I have a homeless guy near me, age 60+, black, possibly once good-looking but not especially now. But he's got a wonderful smile and a quick intelligence. I give him all sorts of food - sometimes bought in the nearby supermarket, sometimes homemade soup (he once told me, every time he sees me he gets hungry). I also give him small amounts of cash.
Nearly two years ago, I told him I was about to turn 80. The next day, I was walking down my street and heard someone running after me. It was him with a bunch of red roses. He had bought them with his very valuable cash. Hard to think of anything more touching.
He says he is writing a memoir and I believe it. I once met him in the middle of winter, when it was very cold and wet and I sympathised with him living outdoors and he said "But you know what the worst of it is? I haven't written a word for three weeks!" The words of a true writer.
Ann, not surprised to find you here...you and Rona seem kindred souls!
I love reading septa and octogenarian writers on substack, especially women, and Garrison Keillor. You all seem rather worldly without the need to impress anyone, though you've made impressions on me, and I thank you.
"Young enough to be my son, old enough to drag a chain of loss behind him." I first read about Christopher on your Facebook page. My heart hurts to wonder what's happened, what new links have been added to that chain. The street, as you say, is like a time warp. It ages those who live there and makes mishaps tumble into lasting changes in a speed that's hard to fathom.
Thank you for sharing this story and your heart. Your words are rendered beautifully, and the call to action timeless and priceless.
Amazing, amazement seeker. This is the second time that you bravely admitted something that makes you feel ashamed, a moment when you didn't rise to the occasion. The other essay: "I let her go when she could no longer play the role I had assigned her." Very beautiful and honest. We have all been there. Thanks for the reminder.
My heart ached reading this . I could see him . So many stories . But one to make you laugh a little . When I lived in D.c. there was a women who slept in a bus shelter I passed on my early morning walks . I normally ended up with a coffee for a reward for myself to enjoy when I got back home . As weeks went by and I saw It was getting colder and she was not moving nor young I thought the least I can do is bring her a coffee as she was usually waking up on my return home . So I worked up my nerve and bought an extra and approached her that day . Here , I said holding out the cup. Hello. . She sat up yawned and stretched . She took it and eyeballed me and sniffed. Hmpgh she said I prefer hot chocolate. She had a British accent and acted regal —-as if she were Queen of the World . I laughed at myself all the way home . Little Miss Goody Goody assuming I knew what she neededd or wanted . I got hot chocolate the next day. She said any muffins ? The next day I got a muffin . She left shortly after and I often think of her all these many years later . I am about her age now . There was also the time I saw a homeless man standing up ahead holding out his cup . I went by and threw in a looney . Jesus Lady what ya doing .. that’s my coffee! He was just standing drinking his coffee . He may not even have been a street person . I judged .
Seems to me you gave him everything . The time. Your caring. Not something he didn’t need so you could feel good . You did put love in action . That is it isn’t it ? We are asked to be love in action . You and your friend are those who are Love in action . What a way to meet a new friend . Thank you for this sharing . I often wonder if who shows up in our lives unexpectedly are the greatest. Teachers You inspired me today as ever . Thank you. . Love Bishop .
Dear Sheree, thank you for sharing those delicious stories. A loonie in a cup of coffee! First laugh of the day. Si good to meet you here, my friend. I’ve missed you.
"Care has a way of seeding itself like dandelion fluff on the wind." Lovely writing, Rona. And such a moving story.
I've encountered the homeless in London, Cairo, Tokyo, and pretty much everywhere I've lived. It's always heartbreaking to see and I know there must be so many sad stories behind the hopeless faces, though language has often been a barrier to knowing more. Lives can go awry anywhere, it seems.
Thank you for sharing your feelings about what you regret. We all have those, I think. I may have commented on the original post about our encounters with a homeless man when we lived in the city. When we first moved to Chicago, we were taken aback by the number of panhandlers we passed daily. Wanting to do “the right thing”, we looked for guidance wherever we could find it. This included advice such as to give without strings attached-whatever the money may be used for it is not yours to judge. If you can’t do that, don’t give anything. We soon became acquainted with the “regulars” who had their schtick-and passed them by with a good morning or a no thank you. (It is most important to make the person feel seen, if nothing else we were told). One morning on his way to work, my husband came across a man standing by a cart, with all his belongings, by Union Station. He didn’t ask for anything but after another couple of days, my husband asked if he could buy him breakfast. From there, they developed a friendship that lasted several years-until we moved away in 2018. Jim asked him what he needed from time to time and we shopped for those items: a winter coat; gloves; socks and warm boots; personal care products-toothpaste etc. and cash on occasion. Jim took him to the Social Security office and got him a new card-also to the main library to get a library card. The Harold Washington Library has a large area with computers and he felt maybe D could look for work and other resources there-or at least come in out of the cold. Eventually, D’s sister got him a cell phone. She lived in Texas but had decided to try to reconcile whatever it was that had caused their estrangement. D was then able to communicate more efficiently. (One year, before he had a phone, just before Christmas we circled the block around Union Station several times a day for 2 days before we found him to give him his boots.). Shortly before we moved, we found out about a program at U of Illinois hospital in Chicago that was working toward finding homes for people like D-people who ended up in hospital as he did several times while we knew him. The goal was to discharge homeless people to a safe environment and thereby keeping them out of the hospital system if possible. D was the perfect candidate and we felt hopeful he would follow through on the information we gave him as that was where he was hospitalized on at least 2 occasions. When Jim told D we were moving, he texted him back and said “I love you, Jim, and your wife, too. Thank you.” Of course, we don’t know if he is OK or even alive. At some point, you have to accept you did the best you could.
“Seeing” Michael those years ago and then Christopher was important. You did the best you could on that hot day.
Now, perhaps because of drugs, covid times and the high cost of living here in the Seattle area, there are entire encampments. A lot of money has been allocated to solving this problem but it doesn’t seem to have made much of a difference. Hopefully, at least some will find relief. We will not ever feel safe approaching people living there but give to our local food bank. The best we can do right now.
Such a sad story and as I read it, I thought it's the prefect time of the year to post it. We all spend more than we should on gifts that don't last. Your caring about Michael is a gift that lasts.
Beautiful story, such a beautiful act in reaching out to these men. My heart goes out to those unhoused, unable to catch a break. Thank you for reminding us it doesn’t take but a smile, a “how can I help” to make someone’s day. Your writing is always inspiring, Mary!
As I drove into the grocery store's back entrance, a berobed mother in black was walking hand in hand with a pajamed young boy. They were clean, but walking from an unlikely pedestrian place. By the time I parked, they stood at the front door holding a little printed sign, "I have 4 children. Thank you for any help you can give us. God bless you."
I smiled at the little boy and looked quickly at his mother. This was no street person. Perhaps she was one of the illegal immigrants housed at a hotel 2 miles away via busy highways. This was the closest supermarket. Her gaze was straight and unassuming with a touch of embarrassment.
I walked by not breaking my stride. I only needed two items to buy. My thoughts whirled around in my brain, "Is she a fake? Why is she there? First time ever. Will the employees see her & turn her away?" A few aisles in an, employee stood by ready to help. I could point her out to him. No begging in my upscale suburban neighborhood.
An instant change of heart, "Do you sell gift cards?" He smiled and quickly called for a manager. The manager opened up a new register for the transaction. I felt the eyes of the long line of customers waiting their turns nearby. It was a quick transaction. I hoped he would keep the counter open for the rest of them as I went to get my two candy bars. Yes, I was only there to buy their German chocolate, a quick impulse on my way home. Thoughts of how easy it is for me to buy anything I want at this stage of my life. Memories returned of those early days of shopping with four daughters and sticking to the list.
As I left the store, I quickly turned to them. The little boy was trying to move a shopping cart to its orderly lineup. I handed the card to the woman, pointing to the dollar value on the receipt. "I have four dildren, too." She smiled, bowing her head. In a cultured British accent, "Thank you, Madam." My skeptism faded away as she looked me in the eye. I think she was genuine. Either way, I was thankful and aware of the blessings in my life.
This was beyond beautiful...and a little painful at the same time. The streets take away far too many souls who could add so much color to our world, if only the world would have given them the chance.
Your story has reminded me of my most memorable street guy who deserves a whole post of his own. I will be sure to tag you when I write it. Thanks for the inspiration 🙏
A man playing spoons at Baltimore's then vibrant Harbor Place was getting only a few coins dropped into his bucket. Lydia, 3 or 4 years old, was enthralled. He invited her to try. I stood aside as she climbed on the wall where he was sitting and after a brief lesson they were jamming together. People gathered, dropping paper money into the collection. We looked for him every time we returned to the National Aquarium or the Science Center but never saw him again.
This is not to toot my own horn, but something I have felt good about for years. I drove school bus for a rural Michigan public school years ago in an economically challenged part of our county. Most of my passengers ( cold word, maybe "riders' might be more fitting) have become lifelong friends, especially one family that started out with two riders and progressed to five....all girls. Good memories of a couple hundred kids over twenty years, and in fact, I ended up bussing offspring of my original riders.
But, the point of my story is one particular boy, maybe 7 years old. Johnny was a corker, as were many of these kids, but I made allowances for him as he lived with his grandparents and I suspect he was somewhat spoiled because of that. I also suspected him to be a bit of a "special ed" student. I soon found out that his actual problem was the fact that he had very poor eyesight corrected I'm quite sure by glasses he received received from a program, of sorts. The change in his behavior was remarkable!
A couple weeks later there was a book fair at the elementary school. I contacted his teacher and gave her some money to make sure he got a couple books as I was pretty sure there wasn't much to spare at home. I doubt he knew I had paid for the books but he sat right behind me and read aloud Clifford the Big Red Dog for the next couple weeks. Warms my heart to this day.
Years after I no longer drove bus I worked with a lady who volunteered at the school for things like the book fairs. I started giving her 20 dollars every year for the same reason I did it for Johnny. I have always thought reading was one of the most important thing in a child's life.
Sorry this took so long but if you read this far, Thank You! Gene
This was in Substack Reads? I just looked up the latest one and it wasn’t there. Perhaps they do multiple versions? Thanks for the alert. It’s lovely to be noticed.
I was going to try to forward the one I received to you, but I don't have your email address. It is dated today at 4.10 am, perhaps UK time? You're welcome to send your email to me at ar@annrichardson.co.uk. As you say, perhaps we get different things!
I have a homeless guy near me, age 60+, black, possibly once good-looking but not especially now. But he's got a wonderful smile and a quick intelligence. I give him all sorts of food - sometimes bought in the nearby supermarket, sometimes homemade soup (he once told me, every time he sees me he gets hungry). I also give him small amounts of cash.
Nearly two years ago, I told him I was about to turn 80. The next day, I was walking down my street and heard someone running after me. It was him with a bunch of red roses. He had bought them with his very valuable cash. Hard to think of anything more touching.
He says he is writing a memoir and I believe it. I once met him in the middle of winter, when it was very cold and wet and I sympathised with him living outdoors and he said "But you know what the worst of it is? I haven't written a word for three weeks!" The words of a true writer.
Ann, I love this. His memoir and the bunch of roses. Priceless.
Ann, not surprised to find you here...you and Rona seem kindred souls!
I love reading septa and octogenarian writers on substack, especially women, and Garrison Keillor. You all seem rather worldly without the need to impress anyone, though you've made impressions on me, and I thank you.
"Young enough to be my son, old enough to drag a chain of loss behind him." I first read about Christopher on your Facebook page. My heart hurts to wonder what's happened, what new links have been added to that chain. The street, as you say, is like a time warp. It ages those who live there and makes mishaps tumble into lasting changes in a speed that's hard to fathom.
Thank you for sharing this story and your heart. Your words are rendered beautifully, and the call to action timeless and priceless.
Thanks, Holly. I almost rewrote the chain of loss at the last minute, but couldn't think of a better way to say it. Glad it made sense to you.
It was the perfect word choice.
Very visual.
Amazing, amazement seeker. This is the second time that you bravely admitted something that makes you feel ashamed, a moment when you didn't rise to the occasion. The other essay: "I let her go when she could no longer play the role I had assigned her." Very beautiful and honest. We have all been there. Thanks for the reminder.
Touched that you looked back at the other essay, Julie. So heartening to receive this level of attention from a reader.
My heart ached reading this . I could see him . So many stories . But one to make you laugh a little . When I lived in D.c. there was a women who slept in a bus shelter I passed on my early morning walks . I normally ended up with a coffee for a reward for myself to enjoy when I got back home . As weeks went by and I saw It was getting colder and she was not moving nor young I thought the least I can do is bring her a coffee as she was usually waking up on my return home . So I worked up my nerve and bought an extra and approached her that day . Here , I said holding out the cup. Hello. . She sat up yawned and stretched . She took it and eyeballed me and sniffed. Hmpgh she said I prefer hot chocolate. She had a British accent and acted regal —-as if she were Queen of the World . I laughed at myself all the way home . Little Miss Goody Goody assuming I knew what she neededd or wanted . I got hot chocolate the next day. She said any muffins ? The next day I got a muffin . She left shortly after and I often think of her all these many years later . I am about her age now . There was also the time I saw a homeless man standing up ahead holding out his cup . I went by and threw in a looney . Jesus Lady what ya doing .. that’s my coffee! He was just standing drinking his coffee . He may not even have been a street person . I judged .
Seems to me you gave him everything . The time. Your caring. Not something he didn’t need so you could feel good . You did put love in action . That is it isn’t it ? We are asked to be love in action . You and your friend are those who are Love in action . What a way to meet a new friend . Thank you for this sharing . I often wonder if who shows up in our lives unexpectedly are the greatest. Teachers You inspired me today as ever . Thank you. . Love Bishop .
Dear Sheree, thank you for sharing those delicious stories. A loonie in a cup of coffee! First laugh of the day. Si good to meet you here, my friend. I’ve missed you.
"Care has a way of seeding itself like dandelion fluff on the wind." Lovely writing, Rona. And such a moving story.
I've encountered the homeless in London, Cairo, Tokyo, and pretty much everywhere I've lived. It's always heartbreaking to see and I know there must be so many sad stories behind the hopeless faces, though language has often been a barrier to knowing more. Lives can go awry anywhere, it seems.
Yes, and there are so many more since the pandemic. I was proud of that sentence about dandelion fluff. Glad you noticed.
A long one...
Thank you for sharing your feelings about what you regret. We all have those, I think. I may have commented on the original post about our encounters with a homeless man when we lived in the city. When we first moved to Chicago, we were taken aback by the number of panhandlers we passed daily. Wanting to do “the right thing”, we looked for guidance wherever we could find it. This included advice such as to give without strings attached-whatever the money may be used for it is not yours to judge. If you can’t do that, don’t give anything. We soon became acquainted with the “regulars” who had their schtick-and passed them by with a good morning or a no thank you. (It is most important to make the person feel seen, if nothing else we were told). One morning on his way to work, my husband came across a man standing by a cart, with all his belongings, by Union Station. He didn’t ask for anything but after another couple of days, my husband asked if he could buy him breakfast. From there, they developed a friendship that lasted several years-until we moved away in 2018. Jim asked him what he needed from time to time and we shopped for those items: a winter coat; gloves; socks and warm boots; personal care products-toothpaste etc. and cash on occasion. Jim took him to the Social Security office and got him a new card-also to the main library to get a library card. The Harold Washington Library has a large area with computers and he felt maybe D could look for work and other resources there-or at least come in out of the cold. Eventually, D’s sister got him a cell phone. She lived in Texas but had decided to try to reconcile whatever it was that had caused their estrangement. D was then able to communicate more efficiently. (One year, before he had a phone, just before Christmas we circled the block around Union Station several times a day for 2 days before we found him to give him his boots.). Shortly before we moved, we found out about a program at U of Illinois hospital in Chicago that was working toward finding homes for people like D-people who ended up in hospital as he did several times while we knew him. The goal was to discharge homeless people to a safe environment and thereby keeping them out of the hospital system if possible. D was the perfect candidate and we felt hopeful he would follow through on the information we gave him as that was where he was hospitalized on at least 2 occasions. When Jim told D we were moving, he texted him back and said “I love you, Jim, and your wife, too. Thank you.” Of course, we don’t know if he is OK or even alive. At some point, you have to accept you did the best you could.
“Seeing” Michael those years ago and then Christopher was important. You did the best you could on that hot day.
Now, perhaps because of drugs, covid times and the high cost of living here in the Seattle area, there are entire encampments. A lot of money has been allocated to solving this problem but it doesn’t seem to have made much of a difference. Hopefully, at least some will find relief. We will not ever feel safe approaching people living there but give to our local food bank. The best we can do right now.
Wow. Above and beyond. What a touching story.
Such a sad story and as I read it, I thought it's the prefect time of the year to post it. We all spend more than we should on gifts that don't last. Your caring about Michael is a gift that lasts.
We hardly buy any gifts now. This is one reason why.
Beautiful story, such a beautiful act in reaching out to these men. My heart goes out to those unhoused, unable to catch a break. Thank you for reminding us it doesn’t take but a smile, a “how can I help” to make someone’s day. Your writing is always inspiring, Mary!
Not Mary, but glad you enjoyed this. And yes, Mary is inspiring.
I think you realize I made a mistake...Mea culpa.
Rona...lol I meant Rona not Mary 🙃🤪
Rona, what a truly beautiful piece. Michael and Christopher live in your story, and beyond.
Thank you. I'm glad you could see them through my eyes.
As I drove into the grocery store's back entrance, a berobed mother in black was walking hand in hand with a pajamed young boy. They were clean, but walking from an unlikely pedestrian place. By the time I parked, they stood at the front door holding a little printed sign, "I have 4 children. Thank you for any help you can give us. God bless you."
I smiled at the little boy and looked quickly at his mother. This was no street person. Perhaps she was one of the illegal immigrants housed at a hotel 2 miles away via busy highways. This was the closest supermarket. Her gaze was straight and unassuming with a touch of embarrassment.
I walked by not breaking my stride. I only needed two items to buy. My thoughts whirled around in my brain, "Is she a fake? Why is she there? First time ever. Will the employees see her & turn her away?" A few aisles in an, employee stood by ready to help. I could point her out to him. No begging in my upscale suburban neighborhood.
An instant change of heart, "Do you sell gift cards?" He smiled and quickly called for a manager. The manager opened up a new register for the transaction. I felt the eyes of the long line of customers waiting their turns nearby. It was a quick transaction. I hoped he would keep the counter open for the rest of them as I went to get my two candy bars. Yes, I was only there to buy their German chocolate, a quick impulse on my way home. Thoughts of how easy it is for me to buy anything I want at this stage of my life. Memories returned of those early days of shopping with four daughters and sticking to the list.
As I left the store, I quickly turned to them. The little boy was trying to move a shopping cart to its orderly lineup. I handed the card to the woman, pointing to the dollar value on the receipt. "I have four dildren, too." She smiled, bowing her head. In a cultured British accent, "Thank you, Madam." My skeptism faded away as she looked me in the eye. I think she was genuine. Either way, I was thankful and aware of the blessings in my life.
Now, that’s what I call putting love into action. Thank you for sharing this powerful story.
This was beyond beautiful...and a little painful at the same time. The streets take away far too many souls who could add so much color to our world, if only the world would have given them the chance.
Your story has reminded me of my most memorable street guy who deserves a whole post of his own. I will be sure to tag you when I write it. Thanks for the inspiration 🙏
Please do write it. I like what you’re doing in a different vein.
A man playing spoons at Baltimore's then vibrant Harbor Place was getting only a few coins dropped into his bucket. Lydia, 3 or 4 years old, was enthralled. He invited her to try. I stood aside as she climbed on the wall where he was sitting and after a brief lesson they were jamming together. People gathered, dropping paper money into the collection. We looked for him every time we returned to the National Aquarium or the Science Center but never saw him again.
What a delightful glimpse of Lydia.
Beautiful, Rona. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks, Abby!
This is not to toot my own horn, but something I have felt good about for years. I drove school bus for a rural Michigan public school years ago in an economically challenged part of our county. Most of my passengers ( cold word, maybe "riders' might be more fitting) have become lifelong friends, especially one family that started out with two riders and progressed to five....all girls. Good memories of a couple hundred kids over twenty years, and in fact, I ended up bussing offspring of my original riders.
But, the point of my story is one particular boy, maybe 7 years old. Johnny was a corker, as were many of these kids, but I made allowances for him as he lived with his grandparents and I suspect he was somewhat spoiled because of that. I also suspected him to be a bit of a "special ed" student. I soon found out that his actual problem was the fact that he had very poor eyesight corrected I'm quite sure by glasses he received received from a program, of sorts. The change in his behavior was remarkable!
A couple weeks later there was a book fair at the elementary school. I contacted his teacher and gave her some money to make sure he got a couple books as I was pretty sure there wasn't much to spare at home. I doubt he knew I had paid for the books but he sat right behind me and read aloud Clifford the Big Red Dog for the next couple weeks. Warms my heart to this day.
Years after I no longer drove bus I worked with a lady who volunteered at the school for things like the book fairs. I started giving her 20 dollars every year for the same reason I did it for Johnny. I have always thought reading was one of the most important thing in a child's life.
Sorry this took so long but if you read this far, Thank You! Gene
Congratulations for getting this into the 'Substack Reads'. It deserves it.
This was in Substack Reads? I just looked up the latest one and it wasn’t there. Perhaps they do multiple versions? Thanks for the alert. It’s lovely to be noticed.
I was going to try to forward the one I received to you, but I don't have your email address. It is dated today at 4.10 am, perhaps UK time? You're welcome to send your email to me at ar@annrichardson.co.uk. As you say, perhaps we get different things!
Christopher was okay a couple of months ago but still has no home. Thank you for reading and taking a minute to comment.