One, a woman with a bandaged wrist and a pink plastic grocery sack, a spray of fresh spinach poking from its top, looks up eagerly as the students enter. One of them ushers her from the waiting area - a crowded space with computers, a jumble of chairs, and a painting representing Jesus - to a makeshift examining room.
"Whoever is here, we see them and take care of them," said Nina Cheung, a first-year student at Drexel University College of Medicine. "A lot of people really rely on this place for their medical attention."
It is a reality both scary and exhilarating.
"If we weren't there, they wouldn't be getting medical care," said Monica Medina, an instructor in Drexel's physician assistant program who oversees the clinic with Dr. Vincent Zarro, assistant dean for community outreach at Drexel's medical school. "On our busiest nights, it feels like a MASH unit."
No wonder. Philadelphia's Asian population, now 68,383, grew by more than half during the 1990s, according to census figures. The neediest members of this community, unable to afford insurance on money earned at restaurant and factory jobs or unable to qualify because of murky immigrant status, find their way to Holy Redeemer. The church, dedicated in 1941, was the first in the United States built for the Chinese and is a center of Asian life.
By bus and bike and on foot they come, knowing that before the night is out, they will receive care at no cost from a medical professional who understands their language.
"It's been a success," said the Rev. Tom Betz, a longtime Chinatown advocate and director of the Archdiocese's Office of Pastoral Care for Migrants and Refugees. "A lot of people have received care, and they've been treated with respect."
Most patients are from South Philadelphia, but some come from the Northeast, the Poconos, even Reading.
