She serves up cookies, cakes — and kindness — to those without a home

She was 71, and had just lost her job. Patricia O’Donnell was walking along Market Street, near Independence Hall, when she noticed the people around her — some of whom appeared to be living on the streets. Her thoughts turned to them, to how she might help them.

Then, the answer came to her: 

“I’ll bake!”

And she does, more than eight years later, making cookies and cakes. And every Thursday, O’Donnell traverses Center City Philadelphia, dispensing goodies to people experiencing homelessness. The food is only part of the nourishment. 

“Just to say hello, and acknowledge their existence is important,” said O’Donnell, who will turn 80 in April. “The first time I did this, most people thought I was trying to poison them or something, but some people took it right away. And those people who didn’t take anything from me in the beginning, when I kept returning every week, I think they started to trust me, and knew I wasn’t trying to do them any harm.”

How it’s done

O’Donnell has been giving away her baked items since 2016, toting 60 to 70 cookies and 20-odd slices of cake, which she hands out from a colorful duffel bag. She also carries a grey-colored cooler pouch that keeps things cold and stocks it with bottled water and Gatorade (“Hydration is important,” she says). She carries the cooler on her shoulder, and handles the bag with her hands. 

Mobility is an issue. She had both knees replaced (one wasn’t done right, she says, and it hurts) and has arthritis in her foot, hands and shoulder. None of those ailments stop her from riding the 9:42 train on the Warminster SEPTA Regional Rail Line into Jefferson Station, where she starts her trek. 

O’Donnell’s generosity is all her own. She does all the baking and distributing herself, and is not affiliated with any organization beyond “fellow human.” She buys all the ingredients for the baked items. 

“When the price of vanilla extract went sky high, I bought vanilla beans and made my own. For $24, I can buy 35 beans, from which I can make five 8-ounce jars of extract,” she said. She also buys flour, chocolate chips and other ingredients in bulk. 

Aside from the pandemic, when she went into town every two or three weeks, she has missed only a few Thursdays over those eight years, when she had physical therapy.

In the hundreds of visits she’s made into the city, she’s developed a few rules:

• She never asks a person’s name the first time she approaches them, as many initially are wary of her.
• The second time she hands them cake or cookies, she’ll ask their name.
• She never awakens anyone. 
• “After a while they trust me enough to tell me their names,” she said, but only first names — she doesn’t ask for surnames. 

Baking lessons

In the tiny kitchen of her Roslyn home, O’Donnell bakes cakes on Tuesdays and cookies on Wednesdays. On a recent Tuesday, she’s making pumpkin bread with raisins; tomorrow she’ll make brownies with a marshmallow topping and oatmeal raisin cookies. O’Donnell makes a point of having different cakes and cookies each Thursday. 

A Philadelphia native, O’Donnell was divorced when her two sons were 3 years and 18 months old, respectively. She put them to bed at 7:30, and wondered what she’d do for the rest of the evening. 

“I didn’t want to watch television,” she said. “I always wanted to bake, so I taught myself.”

She worked as a legal secretary for several law firms over the years. To supplement her income, she typed court transcripts, which kept her up late. “I was getting about two hours of sleep a night,” she said.

Eight years ago, she received a package from a great niece in Florida. Inside was a paper doll. Her great niece had a class assignment to send the doll to a relative and have them photograph it by a landmark. O’Donnell and her son Shane took the doll to Independence Hall to take a picture. She sent the photo back and her great niece got an A-plus on the assignment. O’Donnell began baking, and started to get an education on the lives of those experiencing homelessness. 

She learned they are reluctant to stay at shelters, where they can be robbed of their possessions or even attacked. If it rains on Thursday, she is unlikely to go, as people will be seeking shelter – under a canopy or an awning – to keep themselves and their possessions dry. If it isn’t raining the following day, she’ll make the trip. Then again, it’s hard for some people living on the streets to keep track of the days of the week — “but they always know it’s Thursdays when they see [me],” she said. 

Hitting the town

Exiting Jefferson Station on a recent Thursday, she meets three men. One she has never met, one she knows, and the third is Lance, “the very first person who took something from me,” said O’Donnell. 

Later, Lance found housing in West Philadelphia. “He was able to get a driver’s license, which he showed me, because he had a residence, and he was so proud,” she said.

She has a semi-regular route, walking up and down 12^th Street, then over to Chestnut Street. On one corner is the “home” of Jonathan, who likes to read, so she brings him books too. On this day, she sees his blankets but no Jonathan. “Sometimes he sleeps in a doorway on this street,” she says, but he’s not there. Across the street, she sees a large man, walks up to him and gives him cookies wrapped in plastic.

“God bless you,” says the man. 

On another corner, she spies a woman sitting on the ground. O’Donnell has seen her only two or three times, and doesn’t know her name. She gives the woman some of her goodies, and notices the woman is reading a book she gave to Jonathan. A short while later, she sees Jonathan, who is reading a James Patterson novel. They greet each other warmly, but O’Donnell does not ask why he’s not at his usual spot or why there are blankets there. She considers it an invasion of privacy, and she doesn’t want to risk alienating him.

Around the corner, she sees Sharon, who is sitting on a red-colored walker. After the cookies and cake are distributed, the two chit-chat. Later, O’Donnell says Sharon will move from one spot to another that she knows is on O’Donnell’s route.

Her next stop will be on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway near the Free Library. In a small, circular park, she meets two women, Norah Lynn and Marie, and they converse for a bit. Not far away, O’Donnell meets a couple, Wayne and Mandy, who she’s known for a few weeks. They tell her someone stole nearly all their possessions. O’Donnell said she’s heard the city will move people away from tourist areas or from sites of events such as the Mummers Day Parade. 

As her supplies dwindle, O’Donnell heads to Jefferson Station to catch a train back to Roslyn. She stops to see a wheelchair-bound woman who is usually found under a canopy for the 13^th Street Market-Frankfort subway. She is usually O’Donnell’s last person to visit. This day, she’s asleep, so O’Donnell gently places cookies in the pocket of a sweater.

Christmas week

O’Donnell likes to change up her cakes and cookies. In keeping with the holiday spirit this week, she’s bringing lemon pound cake (“which is a favorite,” says O’Donnell) and chocolate chip oatmeal cookies (“They’re a favorite, too.”)

She keeps her good deeds in perspective. “I mean it’s not much,” she said. “It makes me feel like I’m doing something for them, that when I’m there with them and talking with them and giving them something, it sort of gives them five minutes of comfort and lets them know that somebody cares about them.” 

“I probably get more out of it than they do.”

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