A Helping Hand : Homeless: A postal worker begins every Sunday by preparing breakfast and delivering it to the needy in Reseda Park. He also spreads a religious message.

By CAROL WATSON

Aug. 17, 1992 12 AM PT

TIMES STAFF WRITER

Vernon Joseph Davis strode through Reseda Park early Sunday morning, his gaze fixed on a group of picnic tables where an elderly homeless man waited for him.

“Hey, Pappy,” he said as he reached the tables and set down two plastic bags filled with a dozen oranges, two six-packs of grape soda and 10 egg-and-bacon sandwiches.

“Top of the morning to you, Vernon,” said 67-year-old Wayne S. Perrault, a smile creasing his grizzled face. “Let me go get Mikey,” he said referring to another homeless man who lives nearby.

Thus Davis began his day, as he had every Sunday morning for the past three years, by cooking and delivering breakfast to scores of homeless men and women in Reseda such as Perrault and “Mikey.” Since the beginning he has had the gratitude of the homeless, and recently his efforts have been recognized by Los Angeles city leaders.

“He’s one of those unsung heroes of the world,” said Los Angeles City Councilwoman Joy Picus, who arranged for Davis to receive a commendation at City Hall earlier this month.

William (Mikey) Wolfson, a 27-year-old who has been homeless for four years, said Davis is one of the few people willing to take the time to talk to him. “There is not a better person that I’ve met,” he said.

But Davis, a 37-year-old U.S. postal worker, said he isn’t doing anything special. He’s just helping out some friends.

“The Bible says do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” he said. “That’s what I’m doing.”

Davis said he has always given money to panhandlers on the street. But he became more aware of the needs of the homeless three years ago when he started frequenting the park near his apartment to teach his daughter how to ride a bike.

He soon struck up conversations with Perrault and other homeless people who live in the park during the day and sleep at night under nearby bridges or on the stoops of neighborhood churches.

At first, the men and women asked him for money, Davis said. “I said, ‘Instead of doing that, I could make something for them.’ ”

Since then, Davis has made a practice of rising before 7 a.m. on Sundays to fry bacon and scrambled eggs for the sandwiches he assembles on slices of white bread. He carries packets of salt and pepper and a bottle of picante sauce to the park so the homeless can spice their own food.

After a stop at the park, Davis makes the rounds of the neighborhood, heading for a parking lot where some men live in their cars, and to a grocery store dumpster where families scavenge for food, he said. If he runs out of sandwiches, Davis returns home to make more.

On holidays, Davis serves turkey and stuffing at the park. Occasionally, he invites some of the homeless back to the one-bedroom apartment he shares with his wife and daughter for a shower and a change of clothes.

He said he enjoys talking to the homeless about politics and their families. He also tries to spread the word of God.

On Sunday, Davis joined hands and prayed with three people who had gathered at the picnic table in the park.

There was Perrault, a former barber who is called Pops or Pappy and has been living for the past five years in the park. And there was 68-year-old Miguel Casas, who lives in an apartment with his son but enjoys coming to the park for the sandwiches and conversation. And Wolfson, who credits Davis with encouraging him to get a job painting a nearby apartment.

“Vern talks a little Gospel to me, which lifts me up,” Wolfson said. “It gives me self-esteem.”

Just as important, he added, are the sandwiches themselves.

“If it wasn’t for Vern,” Wolfson said. “I’d probably be eating out of a dumpster right now.”