A New Kind of Pantry in Randolph
What happens when you design for dignity from the ground up?
When you walk into the newly reimagined Randolph Friendly Food Pantry, the first thing you notice is what it doesn’t feel like: a food pantry.
It feels like a small grocery store. It's bright, welcoming, and thoughtfully laid out. There’s no clipboard at the door, no line to wait in. Volunteers greet you like neighbors. Shelves are neatly stocked. Carts roll easily down wide aisles. Nothing about it says “emergency.” Everything about it says: you’re welcome here.
That shift in atmosphere is intentional. And it’s transformational.
“This bridges that. It is dignified. It is welcoming. It is compassionate.”
– Rick Doane, Executive Director, Interfaith Social Services and board member, Randolph Friendly Food Pantry
From Good Intentions to a Shared Vision
The Friendly Food Pantry has long been staffed by people who care deeply about their community. But like many small-town pantries, it operated for years in a modest, under-resourced space—doing its best with what it had.
The transformation didn’t start with paint or fixtures. It started with a question:
What would it look like to design a food pantry that feels good to walk into?
Rick Doane, executive director of Interfaith Social Services, longtime Randolph resident, and pantry board member, was part of the team that took that question seriously. Working alongside Pam Denholm, executive director of South Shore Food Bank and Weymouth Food Pantry, the Town of Randolph, Greater Boston Food Bank, and Boston Higashi School, the team envisioned a new model of food access—one where the space itself would invite dignity, reduce stigma, and feel no different than shopping at your local grocery store.
The result is more than a renovation. It’s a complete overhaul of what help with food scarcity feels like.
Design That Sends a Message
Every element of the new pantry was chosen with care. From shelving and signage to layout and flow, the space now mirrors a neighborhood market, allowing guests to choose their own groceries at their own pace. That sense of choice matters.
“For a long time, the message was: ‘Here’s what we have. Be happy.’ That’s not inclusive. This is different. This is listening.”
— Rick Doane
There are no barriers between the volunteers and the people they serve. No assumptions about what someone “should” be grateful for. Just a shared belief that everyone deserves food, and getting it shouldn’t feel any different than shopping with your local grocer.
It’s a small logistical change, but it has an immeasurable impact on what getting help feels like. And that’s exactly what’s been overlooked for decades.
The Power of One Community Coming Together
“This is what community is all about. When we take care of each other, when we remove barriers, when we say with our actions: you matter.”
The vision for Randolph’s pantry wasn’t driven by one organization alone. It was the result of collective effort between town officials, school leaders, food bank partners, and local nonprofits aligning behind a single goal: make food access feel human.
At the ribbon cutting, community leaders didn’t just talk about logistics. They talked about pride. About what happens when a community turns intention into impact.
“This is more than a ribbon cutting. This is a testament to what’s possible when local government, nonprofits, and the people they serve work together.”
A Model for Others
The new Randolph pantry isn’t just a bright spot for the people it serves. It’s a blueprint.
For other towns and organizations asking how to do better—with limited space, funding, or staff—this pantry shows what’s possible when design, logistics, and compassion align. It shows that transformation doesn’t require starting over. It starts with rethinking what’s already there.
“Same volunteers. Same people. They just finally have the resources and space to match the heart they’ve always had.”
What Comes Next
Food insecurity won’t be solved with one pantry. But each transformation like this one pushes the whole system forward. It invites pantry leaders, donors, designers, and neighbors to think bigger—and to remember that real dignity lives not just in what we offer, but how we offer it.
If you’re working in food access and wondering what’s next for your community, consider starting where Randolph did: with a question. What if we made this feel good to walk into? And then build from there.