CARLTON FLETCHER: Yeah, I’ve got my homies in low places

I may be mad at that, I’ve seen enough to make a man go out his brains.

— Elton John

Staff Photo

When I saw the guy coming, one word popped into my head.

Damn.

It had been a long week, a week filled with its share of aggravations, and I didn’t want to see this guy. Because I knew what he was going to ask me.

Don’t get me wrong, now. I like the dude. He’s actually quite engaging, and he’s probably more up to date on current issues than a large percentage of folks who spend their days working and shopping in the region’s edifices of commerce.

Big difference here, though, is this guy’s homeless. And even after I find myself involved in a stimulating conversation with him, one in which that line between a guy who goes to work each day for a living and a guy who doesn’t gets blurred virtually to nonexistence, he usually breaks the spell by asking, “Say, Fletcher, you got a couple or dollars or so I can hold?”

Most of the time I can honestly answer, “Sorry, I’m broke,” but other times I either figure he needs the money more than I do and I give it to him, or I’m left with feelings of guilt because I tell him I’m broke when I actually have some money that I need for a specific purchase.

I’m not the soft touch that I used to be — the high cost of existence takes care of that — but I do empathize with people whose life circumstances have left them broken, if not bowed. Sure, I sometimes want to ask the panhandlers, who are as much a part of city life as the snobs who ignore them and wouldn’t soil themselves by shaking one of their hands or offering an encouraging pat on the back, why they don’t look for a job instead of asking working people for their money.

But I also find myself wondering just how these individuals wound up where they are, their pride and dignity necessarily buried as they look over the working people in search of an easy mark instead of looking through the want-ads in search of employment opportunities.

I wonder what series of events in their lives conspired to leave them destitute, caught up so often in a life-or-death, one-on-one duel with nature. I wonder — and worry — about the extremes of heat and cold that we combat by bumping the thermostat up or down a notch or two, but they must somehow overcome in order to survive another day.

So, I wasn’t particularly excited to see this gentleman as he approached on what had already been a pretty lousy day. I mentally checked my wallet, deciding if I had a couple of bucks I could spare, and I decided that I wouldn’t engage in the usual song-and-dance we did before we got around to his inevitable question.

But there was something different about this man on this day. The usual good cheer that he exuded — which always surprises me, given that he is living on the streets, and a lot of people I know have every comfort a person could ever ask for and they’re some of the most miserable people I’ve ever seen — wasn’t in evidence. In fact, the guy had a look on his face that seemed more what I’d expect from a guy in his — worn and ill-fitting — shoes.

I gave him a nod, and he offered his usual greeting, only with less than typical enthusiasm: “What’s new in the newspaper business, Mr. Albany Herald?”

I started to give him a quick brush-off — sorry, got to run — but I was taken aback by his demeanor. So I broke one of my unwritten rules and asked him what was up in his world.

His answer surprised me.

“I read in the paper” — and when he said that, he nodded toward the Dumpster in the Herald parking lot, where old papers are sometimes tossed — “about that stuff going in in Houston,” he said. “Sad thing, sad thing.”

I didn’t say anything, just waited.

He continued: “I used to know some folks in Houston. Good folks. I sure hope they’re OK. That’s some ugly stuff they got going on out there.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I broke another of my rules.

“You need a couple of bucks?” I said. “I think I can spare one or two.”

He looked at me for a moment, and I’d swear I saw something in his face that I’d never witnessed before in all the times I’d seen him.

Dignity.

He pondered my offer for a couple of ticks then said something I’ll never forget: “Nah, man, I’m OK. But if you got some extra to send to the folks in Houston, that’d be pretty cool.”

Sometimes life sends us reminders to be thankful for what we have from the strangest places.

Email Carlton Fletcher at [email protected]. Follow @ABH_Fletcher on Twitter.