NEWARK —The morning rush just ended at New Jersey's busiest train station. The clack-clack-clack of the train schedule board at Newark Penn Station is starting to slow, and most of the commuters are on the train or at their desks.

It’s the time of day a new group of visitors, carrying not laptops and briefcases but duffel bags containing their life’s belongings, files into the transit hub.

Jose slept under a tree last night, and Angela huddled by the bank and Keith opted for a chair at Newark Liberty International Airport.

This morning, they are among the people seeking refuge from the summer heat at Newark Penn Station, dubbed "the home of the homeless" by former Gov. Richard Codey, an advocate for the mentally ill.

It’s time for Michele Salko, the Mother Teresa of the Metro Station, to do her work.

This year she was brought on board by NJ Transit Executive Director Jim Weinstein, Newark Mayor Cory Booker and the Mental Health Association of Essex County to help the homeless at Newark Penn Station.

She tries to find them permanent housing, provide access to medical care and help them procure birth certificates and Social Security cards. The most common roadblock is the lack of an ID card, which prevents the homeless from getting assistance or being admitted into shelters.

"She’s a very kind, very beautiful person," said Keith Rossi, 60, who has been homeless for 20 years.

Rossi, a New Jersey native, said he had been working in Atlanta, until he was left broke and on the streets because of his love of women (married five times) and booze.

He stays at Newark Penn Station during the day, he said, because "I know everybody in this place. It’s all transportation, and it’s not the ’hood. It’s not where anybody’s going to shoot you."

Because the transit hub is a public place, the homeless are allowed to stay there — provided they don’t panhandle, use the sink as a shower or sleep at the station.

At night, Rossi takes a bus to Newark Liberty International Airport and sleeps there.

Angela Anderson, 42 and homeless for five years, prefers to sleep outside a nearby bank.

"I never been to the airport — I’m scared of airplanes," she said.

By the bridge

At night, the homeless line up along a bridge at the south end of Newark Penn Station, using the bridge rail hooks as hangers for their duffel bags.

"I like to sleep around people I’m comfortable with, because I just don’t sleep by anybody, you see," Anderson said.

The bridge can be a dangerous place for the homeless.

"They had drive-bys," Anderson said. "They drive by and shoot."

Taking potshots at the homeless for sport?

"I guess that’s what they want to call it," Anderson said. "Last year, a guy got stabbed down here, a homeless guy. Somebody walked up to him and stabbed him and robbed him. He was pretty messed up."

They all took different paths to end up homeless, but their lives intersect here at the transit hub off Route 21 and Market Street.

Salko’s, too.

The 30-year-old social worker with piercing blue eyes grew up in the charming township of Hillsborough in Somerset County, where her parents had dreams of her being an architect or doctor.

Instead, their daughter is sidestepping puddles of urine to reach the forgotten people of society.

"They don’t love that I’m working with people that could potentially hurt me," Salko said.

"They ain’t gonna hurt her," Anderson chimed in. "We love her. We got her back, ’cause she help us a lot."

Providing lifelines

For the first six months of the pilot program, 12 homeless people have been placed in supportive housing and an additional half dozen in independent housing.

The program has helped 53 people find temporary placement at an Essex County shelter, 16 people get a birth certificate, 11 people get an Essex County ID, six people acquire a Social Security card and two people acquire a driver’s license.

Called the "Community Intervention Project," the program also has connected 29 people with psychiatric services, found permanent housing programs for 26 people with diagnosed mental illnesses, linked 22 people to outpatient mental health treatment, enrolled 18 people in drug detoxification programs, helped 14 people get assistance from post-incarceration services, helped five people obtain security deposit funding and senior citizen housing and enrolled one veteran into long-term substance abuse treatment.

There always has been a sort of uneasy truce among the cops, commuters and homeless at Newark Penn Station.

Officers would prefer to focus on their core mission of homeland security, keeping trains and buses safe and serving the customers, NJ Transit Police Chief Christopher Trucillo said.

"When we look at an area like Penn Station that has great iconic value — it’s the gateway to the city of Newark — we look at how much time our police officers spend dealing with the social ills of the folks who use Penn Station as home, and that takes them away from the counterterrorism," Trucillo said.

He was a sergeant with the Port Authority police in the early 1990s, when a similar program helped the homeless at the Port Authority Bus Terminal in Midtown Manhattan.

"We actually turned the bus terminal around right before [New York City Mayor] Rudy Giuliani turned 42nd Street around," Trucillo said.

Salko, he said, helps the police concentrate on their mission, while at the same time building trust with the homeless and helping them in a "humane way."

A hand for a friend

Leo Rodriguez, 36, said he used to live on the streets. Now he is trying to find help for his friend, Jose Ortiz Vazquez, 47, who lives under a tree near the station.

Rodriguez now has a roof over his head, but he remembers the reactions he used to get when he was homeless for 18 months.

"People look at you like you’re trash," he said. "When you’re right there, you feel sad. I said, ‘Please don’t look at me like that. I’m not a bad person. I’m a good person. I like to help people.’ But they don’t know."

He said Salko likes to help people, too, and "I trust her from the bottom of my heart."

"The biggest part about it is just respecting the people," Salko said. "And then if they know you’re respecting them, it doesn’t matter what age, what color you are, where you come from. They know that I respect them no matter what."

Mike Frassinelli: (973) 392-1559 or mfrassinelli@starledger.com

