New London — Charles Boyd still hears from a lot of "my guests" through email and Facebook. Even guests who haven't lived at the New London Homeless Hospitality Shelter, where Boyd is director of operations, in five, six, seven years still reach out to him.

Like one woman named Dana, whom he met about eight years ago.

"She used to cry every day because, you know, she had a felony and she didn't think they were going to pardon her," Boyd said recently in his office on the main floor of the shelter. "She worked hard at it. We all worked together, the whole staff and everybody. She got pardoned."

Dana got her kids back, found an apartment in Groton, and now has grandchildren. She still calls Boyd and reaches out to him through Facebook

"She's a wonderful person and I love her to death," Boyd said.

"I tell all my guests I love them. They take it to heart because some people don't tell them they love them every day," he said. "And if they do hear it from someone who really cares about them, it means something."

Those are words one might not expect to hear from a former Marine who served in an infantry unit. While Boyd cares deeply about the shelter guests, he also knows when to be strict with them.  

As director of operations, Boyd's main responsibility is to keep the shelter safe: to make sure no drugs are coming in or out, that people aren't consuming alcohol and that they aren't fighting.

"He keeps control," said Christine Langlois, who has lived at the shelter for more than a month. But at the same time, "he's very respectful, always says 'thank you' if he assigns us a task."

Cathy Zall, executive director of the Homeless Hospitality Center, explained that the shelter is a volatile place. It's crowded. The number of guests fluctuates daily, and many of them are dealing with unresolved mental health and substance abuse issues or have just gotten out of jail.

"It's almost hard to describe what a chaotic and ever-changing and difficult environment this is," Zall said by phone recently, explaining that the staff has "a really hard challenge in trying to be a place of hospitality."

Boyd is a "critical component" of achieving that sense of hospitality, "having the street smarts and toughness to deal with situations as they come up and prevent things from going in a direction that would be harmful to anybody," she said.

Every day is a challenge for Boyd, and a new mission of "whether I'm going to have 40 personalities or I'm going to have 100 personalities."

One of Boyd's first tasks each morning — he usually gets in around 6:30 a.m. — is to go through the log book and look at incident reports from overnight. He'll sit down with a person who's been written up "and we talk about it, and they figure out what their punishment is."

"All I want them to do is see what they've done wrong and how we're going to fix it," he said.

Boyd knows all the shelter guests and they know him, often calling him "Chuck" or "Gunny," referencing his time spent in the infantry.

His office — for which he has an open door policy — features many gifts from guests over the years, such as a pen with a megaphone that says "no" when you press a button. The guest who gave it to him told him that no is his favorite word. "They get a kick out of it," he said of the pen.

Several guests who spoke about Boyd noted his good sense of humor.

"He's friendly, tries to help people the best he can," said Charles Drayton.

"Here, a day goes by," Boyd said, pausing briefly to snap his fingers, "just like that."

As Boyd walked around the shelter early one recent morning, he greeted several guests. "How you doing?" he said to one resident. "You slept good?" he asked another. "It was interesting meeting your son yesterday. You must be proud of him, huh?" he said to one woman. And he agreed with another resident, "I don't like snakes neither."

"I try to get to know them," Boyd said, without getting "in their personal business."

Trust doesn't come easily at the shelter. "You have to earn it," Boyd said. And it seems he has.

Recently, some shelter guests wrote a letter asking if Santa could get Boyd's car back on the road, or if Santa could lend him one of his reindeer. Currently, Boyd's son drives him to work or he'll use one of the Homeless Hospitality Center's vehicles.

"We overheard him one day say (how) hard it is to get his 2002 Ford Escape back on the road. He has been trying to save and do it himself, but don't have the time because his dedication to supporting Homelessness," said part of the letter, which is signed "Citizens of the HHC Shelter."

Boyd had no idea they were listening. He was talking on the phone with his son recently about what needed to be done to fix his car, and "I guess they we're listening to me and what they wrote was touching, very touching."

"They care about me because they know I care about them," he said.  "They all know I care about them. I want to make them safe. I want them to get apartments. I want them to get healthy. I want them to survive in this free country that we have. They have rights, too."

j.bergman@theday.com

Twitter: @JuliaSBergman