In the spring of 1990, Patrick Atkinson had it made. After years of frontline volunteer work far from home, he was back in Bismarck ND. He’d applied to law school, bought a slick used Audi 5000 with a sun roof, put a down payment on a duplex, and started dating. “Everything was just perfect,” he said. But then his past caught up with him.
As a teenager he’d volunteered in New York’s Hell’s Kitchen, then he’d worked with war orphans in Central America, founding clinics, family development centers, and homes for kids with handicaps. He’d designed and supervised the construction of parks, shelters for the poor, and even a public cemetery for the poor. He’d volunteered in southeast Asia for a year then finally decided to “live the good life” back home in North Dakota. After all, he’d figured, “Ten years is a long time to work without a salary.”
He’d also contracted hepatitis, malaria, and dengue fever; been shot at and knifed. After getting death threats for reporting and documenting a secret cemetery of torture victims in Guatemala, he’d been advised by the US Embassy to leave the country. It was time to kick back and start living for himself.
But he began to get poignant letters from the Guatemalan children he’d helped years before and who were being kicked out of their orphanage, back onto the streets. “You were the only father we ever knew,” one wrote. Atkinson couldn’t resist. “God did not just call me,” he laughs. “He gave me my marching orders.” He flew to Guatemala to see if the children were as bad off as they said they were. They were.
Atkinson decided he’d stay long enough to get these particular kids off the streets. He hasn’t left yet. His non-profit, The God’s Child Project, is serving over 700 destitute kids. Children in the Project are placed with their own relatives or in good foster homes and given love, security, and education. Families receive stipends to keep their children in school. Good grades earn further financial rewards or construction credits that can be traded for such things as cement floors or new roofs for the families’ homes.
Atkinson calls this approach the Bismarck Method. He was offered the option of patenting and selling it. Instead, he’s declared it public domain as long as it’s used for the benefit of the poor. He receives no salary—just room and board for himself and one of the 15 kids to whom he’s been guardian or adoptive father. That’s in addition to the 8,000 other kids who’ve been in his programs.
Speaking of his decision to return to working with the poor, Patrick Atkinson says, “There seemed to be little decision back then. I knew what I had, and I could see what others didn’t have. It took microseconds to realize that I was in a position to help.”
