Roy Joel, Chicago’s entrepreneur-for-the-poor, with a nurse in a clinic in Santo Domingo. The meagerly stocked pharmacy is on the other side of the bars.

God’s recycler has one wish: a warehouse for the poor

By Dolores Madlener
Staff Writer

A funny thing happened to Roy Joel on his way to becoming a Glenmary Home Missioner back in 1983. Instead of following Plan A, God pointed him toward Plan B.

Today Joel lives as a lay person in the rectory of Our Lady of Tepeyac Parish in Chicago. But back then he was a 37-year-old from New Ulm, Minn., living in St. Louis, Mo., with the Missioners.

He had already had a taste of their life, laboring among the poor of Appalachia and the Deep South under temporary vows, and says, “I really loved the work.”

When he chose to take a vacation in the Dominican Republic to visit two Vincentian priest friends, he didn’t realize it would change his life.

While in the semi-tropical 85-degree weather and high humidity, he contracted a local “bug” that hung on tenaciously and caused him weeks of physical distress and fatigue. Joel was staying at one of the residences run by the Daughters of Charity of St. Vincent DePaul and the sisters sent a doctor to check on him. The physician made two more house calls before Joel was finally strong enough to get on his feet.

“When I recovered, I took a walk to the government-sponsored children’s hospital operated by the sisters. It was really in terrible condition. They were struggling and doing the best they could with the little amount of medicine and money they were allocated.”

When Joel got back to St. Louis he wanted to show his gratitude for the sisters’ help. He doesn’t know where the inspiration came from, but he went to a children’s hospital in the city and asked if they had any pediatric equipment they weren’t going to be using.

		Desks from the closed St. Roman School get a scrubbing from Sister Carmen at their Santo Domingo destination. They made the journey from Chicago by truck to a C-130 cargo plane on the runway of the U.S. military base in Milwaukee. Roy Joel accompanies all his airlifts as guardian angel/security guard, through Dominican Republic customs and final delivery.

To his surprise, “They had a whole bunch of stuff they wanted to throw away that was still in good condition. I was amazed they’d give me all this stuff—beds, plastic-covered mattresses, baby cribs, crutches, examining room tables for doctors’ offices—they had it all sitting around.”

That was the good news. The bad news was he had to find someone to haul it away for him and find a warehouse to store it in. “I never dreamed I would get so much,” he said.

His faith held, “I just thought, ‘If God wants to have this stuff get over there for the sisters, it will work out.”

He somehow got a trucking company to agree to haul the equipment without cost, but storage space was still a stumbling block.

In Roy Joel’s life, when he needs someone, they just seem to come along. “I ran into a priest one day and over coffee I told him what I was doing and that it just wasn’t working out—the stuff would have to be thrown away.”

The priest listened and told him, “My brothers have an old pecan factory down on the Mississippi on the outskirts of St. Louis.”

He took Joel to meet them and look over the space. “They told me, ‘Sure, you can have over half the building, where the roof is leaking. We don’t use very much of the space any more.” And suddenly Joel had 8,000 square feet of free storage.

The most complicated part of the operation was about to begin. Without any money, how could he get it transported to the sisters? On faith, he hitchhiked to Scott Air Force Base near St. Louis. The chaplain, a one-star general, happened to be Catholic and compassionate.

As the paperwork to airlift humanitarian supplies began between the commanding officer and the Pentagon, the military told Joel, “It’s going to take at least a year to get anything moved.”

Joel’s determination showed through his distress. The chaplain confided he banked his military paychecks in an interest-bearing account and, at the end of the year, sent a donation to Catholic Relief Services. This year, instead, he planned to use it to send Joel’s hospital equipment on cargo vessels in land/sea containers to the sisters in Santo Domingo!

It amounted to two 48-foot trailers, stuffed to the brim.

“The shipment didn’t empty out the warehouse, but it made a dent,” Joel laughs. “They told me I could keep the space for as long as I needed so I filled it up again.”

By now other hospitals had heard what Joel was doing and called to say they had things they couldn’t use and didn’t want to throw away. “Eventually I had another shipment ready.”

The air force advanced the paperwork and “They flew quite a few loads for us out of Scott.” Since the enterprise “took off” in 1986, it is always in process.

Joel, who had been permitted to take a year away from the Glenmarys made another decision. “I told them, I just felt I want to dedicate my life to this [foreign missionary] work.”

For the past dozen years, Joel, now in his late 50’s, has lived at Our Lady of Tepeyac. With an old desk, phone and Olympia typewriter, he carries on his full-time job of literally “moving mountains,” now via Mitchell Field in Milwaukee.

His co-workers are the U.S. Air Force, the Air Force Reserves, Air and Army National Guard, who just shipped their 41st load for him in October.

A friend with a CDL license volunteers to drive the trailer truck.

His charitable recycling “business” has the blessing of the U.S. Embassy in the Dominican Republic and the Agency for International Development gets a full report from Joel of where each shipment is distributed.

Largesse from Chicago area hospitals, schools, convents and churches have benefited the poorest of the poor in orphanages, small hospitals, clinics, rural schools, a leper colony, three nursing homes, and a home for abandoned children dying of AIDS—all staffed by sisters or other church denominations on the Caribbean island.

Each time a load of donated bed frames, mattresses, cribs, medicines, crutches, kitchen ware, bedding, anything under the sun, is ready for shipment, Joel makes the sentimental journey on a donated American Airlines ticket. He usually stays a month on the island to lend a hand setting things up and doing repairs. Under his care-taking, nothing has been lost or stolen.

A simple man, following a simple plan— Joel has one desire: “I NEED A WAREHOUSE” he pleads, with his enormous grin.

“Most of my time is spent out on the sidewalk looking for warehouse space. I’ve been working out of semi-trucks for four or five years. I keep praying some company with free warehouse space will open up their doors for the poor.”



Roy Joel can be reached at (773) 521-8400, Ext. 25.