Walking the Walk

Image by Dee from Pixabay

I took a two-sided sign to the April 5 “Hands Off!” protest in downtown Chicago. One side said “Hands Off Free Speech,” with some marginalia stating that suppressing dissent is a sign of weakness, and admonitions like “Hands Off Universities! Stop kidnapping scholars!” “Support REAL Science NIH CDC NOAA!” etc.

The other side referenced how he-who-must-not-be-named got into the Bible selling business, while plainly showing that he has never read it.

Crude sign, I know, but several fellow protesters asked to photograph the Bible side of my sign.

As I was hustling from the train station to Daley Plaza, I noticed a young man sleeping in an alcove near the exit to the Madison street bridge. I wanted to do something (for God’s sake, I was carrying a sign referencing the Bible verse that says “for I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat!”) but realized I had no cash. All the fast food places in the hallway toward the exit, where I could have Google-paid for something, were closed.

As I crossed the bridge over the river toward the opera house, I passed a mother with kids, sitting on the sidewalk with a sign asking for help. That’s the same place my Dad’s “lucky panhandler” sat, and Dad was never without some change to give him. Dad was a federal defender and superstitious about court days. When he gave money to that panhandler, things usually went his way, so he never missed the chance. I thought about Dad and his jingling pockets full of change while I silently berated myself for relying on my phone to pay for stuff, which wouldn’t help that woman and her kids.

On the way back to the station after the march, I passed a veteran with a sign asking for help. I still had no cash, and the fast food joints in that block were also closed. I was still carrying my sign.

When I got to the station, I saw the young man still sleeping in the alcove. I motored across the enclosed pedestrian bridge over Canal street and saw that the Corner Bakery ahead was open, but crowded. I put my sign down against the trash and recycling bin outside the restaurant, with the Bible verse side facing out.

I needed to catch the 2:35 back home, and it was 2:05. I ordered turkey sandwich, a fruit cup, and some orange juice on the kiosk. After waiting about 7 minutes, I stepped up to the counter, where I could see a sandwich sitting in a clear plastic clamshell box, and asked a young woman behind the counter to check if that was my order, explaining that I intended to give it to a homeless guy (not to get brownie points, just because I thought it might speed things up).

She grabbed the sandwich and the fruit cup, and handed me a bag. I motored back across the bridge, down the hall and the slope toward the revolving door. The young man was still there.

I checked the bag to make sure it was my order (yes, sandwich and fruit cup, and yes, they included a spoon for the fruit, but damn, no orange juice!)

I crept close enough to stand within earshot of the young man and stage-whispered, “hey, Buddy, can you hear me?” a few times. He woke up with a start and looked at me with one eye over his shoulder.

“I got you something to eat.” I handed him the bag. Then I turned and steamed along back toward the Corner Bakery, getting all irritated that they forgot the orange juice. But when I got there I saw they had one of those coolers full of water and juices, and realized I was supposed to grab the juice myself. I did, and blew past the counter explaining that I was order number 182 and I forgot to grab the orange juice, to explain that I wasn’t stealing the juice. The woman in charge said, “turkey sandwich, right?” I said yes and kept walking. “OK,” I heard her say as I left.

The young man was walking toward me, clutching the Corner Bakery bag I gave him, with his head down and his hoodie up over it. I reached out with the bottle of orange juice, gave it to him, and said, “I forgot this. Here you go. Take care of yourself, buddy.”

He looked at me briefly. His eyes were very puffy. I think he had been sleeping there on that cold floor for a long time.

But I had a train to catch, so I spun around and walk-trotted as fast as I could back toward the station, hung a right, and went out the revolving doors to the platforms, making my sweaty way onto the train with a few minutes to spare.

I was proud to participate in the “Hands Off!” rally, but I felt stupid and hypocritical carrying that sign past multiple people who truly looked like they needed help. I went to the protest because I thought it was important to show up to add to the crowd. But I also think it’s important to take direct action to help.

I don’t think I’ve been doing well at that. I’ve been too occupied with just getting through the days, paying the bills, and jumping through the hoops necessary to keep Angelic Daughter and me afloat. But I’m determined to try to be more outward looking, and to help where I can. I can’t help every needy person I see, but at least I helped one person, directly, on April 5.

And I learned to never go downtown again without some cash in my pocket to give away.

Praying-for-the-ones-out-on-the-streets-and-knowing-there-but-for-the-grace-of-God-go I, I remain,

your tiny pebble in the pond,

Ridiculouswoman