The streets that take one from the train to the various office buildings gives a glimpse into the lives of the homeless residents that live in our city. Some of them appear to be in the throes of drug and drink addiction, some mentally ill (such as the man who pretends to conduct business complete with an old Wall Street Journal and some sort of earpiece), some merely down on their luck; it isn't necessary to know the hows and whys. Chicago can be a generous town. If you pay attention you'll notice that many people walking to and from their job seem to have relationships of a sort with the people who beg on our corners and bridges. Take for instance the people who stop and chat with the man on the bridge who greats everyone with a smile, sometimes a salute and shares pictures of his new grand baby. Or the woman who most mornings brings food to a man further down this same bridge. There are the guys I blogged of earlier who stand by the train and wait for the toddler to give them a smile and share a bit of affection, and the man that stands at the corner, cleanly but shabbily dressed, wishing everyone a blessed day. I have my own personal buddies. On my walk home I have the guy on the other bridge that will occasionally grasp my hand when I give him money and tells me he loves me. This interaction, along with the old guy who sells streetwise and says "have a good evening" and winks at me every night puts a spring to my step. No matter what my day is like, it is instantly better. I truly believe that these connections help you stay human.
My fellow blogger and I normally walk to work from the train together. We have formed bonds with our own special set of "on the way to work" buddies. One of them Mike, sits outside the Starbucks, calls us J and J. If we are not walking together Mike will yell "HEY J, WHERE'S THE OTHER J?". Mike is missing part a leg and seems to be a mascot for many who pass him by. Besides money, he's the recipient of coffee and food from work a day folks who stop and discuss small pleasantries which sometimes lead to insights of his life. Just like with Mike, after time, you create a bond and start to hear their story. This leads me to one of our favorites, Jeff. For years Jeff sat every morning on a bench near the Wrigley building. He had a paper, coffee and maybe food. Many people stopped to talk to Jeff as he had a story he loved to tell. He had been homeless due to drugs and drink combined with a sad childhood and lack of opportunities. Jeff worked on getting himself clean and became someone that was a strong voice representing the homeless. He talked to people passing by and even got a chance to talk with city officials. He chatted about the book he was writing and let us read it. The book is a rambling, hard to follow, bit shocking autobiography of where he'd been and where he is. My fellow blogger made copies for Jeff in hopes that he would find someone to champion his efforts. He would talk about his shoulder that needed an operation, his kids and how he was trying to mend that relationship as well as get to know his grand kids. He was a fixture of our morning and added a bit of sunshine to the day. From time to time Jeff wouldn't be on the bench, he would later explain that he couldn't get a ride from the homeless shelter, he was in the hospital with his shoulder and once or twice that he was with his kids. We rarely worried when we didn't see him day to day, however, that changed when we realized we had not seen him for a month or two. That month or two became a year, followed by another one. Often when you no longer see a homeless person in their spot it means that time has taken its toll and they've succumbed to illness or violence that is common among this group.
With a heavy heart we realized this may have happened to Jeff. One day as we walked by Jeff's bench, we came up with an alternate thought. Jeff often talked about his kids in Champaign Illinois. A few times he had visited with them and it seemed to go well. This is not always a truth you can count on when many of our homeless friends share a positive experience. Often times the positive experience, much like the claims of getting clean and sober are more of a fantasy than a reality. Perhaps a fondest wish of how they hope it can be. Many are forever waiting for the family to come save them, the job opportunity just around the corner, the invitation to a better life that is simply not going to arrive. However with Jeff, my fellow blogger and I started to depend on our fantasy that Jeff was living with his family and all was well. That he was happy, in the lap of love and thriving. The fantasy was one we had no way of proving or disproving until one day last week. A normal day, walking along the beautiful river, the sun on our faces. We look forward to walking through the plaza of the newly renovated Wrigley building, restored to its original grace and elegance. Chatting away we didn't notice the well fed older gentlemen sitting on the bench. "HEY!! HEY"! We turned to see....JEFF! He looked wonderful and healthy. Well taken care of and loved. When we asked where he had been he said "I was living with my kids in Champaign. I just re-connected with my older son, its a struggle but we're working on it". We chatted a bit, he told us he was up for a week to see all his friends he made, like us, who stop to connect with him all those years he sat on that bench. He was still working on his book and would be back when he had copies for everyone. We delighted in learning that the fantasy we constructed was very near the truth. Much like the Grinch, our hearts grew three sizes that day.
The moral of this story? Turns out, that sometimes your fantasy isn't a fantasy at all. It's hopeful reality.
