When I used to work in North Philly, I would come over the Ben. At the underpass before the vine street expressway there was a man. He sold newspapers. He was a frail, little man and his face reminded me of a poodle. He had lots of teeth missing and was pretty unkempt. We started talking one day as I was waiting for the light to change. At first, he started to talk about the weather, I drive a jeep and put the top down when it's warm, he would tell me that rain is on the way. Sometimes we would talk about the news, or just general philosophy. I found out that he had two children (he called them puppies). His daughter was in college and his son was in college to. They would come to visit at Christmas or Thanksgiving. The last few years I went that way, I would give him cigarettes (expensive mothers) and he would give me a daily news (the expense was worth it). I then used them as a lesson, put a weeks worth of front and back pages on the board and had the students put them in consecutive order. (i'm a teacher). He was like the postman, always there in rain, snow, sleet or extreme heat. If we weren't able to talk, then we would just wave to each other and smile.
Towards the end, he wasn't there all the time. He was sick and was spending time in the hospital. When he could, he would go back to selling papers under the bridge (i told my class about the man under the bridge) One day he wasn't there, nor was he there the next, or the next. I figured he probably died. They tried to replace him, but no one ever seemed to last. I missed him.
At my new school, there is a man who has asked me for spare change. I give him a couple of dollars. There is also a lady at the 7-11 by school. When I go there, she is always asking for spare change. I asked the people inside the store what her story was, they said she was taken care of, so I didn't give her money.
After years of working inner city, you get a gut feeling about what is right. I remember homeschooling a child. There was a man in the neighborhood who did something like carry the trash out, and the mom gave him a few dollars. I found that profound, a woman with nothing giving what she had. It's about dignity also, this dance between the giver and the donee. It's done with kindness and respect.
Yesterday I was at linens-n-things on Delaware Ave (because I'm old, it's all Delaware Ave, there is no Columbus Ave., just like the East River Drive is not called Kelly Drive by me!). A guy with alot of teeth missing was sweeping parking spaces. It was brutally hot yesterday. I gave him a few dollars. When I came out, he came to my car and we chatted. I told him not to get too hot, and he told me he was already hot. I looked at him, and he said "i'm a bachelor, so I'm hot". I laughed.
So what is the point of all this? I feel, and some of these impoverished elderly people are part of my life. I am part of theirs. People that are truly impoverished, do not make 35k asking for change standing in traffic and inhaling all the fumes. They are there for the sheer volume of cars and the increasing of the odds that someone will give them something. Even then, at rush hours, the majority of cars passing are the same cars every day.
I don't give out money all the time. I don't do it because it makes me feel better. I know what it is like to live paycheck to paycheck but have money in the bank and credit. Impoverished people live dollar to dollar. I do it because my giving, allows those I give to, a brief respite from whatever is ailing them. I also like giving dignity, it doesn't cost anything, and when interacting with those less fortunate, it's amazing how much deeper your interactions are. Even if those interactions only happen once.
