Stephen

For the first two years that I worked at my present job, I rode my bike the roughly two miles from school to work and back on a daily basis in all weather.  Only once did I ask a coworker with a truck if he could give me a ride to my apartment at the end of the workday because the weather was so crappy.  I knew this coworker lived in the same direction and would be happy to put his son’s truck to good use by hauling my bike home for me.  When Maria and I moved farther away, I had to rely on my car to get to work and had to start renting a monthly parking space near work.

 

The first parking spot that I rented was behind a splendid, old house that had been converted into a law firm.  I parked there for a number of years.  There was a homeless man who was allowed to sleep on the side porch of the law firm as long as he was gone when the firm opened.  The man was not a drug or alcohol addict and he didn’t cause any trouble, although I would occasionally catch him taking a leak in the bushes as I drove into the lot in the morning.  I started to acknowledge this guy with a nod and, eventually, with a wave.  In time, I would make my way over to the street corner where he panhandled to give him a dollar.  He was more gracious for any company than money, though, and would talk to you until you forced an exit.

 

His name was Stephen and he slept on that porch and panhandled at that intersection for three years.  I learned a lot about Stephen in that time.  He was a Vietnam War veteran with a wife who had dementia and was living in an assisted living home.  He would get a ride to visit his wife on the weekends when he could.  As a kid, he was surrounded by a big family but he was the only one left now.  He was 19 the first time he came home from Vietnam and all he wanted was to see his dog, which died while he was away.  

Stephen had found out that he could get a monthly check from the government for being a disabled veteran, but the all the paperwork and the fact that he didn’t have an address and several other issues caused holdup after holdup.  He had someone from the Veteran’s Administration helping him, but the delays were discouraging and Stephen was getting tired of sleeping outside.

 

For nearly three years, I’d stop if I had time, give Stephen a little money and just listen to him as long as I could before ditching him.  For three years he was there and then one day he was gone.  He once told me that when his check comes in, he’s going to get donuts and bring some back for me and the guy from the VA that helped him.  He never came back, though, and that caused me to worry that something bad might have happened to him.  I’d often walk by his vacant street-corner and wonder what happened to him.  Then one day a scooter came up behind me and honked as I walked down the sidewalk toward work.  It was Stephen.  After a year, or so, he had returned.  He didn’t have any donuts, but I was almost brought to tears just knowing that he was OK.  He said that his wife had passed but he was OK.

 

His checks had started to come in and he now had an apartment just a couple of blocks away.  I didn’t see him for a couple of years after seeing him on the scooter, but I felt good knowing that he was no longer homeless.  Not only did I learn a lot about Stephen, but I also learned a lot from Stephen.  I was humbled to learn that I had some preconceived notions about homeless people that weren’t true.  I learned that homeless people are people, too.  Except for some mental issues that he picked up in Vietnam, Stephen was a normal guy who just couldn’t catch a break.  I began to pray for the homeless and have compassion.

 

Lately, I’ve seen Stephen panhandling again.  Maybe once a month I’ll see him at the corner across the street from my building.  If I see him, I go give him some money and lend an ear.  He still has his apartment, but he says that things get tight toward the end of the month.  I think that he still values my time and attention more than anything else I could give him.