sack lunches packed with large organic sandwiches, fruit and

cookies. On Sundays, the Methodist church takes the helm, serving brunch.

Arroyo, a friendly bear of a man (he stands 6 feet, 2 inches tall), oversees this robust meal program four nights a week. Without fail for the last two and a half years — save for one day this summer when he was in the hospital following a car accident — he’s been the point man on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday nights. He is paid for this work, though not much. He does it, he says, because he loves Vashon and believes deeply in community.

“I learned about the communion of meals while working at the Coeur d’Alene Indian Reservation. That’s where I discovered the meaning of breaking bread,” Arroyo said, recalling his days as an environmental sciences and reading teacher on the reservation.

He’s impressed by what Vashon has accomplished, an effort made possible by some 600 volunteers, considerable organization and the collaboration of both the Vashon Social Services Network and the faith community. Eight thousand meals a year are served. “No one goes hungry on this island,” he said.

Vashon’s meals program started several years ago at the Church of the Holy Spirit, a one-night-a-week affair hosted every Wednesday by the Episcopal church and staffed by volunteers from several congregations. It was different in those days, recalled Nancy Vanderpool, volunteer caseworker for the Interfaith Council to Prevent Homelessness. The Wednesday night dinners were considered community meals, drawing a mixed crowd of elderly folks, low-income families and homeless people.

But it also underscored the need, especially among the island’s poorest and most vulnerable residents — men and women who live in tents in the woods, in cars or unheated trailers, many of whom struggle with mental illness. And slowly, the meals program began to expand.

The Interfaith Council added Tuesdays and Thursdays to the mix; another group started providing meals in the Village Green on Saturdays. The Lutheran, Presbyterian and Methodist congregations were recruited. With support from both individuals and social services organizations, the Interfaith Council was able to hire a coordinator for the program — first Ed Swan, then Robin Blair and now Arroyo. Funding from Granny’s Attic, secured by a grant crafted by island activist Hilary Emmer, helps cover Arroyo’s modest salary.

“We’ve knitted together a lot of people’s efforts into one whole,” said Emma Amiad, president of the Interfaith Council.

Amiad, like Arroyo, is moved by this broad-based effort. Book clubs, nonprofit boards, church congregations, activist organizations and other groups serve up the food. Often, volunteers join diners at their tables, creating connections that wouldn’t otherwise exist, Amiad said.

“All these volunteers are relating to individuals,” Amiad said. “I’m getting calls now about the cold weather, people wanting to know if everyone is alright. People care. They’re taking an interest. And that’s the ultimate goal. It’s not just serving a meal. It’s serving a community.”

It likely wouldn’t be so seamless, however, Amiad said, were it not for Arroyo. In the past two years, he’s recruited and scheduled the many volunteer groups, maintained a sense of safety and developed a rapport with the diners that adds to the program’s stability. Volunteers love him, Amiad said, as do the people they serve. “I can’t imagine trying to run this program without him,” she said.

Arroyo, 62, has lived on Vashon off and on since 1985, most of that time with his wife Melinda. He’s led an itinerant life, working as a session musician in Seattle, an environmental educator in Iowa, a teacher in Idaho, an environmental consultant in Oregon and a staff technician for the music department at Western Washington University in Bellingham.

Music still possesses him. A singer/songwriter, he’s working on a CD featuring a song called “I Used to be a Lover,” about Vietnam War vet and Vashon resident Chris Gaynor as well as other veterans of the Southeast Asian war. “It’s about the huge price so many paid,” Arroyo said.

Arroyo talks a lot about justice, “our shared humanity” and “the alchemy of music.” During a break at a recording session at Village Sound Studio, he noted the role music plays in his life, especially in the wake of a car accident four months ago that left him wearing a knee brace. “Music has kept the light shining in my soul,” he said.

But he also finds meaning in the meals program, where he realizes he’s helping to make a difference for others. “I try my best to keep it light and keep it respectful,” he said.

Back at the Vashon Lutheran Church, diners sat at several round tables, some eating silently, others chatting with one another. When asked about the meals program, several said they were grateful. Gregg Rechtin, who returned to Vashon a few months ago, said nothing like this existed in Belfair, where he lived most recently. “I’ve never heard of a community that does it every night. The people here making it happen, they’re just magic people.”

As for Arroyo, Rechtin beamed at him. “I feel good coming here. Harmon just exudes good energy. You can ask anyone here. They’d all say the same thing. He’s such a good guy.”

A woman sitting nearby smiled and agreed. “We just adore him,” she said.