As Young turns old, priest looks for ways to continue ministry

For four decades, he's helped tens of thousands of addicts and former prisoners find the acceptance and help they need to begin new lives.

But now, Peter Young Housing, Industries and Treatment, Inc. (PYHIT), doesn't have the funds or even the volunteers it needs to keep going. And Father Young, the backbone of the program, is 70 years old.

Seeking help

The priest of the Albany Diocese was referring to Jesus' call of the first disciples, when the fishermen "dropped their nets and followed Him." Once, he said, parishioners in the area flocked to spend entire weekends doing volunteer work. Today, they tell him, "I can give you an hour on Wednesday."

"We need people to sort clothing, to help prepare meals for the needy, to paint, to drive people to the DSS office," Father Young said, referring to the Department of Social Services. "We need people with skills. There's got to be a call to Christian commitment, to the idea of `our brother's keeper.' We did it in the '50s and '60s. People say, `The system takes care of that.' I'm saying, the system doesn't."

Growing needs

They knock on the door, asking about the "three-legged stool" of addiction treatment, housing and employment the program provides, and seeking to regain their dignity and reach PYHIT's goal of producing tax-paying citizens.

Word-of-mouth has produced a client base of enormous proportions. "They sort of find me," Father Young said with a shrug. "We take everyone but sexual offenders. We are on guard with arsonists and anyone considered violent."

Among the people

"You need money for a bus ticket," Father Young predicted. "I can see it in your face. It's that `bus-ticket face.' You want to go visit your family?"

Appearing ashamed about the gentle teasing, the woman said simply, "Yeah."

"Go sit in my office," the priest said, patting her on the shoulder as he turned to the next person waiting for a moment of his time. He gave no hint that money is at a premium -- that PYHIT, in fact, is losing $8,000 a day in funding even though it boasts a 92 percent success rate.

Making it

Oscar drives around the area, visiting prisons, YMCAs and anywhere else where he might find those interested in reclaiming their lives.

"I've come through the program, and that's why I believe in the program," he told The Evangelist. "You're actually able to see and touch the success stories."

He and other program graduates joke about being "MacGregor alumni" -- former inmates of Mount MacGregor prison in Wilton who have turned their lives around.

Program threatened

"We're running into the world of sanctions," the priest said, throwing his hands up in frustration.

After cutting New York State's welfare rolls by half since 1995, he said, the state is now dealing with what he calls the "churners" -- former welfare recipients who cycle in and out of jobs constantly. They have multiple problems: addiction, lack of education, lack of job skills and even life skills.

Blocked

Many more, he said, don't even want to take jobs because they immediately lose their benefits. An example are those with the HIV virus, who can't live on the $230-a-week jobs they are told to take, but who aren't considered disabled.

In addition, many former welfare recipients are sanctioned for something as simple as missing a meeting with a Social Services employee. Others aren't from Albany County, so Father Young's program receives no payment if he allows them to participate.

Still, he said, he finds it difficult to turn people away. "Our expenses far exceed our ability to find a way to be paid in the system," he stated.

Looking for aid

At 70, well past retirement age for many men, he shakes his head at the idea of trying to keep up both those efforts and that of his pastorate at Blessed Sacrament parish in Bolton Landing.

Though his energy level belies his age, "I know I can't be a fundraiser for the next 10 years," he said. "I have to find a solution."

For that, he looks to the government. He hopes some kind of transitional assistance will be instituted before the five-year cutoff point for welfare benefits arrives.

"The person we're meeting and greeting is an alcoholic, is addicted, has a criminal record," he said, ticking off the problems on his fingers. "That person takes time" to rehabilitate, and "society has not caught up with the retooling process."

Father Young would like to see better case management, opportunities for clients to learn life skills and job coaching.

If that doesn't happen, he warned, the Catholic Church will continue to be "the safety net, and we're poorly prepared for it."

Worry

With decades of knocking on legislators' doors having made him a friend to many state lawmakers, Father Young knows the secret of finding funds.

As frustrating as it can be, he said, "I'm a believer in the legislative process. If I can convince my local legislator of a need and he can convince his leadership, I'm going to have some money in the pot."

The priest hopes other Catholics will join him -- including politicians. He spoke with scorn about lawmakers who forget their Catholic roots: "`Catholic' legislators -- we no longer can even tell our own. They don't even want to talk about it. It's hard to fathom that. They should be able to talk the talk and walk the walk."

But comments like those just spring from fear that his life's work could potentially end without funding and other help. He concluded with a small smile: "I worry about keeping it alive. That's what I'm about right now."

(To volunteer or for more information, call Susan at 465-8034.)

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