Of course

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

A Little Help....

I've never told anybody about this, but I'm going to now because I think it raises some interesting questions.

Every now and then, I go into downtown Chicago. There are some stores I like to go to, there are some interesting things to see at Millennium Park; I can spend hours just walking around doing nothing, when the weather’s right.

There's an old black man who has a spot on Michigan Avenue, between Washington and Randolph, on the west side of the street. He's hard to miss; doesn't look very healthy, carries a cane, shakes a plastic cup (looks like it might have come from one of those White Hen or 7-11 fountain drinks) with change in it. He never yells at anyone when they walk by, as a lot of the other "panhandlers" (for lack of a better term) will do.

Despite his frailty, he exudes a sort of quiet dignity. I imagine he's seen a lot in his life, much of it not pleasant, but he manages to haul himself out to his spot, good weather or bad.

I started dropping a few dollars into his cup whenever I'd see him, and I've occasionally wondered just why I do it. I'd like to think it's just an empathetic reaction to seeing a man down on his luck, a man who needs a little help. But that can't be all there is to it, because the Loop is full of people sitting on corners, standing around, leaning against buildings, wailing their misfortunes loud and long to whoever will (or even won't) listen -- people begging for money, and I rarely give any to anyone other than this one particular gentleman. He somehow has become "my" guy, the one I feel good about helping.

So maybe I'm actually doing it more for myself. That's the part that worries me. I don't care about the money; my financial situation is as good as it's ever been, maybe as good as it will ever be. A few bucks here and there really doesn't make any difference....to me.

Maybe it does to him. I don't really know.

I always say hi to him, ask him how he's doing today, that sort of thing. And he's always very polite and appreciative, but he doesn’t act like I’ve done anything special for him, and I don't want him to. I want him to keep his dignity. I want him to understand that, just because I've put a little money in his pocket, that doesn't make me think I'm better than him; if things had turned out a little bit differently five or ten years ago, who knows? -- our positions could have been reversed.

So much of this stuff is "luck of the draw," coincidence, who you know, who you meet at what point in your life. Things happen, other things don't happen, and one day you wake up and ask yourself, "How did I wind up like this?"

A lady on the street saw me giving him some money one day, and she walked up to me and whispered, "You really shouldn't be helping these bums. You know whatever you give him, he'll just go spend on booze."

And I thought about that. And I'm about as vehemently anti-alcohol as you can get and still live in this country, but I finally decided, in the long run, I don't care what he spends it on. If he uses it to get himself drunk, well, as long as being drunk gives him some pleasure, some relief, some rest, some peace of mind, then I'm OK with it.

Because I'm in no position to judge. He's who he is, and I don't know his life, his history, his tragedies and triumphs. All I know is the man I see today, and that man needs a little help.

I'm not in a position to put him in a clinic, to pay for a kidney transplant, to buy him a shiny new house in Flossmoor. But maybe I can do something to make his day a little brighter on occasion.

Hey, once in awhile we all need a little help....