A Guy Called Joe

I’m staying in San Francisco all week, and US Airways managed to give my suitcase the ‘special treatment’ on the way over, such that I was a little concerned about whether it would make it home in one piece. I’m not quite sure what they did to it, but the vision of seeing dirty clothes strewn all over the baggage carousel made me decide to get a new one.

Having picked one up last night (extra strong, extra light – let’s see what they do to this one), I was struggling as to what to do with the old one. It looks as if it has a lot of life left in it, just not at the hands of US Airways baggage handlers. As I’m staying in a very green and very funky hotel, recycling came to mind, but where would I take it?

The answer hit me, as I walked to a very eclectic breakfast spot (Rancho Parnassus) at Mission and 6th. For those of you who know this part of the city, there are a lot of homeless people on every corner. As I was about to cross over the street, I met Joe and two of his buddies. They were sat on the pavement, and Joe greeted me with a hearty “Good Morning!”, and when I stopped to say “hello ” back, he introduced himself. Suddenly the light bulb came on over my head, and I found myself telling Joe what had happened to my suitcase, and asking him if he could use it. Joe was very excited at the idea, so I explained that I was going to get breakfast first, but that I would come back with the suitcase. He asked when, and I said “give me an hour”. He thought for a minute before replying that he could wait that long.

After breakfast, I returned to my hotel, got the suitcase, and headed back to where I met Joe. He saw me coming, and came down the street to meet me. When I said “Hi Joe”, he broke into a semi-toothless grin, saying “you remember my name!” We shook hands, and I handed over the suitcase. As he tested out the wheels,rolling the suitcase backwards and forwards, he told me that his friends had nothing, but that he had clean underwear and that he shared it with them. He said that the case meant that he no longer had to push around his belongings in a stolen shopping cart.

He asked if he could recite a poem for me, and preceded to tell a story of meaning to call a friend but never quite getting around to it, and the hearing that the friend had died. As it ended, he encouraged me to call my friends, and I told him I would. He pulled out his cell-phone and told me that his step-brother had called him after 18 years, telling him to be careful of the tsunami.

I got ready to leave, shaking his hand again, and he told me that if I could spare $2 he could get what he needed. I asked him what that was, and he said “the truth?” I said “sure” and he said that for two dollars he could get a beer, but for three dollars he could get a large beer. Faced with a situation like that, I used to decline, but offer to buy them a sandwich or hot meal. I’ve since learned that people on the street often can’t handle the food in their stomachs, so now I try to just give them a dollar or so, but also give them my time and my respect. I reached into my wallet and gave Joe a five dollar bill.

Joe shook my hand one last time. He was probably my age or younger, but looked twenty years older. As I walked away, I turned to see him proudly showing off his suitcase to his friends.

Photo by Alex Bellink