And that center was about to disappear.
The situation affected him deeply.
There was also something about the center's mission that connected with Steves' own memories of traveling.
He recalled being a young backpacker and understanding the simple relief of finding somewhere to take a shower or wash clothes.
Of course, needing a shower while traveling by choice is fundamentally different from experiencing homelessness.
Steves recognized that.
But the memory gave him a small point of connection to something the center provided every day: the comfort and dignity that come from having access to basic hygiene.
He decided the center should remain open.
A $2.25 Million Decision
Steves did not simply make a modest contribution to the center's fundraising campaign.
He purchased the property.
According to NPR, The Washington Post and local reporting, Steves paid $2.25 million for the property so the Lynnwood Hygiene Center could remain there.
The speed of the intervention was remarkable.
Only weeks earlier, the facility appeared to be approaching closure.
Then the property had a new owner—one who specifically wanted the hygiene center to continue operating.
At first, the identity of the buyer was not publicly known.
Local reporting described an anonymous donor who had stepped forward to help secure the property.
Eventually, the community learned who it was.
Rick Steves.
At a December gathering celebrating the center's future, Steves publicly acknowledged the purchase.
For the Jean Kim Foundation and the people who depended on its services, the situation had been transformed.
Instead of preparing for a goodbye party, the organization could begin thinking about renovations and expansion.
What $2.25 Million Actually Protected
The purchase sounds dramatic because of the amount of money involved.
But the significance becomes clearer when viewed through the ordinary services that money protected.
A shower.
Clean clothing.
A washing machine.
A hot meal.
A toilet.
A warm indoor space.
Access to medical support.
These aren't luxuries.
For people without stable housing, they can affect nearly every part of daily life.
Imagine trying to apply for a job when you haven't been able to shower.
Imagine attending an appointment in clothes you haven't been able to wash.
Imagine trying to stay healthy when you spend much of your life outdoors without dependable access to bathrooms or running water.
These practical barriers can reinforce the isolation that often accompanies homelessness.
A hygiene center cannot solve homelessness by itself.
It does not replace permanent housing, medical care, employment assistance, mental-health services, addiction treatment or broader social support.
But it can remove some immediate barriers that make daily survival more difficult.
That is what the Lynnwood center had been doing.
According to NPR-affiliated reporting, the center was expected to continue serving around 700 people in the community, providing more than 16,000 hot meals and approximately 10,000 showers annually.
Those numbers transform an abstract idea of "helping the homeless" into something tangible.
Thousands of meals.
Thousands of showers.
Thousands of moments when someone can enter a building and take care of basic needs that many people rarely have to think about.