Wind swirls around him, inflates his black robes and blows loose trash above his ankles.
The Rev. David Altschul pauses this morning and considers the debris outside Reconciliation Services, the nonprofit he runs at the corner of 31st Street and Troost. Over the years, the organization has provided counseling; referrals and advocacy for uninsured, underinsured and low-income people; a food pantry; and a place to worship.
Troost, Altschul decides, resembles a beach. But instead of wave after wave of water, litter and loose scrap are what continually wash up on its shores.
He smiles, finding humor in the observation where others might see another reason to despair. To Altschul, the debris signals not defeat but the ongoing work that must be done to turn Troost into his vision of a "village."
Altschul's optimism stands out as much as he does on the avenue. Dressed entirely in black, with his ZZ Top beard and long gray ponytail, he attracts attention. Rabbi? Gandalf? Osama bin Laden? He has been called all three.
The names don't faze him. Instead, they give him a chance to explain that he is a priest in the Serbian Orthodox Church.
To many, he is known by his baptized name of Father Paisius. His riassa, the black robes, and skufia, or cap, represent the color of mourning for his sins and the sins of the world. His untrimmed hair and beard represent the belief that an orthodox priest should focus on the soul, not on the body.
With explanations of his appearance out of the way, he moves on to talk about his vision of a transformed Troost.
Changes have already begun. The annual Troost Festival, which Altschul helped start in 2005, celebrates the neighborhood and its history.
Over the last decade, more artists have been moving in, too. The Telephonebooth Gallery moved out of the Crossroads and reopened at 3319 Troost in 2002. Hoop Dog Studio at 33rd Street and Troost opened in 2003. An artist collective at 1809 Troost, called simply the 1809, provides outlets for theater, dance and poetry, among other creative endeavors.
Next year, Altschul plans to survey neighborhood residents, asking what excites them about the area, what makes them angry, what changes they want to see — and whether they're willing to help make those changes happen. He also hopes to form groups of people to talk about bringing more art outlets to the area, along with education and health programs and other services.
"You have to have a vision to make it better," he says in a soft, matter-of-fact voice. "Some people might think, Man, I got to get out of the ghetto." But he knows that other like-minded souls will think, Let's fix this.
On a Thursday morning, Altschul climbs into his red Chevy Geo and drives south toward the Bruce R. Watkins Cultural Heritage Center.
On the center's second floor, 11 tall orange panels depict the history of Troost. Altschul developed the display with Carol Rhodes-Dyson, a childhood friend and Reconciliation Services colleague who has a background in museum exhibition.
"I met David at Bishop Hogan High School in 1960-something," Rhodes-Dyson says from her current home in Washington, D.C. Altschul was the class president, and she was the class vice president, she remembers. "He has always been a deep thinker. Always in the top five GPA. He was brilliant but he could connect with people, too."
Their exhibition, called 200 Years on Troost, opened in July. Today, Altschul will discuss it with a handful of students from Rockhurst University's urban immersion program.
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