 Huntington, West Virginia $12.67; one veggie sub toasted on wheat, one ham & cheese plain toasted on sourdough, chips, two drinks, 2 cookies. Outstanding. I stand accused of being part of humanity's problem. It was a hot summer day in 1939. It could have been '40, '42, or any year between 1938 and 1952. The kids were out playing and Malvery was cooking at the stove. 'Mom....here comes another tramp across the field!' Of course, the kids always remember that they would later get a stern admonishment. 'They aren't tramps. Those are 'men' traveling around. Down on their luck.' That didn't change the fact that her face would show fear as well as sorrow. But she never turned them away. A 'man' coming across the field would trigger a flurry of activity. 'Run to Asberry's closet and get some shirts!' 'Put the last night's leftovers in that container.' 'Pour a big cup of water!' She would always have a stockpile of old utensils, plates, cups, old clothes and other things saved up. If the old clothes were gone, well Asberry might just come home and not be able to find a particular shirt. Most were nice, some wouldn't say many words, and others would say they were from some big city, often Baltimore. Sometimes they would sit in the yard or on the hill looking over the house, but mostly they just walked away while eating. One thing was always certain, they would arrive from the train track by climbing the fence then walking across the field and would always leave by going down the sidewalk toward the main road. The wonder of why each man had this same pattern wasn’t lost upon them. So, if I am guilty of being part of humanity's problem, I come across it naturally through the blood of my grandmother. When on my photography strolls, I put a dollar in my pocket and in a few blocks it's usually gone. I know there's better ways to help the problem, but this is what I do even though I know where the money is going. One gentleman named Pappy summed it up best while we stood by the river and talked for a good while. 'I've been sittin' here thinkin' about just how I could quit (drinking)....I don't want to go to the hospital...' Take a bit of mistrust in the system, add a good dose of mental disorders, and top it off with addiction- well you have a problem that's not much different than my grandmother faced 70 years ago. Help is there, but it most often doesn't solve the problem, it just moves it around. (I might add that I think there is some difference between her homeless and those of today, notably the type of person that prefers to be transient vs part of a stationary homeless community.) The thing that has changed, though, is when I pass that dollar bill I now both think of my grandmother's compassion and also of being accused of guilt. Is it right? I don't know, so I fully respect if you have another opinion. (We now believe that my grandmother lived in a marked house. Back in the days when the homeless traveled the tracks, there was an elaborate system of traffic signs that guided them to places of refuge and compassion. If you would like to learn more about that, here is a good source at : Fran's Hobo Page ) Comment (5) | Permalink |
4x6photo.com | License plates, Huntington, West Virginia | 04 August, 2005
