Martha Rial, Post-Gazette Republican National Convention guest Penny Thompson, of Howard, Centre County, climbed a step-ladder yesterday to help delegate Elizabeth Davies, of Charleroi, sort food at The Bowery Mission. Click photo for larger image.

NEW YORK -- Pennsylvania's Republican delegation lasted three days inside Democratic territory before they were rounded up and sent to a reeducation camp.

About 30 delegates, their spouses, a few children and one United States senator were put into an environmentally friendly bus and dispatched to the Bowery Mission. They peeled potatoes, sorted castoff clothing, tutored the unschooled, and served lunch to the lost. Because Republicans were doing this, a collection of indignant liberals, some of them from the neighborhood, engaged in the ultimate protest: picketing a soup kitchen because they consider the kitchen volunteers uncharitable.

"It's like, 'Oh, let's go feed the homeless. Let's arrive in our air conditioned, magic bus and we'll be here for an hour and then we'll all go back to our five-star hotel,'" said Cole Schneider, 21, a New York University student from Denver.

Volunteers helped at the Mission for more than an hour. The bus might have been air conditioned, although the vent windows were open, and the Hilton New York where the delegation is staying is a paltry four stars and some of the Republicans, such as Leigh Clark, of Philadelphia, already work as volunteers at the Old St. Joseph's Church Public Service program in her hometown.

Such misunderstandings are inevitable when the political right engages in good deeds. The Republicans are politically strong because they are seen as unyielding and steely eyed. Democrats are loved for knowing the second verse of "Happy Birthday." Yesterday, one entered the other's turf and an arc of negative ions stretched between kitchen and sidewalk.

"I think it's a bunch of b.s.," said Darryl Rice, who was putting down both the Pennsylvania Republicans and a plate of pasta one member of the delegation had served him. "They deal with imperialistic dogs. This is all for show, to try to gain votes."

Rice might be easily dismissed as another Bowery bum who does not appreciate the charity shown him but for the fact that he is, in fact, a graduate student at Long Island University.

"I just came here to see what's going on," he said.

What was going on was a program called "Compassion Across America." The Bush campaign encouraged Republicans to get themselves to soup kitchens, homeless shelters and counseling centers. Then, to avoid any confusion, they put it on the press schedule.

The result was Debra Glass, a Bowery resident, lingering outside with a sign that said, "Caring for the less fortunate should be more than a photo op."

Glass, along with friends Mor Pipman and K -- "just the letter; no period" -- Webster, are regular volunteers at the M'Finda Kalunga Community Garden, a piece of city land reclaimed as a green spot. The Bowery, the traditional last stop for men and women whose lives got away from them, exists in some measure as a place where one half of the neighborhood takes care of the other half. In that, it reflects a longstanding notion of America, one dominant in 1879 when the Mission opened its doors to evangelize to what in those days were called drunkards.

The Mission became the ideal photo op because it is a religiously run institution. The men inside its walls receive meals, training toward high school equivalency certificates, alcohol and drug counseling and, foremost, Bible study.

"We believe if God can change a man's heart, then God can change a man's life," said Terry Brennan, vice president for operations.

	David Swanson, The Philadelphia Inquirer via AP Sen. Rick Santorum was at The Bowery Mission in New York with other Pennsylvanians during yesterday's day of service. Click photo for larger image.

Nearby, Sen. Rick Santorum and delegates Eileen Melvin and Errol Flynn were helping young men with schoolwork. Melvin was telling Louis Randle why "generous" is spelled with a "u" but "generosity" has none. Flynn was showing a grown man how, for the first time, to do long division.

Santorum was at a table with a man named Jeffrey Haynes, who came here from Barbados to study and, instead, fell into addiction and homelessness before finding his way to the mission.

"God speaks in whispers," Santorum told Haynes. "In the end, if you're faithful you know where you're going to end up. You're saving lives and you're saving souls. God didn't put you through this not to use you."

Santorum then met with the press. He pronounced the Mission strong evidence that the Bush administration's faith-based charity program is on target, and why, if a school or mission can teach philosophy and get federal funds, they certainly ought to be able to get funds for teaching the Bible.

"To me, it's just discrimination. They're both theories on how to live your life," he said.

The irony here is that The Bowery Mission, which teaches the Bible, neither receives nor wants federal money.

Would the Mission like some?

"Not really," Brennan said.

The Mission works on an annual budget of $6 million a year, all of it from private donations which are, of course, tax deductible -- an indirect but potent subsidy. The Mission's subsidiary, a drug treatment center, gets $1.3 million a year in federal dollars through the New York City Department of Homeless Services. The grant began in 1993, the first year of the Clinton administration.

Santorum could well be right about God speaking in whispers. But, every once and again, I think I hear Him chuckling.