Last Resort
As I coasted off the highway and came to a halt at the light, there was a hitchhiker holding a cardboard sign with his dog chained to a signpost. The man, who looked to be in his mid-30s looked worn out and tired, his expression reminded me of a propaganda poster for hunger deprevation. The sign’s message, painted with shoe polish or a variant of, read:
“On the road. Need food, help or transportation.”
The man walked the sidelines, inching closer to the line of cars waiting for the light to turn green. As he approached my car my first instict was to look away, ignore his presence and forget about the issue at hand. Immediatedly I started forming my own thoughts of his situation, coming to the conclusion that he was either a traveler with a lot of hardship or a con artist scamming money from those willing to donate to his cause.
I glanced over at his companion, chained to the signpost, itching his feet and wringling in the grass. The dog, a yellow labrador, looked clean and happily wagged its tail and jumped up and down excitedly as cars passed by a few feet away.
As I pulled way from the scene I felt bad for the man and his dog and wondered what their story was. What led them to the point where a makeshift sign was their last resort, and who, if anyone, would be willing to help?
October 15th, 2004
I was faced with a similar situation about 6 months ago on a trip to visit my family. I picked up my little sister and headed to Jacksonville. When pulling off a highway onto the ramp, at the end I had to stop at the light. To my left, I see a girl, maybe in her mid 20’s, clearly homeless, with a dog at her feet. She had a sign that said she could use water or $5.00 to get a meal for her and her dog. When I was trying to think whether I should give or not, my sister handed me a $20 bill to give to her and the rest of her water. My sister is going to University of Florida, can barely pay the bills on her own, yet still managed to give to a total stranger. It made me realize what a woman she is becoming, and made me really proud.
I have been homeless once. I ran away from my dad to avoid his self-destruction with alcohol when I was in high school. I ended up dropping out, and going up north to Minnesota to stay with a friend. That didn’t work out, and next thing I know, I’m living on the streets with no money. I managed to get by everyday, and it was only the begging of my family to come back that made me leave the streets. I was homeless and slept in the streets for 4 months, and I learned a lot during that time. I was too proud to beg for help, but a few more months on the streets, and I’d break down and beg for change or scraps too.
October 15th, 2004
I only give homeless people money if their signs are witty.. I once had a guy on Coronado beg for money with a sign that said “I can’t get it up, need money for viagra.. Please donate”. My navy pal and I laughed so hard we had to donate.
By the way Erik, I think I read this story before haven’t I? I could always start writting some stuff if need be since you may not have time.. (Like honoring Christopher Reeves/Rodney…::cough::) Justa thought.
October 15th, 2004
Matt: Great story. I think we’ve all shared similiar experiences dealing with these kinds of problems in society. In fact I did a report for college that dealt with the invisibility factor, wherein society literally turns a blind eye towards the homeless thinking that might solve the problem.
Matt (brother): You’ve read this before, but I cleaned it up and posted it anew for readers that might not have read this. To me this one of my best articles, poignant and poetic. I don’t do it often, but sometimes I like to pull past articles and post them, because at one point this site was only a portal for other links — more or less a link blog. Overtime it has evolved into something else and therefore I feel some articles written several months ago fit into the overall scheme of things, if that makes any sense.
Now that you have the password, feel free to post.
October 15th, 2004
I live in St. Louis, Missouri and homelessness and/or begging is a daily thing for me. I usually don’t help unless my spirit tugs me to do so. Mostly, the only times I turn the person down is if I feel that they are simply mooching, or if they are clearly alcoholic and plan on buying liquor with the couple dollars.
There is a particular 30-ish year old woman who waits for the bus outside of the hospital I work at. She has no signboard, and nothing about her makes me think she’s mentally challenged. All she does is rudely screams out “DO YOU HAVE SOME CHANGE?!?” I used to pass her everyday without knowing she was a beggar. She screamed for some change from me one day and I was compelled to give her something. While I reached in my pocket, I noticed her still looking for potential givers. Without even acknowledging what I was doing for her, she yelled to a young lady who was walking past me.
“LADY, DO YOU HAVE SOME CHANGE?!?”
“HEY! LADY! DO YOU HAVE SOME CHANGE?!?”
This proved to me that she was simply looking for money, and not for people to help her. I gave her the money that I had and I confronted her about her approach. “You know, you shouldn’t expect people to help you if you talk to them like that,” I said. Her reply was “well, I was just asking her for change.” I sincerely told her “May God bless you,” and went on my way.
October 15th, 2004
If I can spend 40 bucks on a pair of jeans I really don’t need, I can surely spend 5 bucks on someone who looks like he/she could do with a meal.
Totally depends on what I can afford - been through a time where every buck counted, I couldn’t possibly give someone 5 bucks. Maybe a buck would be ok, but 5 bucks was MY meal back then.
If that person gets alchohol instead of food with my 5 bucks, I think he/she’s getting the bad karma, and not me.
I try to give when I can. All the good karma just comes around some day.
October 16th, 2004
I usually frequent dive bars where the drinks are hard, cheap, and well, that is all I need. Anyway, most of these places have to buzz you in because of homeless/crazies/crackho problems. My soon-to-be lawyer friend invited a bum who had snuck in for a drink at our table, just to let the poor bastard warm up a bit. The bum got kicked out, but hell, he knew it was coming, and was glad for our company.
Same bar, during the summer: another friend got hit up by a crack ho as she jumped the fence to the outside deck. Gave us a whole song and dance about how her old man beat her up and she was trying to get enough money to take the Greyhound to Des Moines, IA, to get away from him. Now, my wife (the social worker-I-go-to-court-for-meth-mothers-to-testify therapist) and I were both ready to say, “Really, well, let’s escort you to the police station up the street where they can protect you (you don’t really think we’ll believe this crap).” My friend however, who had his wallet in plain view, ripped it open and gave her a fiver. When she left, I asked him why he did it? Best answer ever: he said it was on her to do the right thing, and if scoring was what she did with the money, then karma’s a bitch, and God won’t be happy neither.
That still cracks me up.