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 It's a startlingly dingy room, off the old metal elevator on the 6th floor.
The industrial paint, circa unknown, emits an eerie yellow glow, clashing on every level with the room's funky purple doors. There's a shortage of mirrors, the quality of merchandise varies wildly and there's no guarantee of anything in a particular size or style.
No matter. This is "Covingdale's" — the much-beloved clothing room at Covenant House, a mecca for homeless youths in search of a decent pair of jeans.
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 Cyrus Rhodes ambled in shyly, encased in an oversized gray sweatshirt, his face nearly hidden by its hoodie.
He walked out looking like he could jump the line at a downtown club. A fitted black sports jacket, set off by a white-and-blue striped Brooks Brothers shirt, gave off an air of casual sophistication. The stone-washed jeans hinted that he was a regular guy. The bulging shopping bag — jazzy threads for another day — brought out his crowning glory: A wide, beguiling smile.
"I never knew it would be like this, the clothes all hanging up. I like it a lot," said Rhodes, 20, a first-time visitor.
A trim 5'8, Rhodes hit the clothing jackpot — fitting all castoffs from New York financial types who start packing on the pounds as their workweeks expand to 70 hours or more.
By his side was his self-declared "personal shopper," Brandon Archuleta, 19.
"I love helping everybody find stuff," he declared. Diving into the racks like a hawk, Archuleta emerged with a pair of jeans, waist 31.
"Look, these are brand-new!" he exulted.
Thirty minutes later, Rhodes was set. Other goodies in his shopping bag included a blue pin-striped suit, a gray jacket; two more buttoned-down shirts (Polo), two more pairs of jeans (The Gap) and two matching silk ties.
He hoped the suit will help him get a job — "maybe in electronics."
"I feel like a brand-new person," Rhodes said. "I feel like posing now — get all the girls to look at me!"
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 I first ran into Covenant House 18 years ago, when bursting with maternal hormones, I volunteered one day a week while on maternity leave.
Having a 3-month-old, I fancied myself a child care expert. That lasted three weeks, as the struggle to help broke, ill-prepared teens care for their infants in the mother-and-child unit drained the life out of me.
The only time we all seemed to be happy was in the clothing room, debating whether to choose the white cotton onesie with the rabbit logo or the tiny blue nightgown that lets a baby kick its legs.
Those infants were so fragile, so needy. And so were their moms.
I transferred to the clothing room the next day.
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Sorting through tons of used clothing gets old fast, however. You find muscles you never knew you had, run into odors you didn't know existed. It's complete drudge work — tedious and physically draining — and only the humor of your colleagues and some good music gets you through a shift.
Covenant House gets about 80-100 donations a month (one donation can be several boxes) — but barely 40 percent of that is usable for teens, babies and toddlers. The rest is sent to the Red Cross and other agencies.
Winter jackets and their accouterments — hats, gloves, scarves — top the agency's "must-have" list, along with jeans or pants, long sleeve shirts, sweaters and shoes. There is also a chronic need for very large or very small sizes.
Once every 20 bags or so, you unearth the perfect box — designer jeans, crisp shirts, even clothes with tags left on. The rest of the time is spent digging through Dante's circles of yuck.
Joyce Shelton, the New York donation coordinator, gets annoyed at these old, worn or stained items. She knows how important it is to make homeless teens feel better, how much Covenant House needs more clothing from teens and young adults instead of their parents.
"People see what you wear before they know your name," she says. "My goal is to put top quality in this room, so residents can look as good as possible."
The fun part of the job comes after dinner, acting as a personal shopper on the floor, helping teens get their mojo back amid the hunt for denim.
"I fell in love with this," said Kimberley Baines, a 27-year-old volunteer. "Sometimes they just come in to talk, they are so lonely."
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Jasmen Wright, 19, arrived at "Covingdale's" with a plan: Find some designer jeans and choose tops only in white and beige. Accents — vests and shoes — could be in black.
"I need some things for my own unique style," she said, calling her look "up-to-date yet classy."
She walked out with a long brown coat, five clingy shirts, a few new bras and an olive/beige/white silk scarf.
"You gotta be sexy, too," she noted.
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This summer, before sending my daughter off to college, we had to face her bulging closet.
If there was one thing that child spent her baby-sitting money on, it was jeans. Juicy, Seven for all Mankind, Paper Denim & Cloth, Diesel. Distressed, low-rise, boot-cut, acid-washed. I didn't even want to think about how much money she had blown from grade seven to 12, changing styles and sizes and designers by the season.
I suppose it was cheaper than therapy.
Panicked about tuition bills, we sold some of the jeans on eBay. One fetched $61. Another went for $24.99. Two other pairs sold for $9.99, which after the eBiz commission left us with $3.53 for jeans that cost over $120.
What as I thinking? Three bucks is not going to dent a $40,000 college bill. So we packed up the rest, along with her older brother's and sister's castoffs, and headed over to Covenant House each Sunday for a month.
"We're regulars now," my daughter said as the security guard nodded hello.
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Teens usually carry their "Covingdale" clothes out in shopping bags, but sometimes they want to wear them right away. Everyone claps as they emerge from the dressing room, the excitement is contagious, and their old clothes are bundled up to be washed.
Other times volunteers themselves suggest that the youths change — and throw their ripped shirts, stained pants and rank sneakers into the trash as soon as they leave. I have seen kids come in with no underwear, no bras, no socks in winter. Some refuse to take off their soiled sweatshirts because the clothes underneath are even worse.
The toll of days or weeks or months on the street can be breathtaking.
"A lot of these kids have aged out of foster care," said Kevin Starkes, a Covenant House employee. "It's rough being 18, 19 and on your own."
It's even rougher during the holidays, when loving families are supposed to mean so much, when homeless teens are surrounded by bursting store windows and TV ads for goodies they can't possibly afford.
That's when the dingy walls of "Covingdale's" fade away, replaced by the hope that glows as bright here as a Christmas candle.
"I only had two pairs of pants," said Evaristo Luna, 19, from Phoenix, Ariz. "I wouldn't have anything without this place."
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ON THE NET: Covenant House has crisis centers in 21 cities. More information can be found at http://www.covenanthouse.org
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asap contributor Sheila Norman-Culp is an AP supervisory editor.
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