Once a Child Surviving on the Streets of Philadelphia, Rosario Now Helps Others Heal Through Empathy and Service
Trigger Warning: This post contains descriptions of attempted suicide, child neglect, sexual assault, youth homelessness, and extreme violence. Please contact your local crisis team if you experience emotional distress.
The trolley tracks hummed their usual rhythm through West Philadelphia when a woman suddenly ran toward them, intent on ending her life. Outreach workers managed to pull her from danger and rushed her to a crisis center, where she met behavioral health technician Richard Rosario — a meeting that would change both of their lives.
The woman, an undocumented immigrant from Jamaica, had spent more than 30 years trapped in an abusive relationship after arriving in the U.S. on a temporary visa. Her partner had isolated her from family, subjected her to years of physical and sexual abuse, and moved her between states. For nearly three decades, her family back in Jamaica believed she was dead.
Upon hearing this, Rosario and his team contacted Women of Hope and Women of Change, who provided her shelter and covered her medication expenses. Despite her undocumented status, the behavioral health team advocated tirelessly for benefits on her behalf, but was denied.
They reached out to Immigration to retrieve her VISA information and worked with the Jamaican consulate to secure a temporary VISA so she could return home. To secure her travel documents, they flew her to Florida to meet with the Jamaican consulate.
It was a four-month stretch of nonstop advocacy, including navigating the Department of Homeland Security to obtain her A-number, which proved to be an uphill battle. Through extensive outreach, Rosario and his team were able to locate her daughters, who were shocked to learn she was alive. She had grandchildren she’d never met.
They coordinated with behavioral health services in Jamaica to ensure she had support upon arrival. They stayed in contact with her for months after she reunited with her family. The family’s gratitude was overwhelming—after decades of disappearance, she was finally home, and meeting her grandchildren for the first time.
Rosario’s Work and Early Background
For his work on that case, Rosario and his colleague received a humanitarian award and a letter of commendation from the Commissioner, recognition that still stands out among his proudest achievements.
“It remains one of the most meaningful cases of my career,” Rosario said. “It’s a reminder of what persistence, compassion, and teamwork can achieve.”
Rosario has served as a case manager with PMHCC for 16 years, working with youth aging out of the DHS system and adults in crisis. Many of the people he helps are coming out of jail or psychiatric hospitals. His role is to help them secure temporary and eventually permanent housing, connect to outpatient services, obtain benefits and income, find employment, and reconnect with family.
Rosario’s connection to his work runs deep. He knows firsthand what it means to fall through the cracks. Long before he was a behavioral health professional, he was a child in crisis himself — one who had experienced homelessness, foster care, and incarceration before reaching adulthood. He endured the uncertainty of houselessness, the stigma of juvenile criminality, and the shame of hiding hardship in the shadows of an elementary school.
He had all but given up hope until someone did something that at the time felt monumental: treated him like a human being. It was that tiny act of kindness that pushed him through school and eventually led him to a life of purpose and advocacy.
Growing Up Homeless in Philadelphia
Rosario describes his childhood as “a product of generational dysfunction.” Born in New York in 1968, he never met his biological mother, who abandoned the family early on. His grandmother tried to raise six children on her own, but eventually sent Rosario and his siblings to live with their father in Philadelphia. Their father, a man Rosario still remembers with deep affection, struggled with alcohol addiction.
“He really tried his best to father us, but he had issues of his own,” Rosario said, adding, “I don’t harbor any ill feelings toward my father. Quite the opposite, in fact. He passed away a long time ago, but I will always fondly remember him as one of the greatest men I’ve ever known. He was far from perfect, but America too often punishes people for falling forward, and that’s not the pathway to reconciliation.”
When sober, Rosario’s father was kind and intelligent, but his drinking made home life unpredictable and often violent.
“When he wasn’t drunk, my dad was one of the most articulate, charismatic, intelligent individuals you would ever want to meet,” Rosario shared. “Sober, he was the greatest dad in the world; but, unfortunately, there was a Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde thing going on. In his mind, he really believed he could harden us, and that when he put us out, he was acting out of love.”
“There were four of us living with him initially, but my older brother and sister went to Puerto Rico,” he continued. “Then it was just me and my brother, and when my dad would get intoxicated, he would take his frustration out on us. If he had enough to drink, he would just tell us to ‘Get out,’ no matter how cold or hot the weather was.”
As a child, Rosario learned to survive on the streets. When his father drank, he and his brother would bundle up in layers of clothing and sleep in an abandoned church bus across from their elementary school.
“As far as neighbors and educators were concerned, people were none the wiser of the fact that my brother and I had no place to live,” he said. “If we got hungry, we would just knock on our friends’ doors at dinner time. They would give us food without their parents being aware.”
When the bus wasn’t there, they slept on the roof of their elementary school.
“The other kids used to call my brother and me Agent 88 and 89 because we used to wear trench coats,” Rosario said. “That’s all we had. But the roof of the school was covered in gravel, so we used to go into the building with soot all over us.”
“The lunch aids were some incredible people,” Rosario added. “They must have known we needed their help because they would let us go into the bathroom early before school started and wash all the soot off our bodies and faces.”
Their small act of kindness gave the boys a fleeting sense of normalcy.
“That was my first real experience with homelessness,” Rosario said. “We were kids just trying to make it through each day.”
Eventually, the brothers entered the foster care system. Shuffled from one group home to another, Rosario was adjudicated by the age of twelve — not for violence, but for acts of survival like stealing food.
“I was getting in trouble with the law for trying to survive and fend for myself. Honestly, I was getting in serious legal trouble for simple things like eating and trying to acquire basic necessities,” he said.
How Kindness Changed Everything
Life in the system was often bleak. Rosario was moved from one group home to another, eventually landing in St. Gabriel’s, an institution for boys.
“At the time, I was still communicating with my father and my stepmother, who was the only real ‘mother’ I ever knew,” Rosario said. “She was hardcore, from Ohio, and she taught me how to cook and clean, but she couldn’t protect me from the Hyde aspect of my pops’ addiction. She was a victim herself of domestic violence.”
He stayed at St. Gabriel’s for nearly four years, long after other kids had gone home for holidays or visits. His father and stepmother had moved to Florida by then, leaving him alone in Philadelphia.
“My social worker had to tell me the heartbreaking news that my family was in Florida and I wasn’t able to go home,” he said. “I could tell she really felt for me.”
Rosario’s social worker was the only person who consistently showed up for him. She visited every Thanksgiving and Christmas, bringing socks and T-shirts and signing him out so he could share dinner with her family.
“I got a quick snapshot of what true family unity and togetherness looked like,” he said. “This was happening in a vacuum because, again, I was in placement and I didn’t have my own garden to be a part of or tree to be connected to, so I clung to what I saw from her.”
“She was one of the few people who humanized me,” he continued. “I’ll never forget it, how she saw me when nobody else did. Up until that point, I was in complete survival mode. My life was just a series of thirty-second intervals. My mentality was get or be gotten. But all that changed. After I met her, I knew I had to pay that kindness forward.”
From the Juvenile System to a College Degree
Rosario’s social worker at Philadelphia’s Department of Human Services didn’t just do her job; she changed his life. Her compassion inspired him to do the same for others.
“I wanted to be involved in a profession that embraces the humanity in homeless people and doesn’t view them as statistics,” Rosario said.
That calling led him to a career in residential care, supporting people with mental health challenges and intellectual disabilities. He started at the entry level, working nights and weekends while taking community college classes. From there, he transferred to Temple University, where he earned a bachelor’s degree in social work, followed by his LSW. He’s now working toward his LCSW.
“The educational journey has not been easy,” Rosario added. “I think I’ve got like $90,000 in student loan debt. The professors and people at work were really cheering me on, because you can do so much more good with credentials than you can from an entry-level position.”
Rosario’s determination reflects a truth many with lived experience of homelessness understand: the drive to help others is born from struggle. “After experiencing that kindness, I wanted to give back or pay it forward,” Rosario said.
From Survivor to Advocate for Change
Today, Rosario draws on his lived experience to guide others through crisis. He currently serves as a trauma response and emergency preparedness specialist at the Department of Behavioral Health and Intellectual disAbility Services (DBHIDS), where he helps people navigate moments of chaos and find their footing again.
“I try to walk into every space with some gems or some jewels that people will walk out with so that they can either feel a little less heavy than they did when they walked in, or they have some power, some tools, some tips to support them moving forward,” Rosario said.
His life and work are a testament to the power of compassion — how one act of kindness can ripple outward to transform entire communities.
The Ripple Effect of Compassion: Why Policy Change Matters
Each year, approximately one in thirty school-aged children experiences homelessness. Family homelessness has risen by 33% nationally, with similar increases in cities across the U.S. In New York City alone, one in eight public school students was homeless last year.
Yet, instead of expanding housing solutions, many leaders continue to push for policies that criminalize homelessness — punishing people who have already been failed by the system.
Rosario’s story reminds us that humanity and persistence can change lives, but millions of others still need that same chance.