Upon Finding Fame
My interest in the homeless grows. It seems they are everywhere, yet nowhere. They populate the green belts and underpasses of our expressways. A persistent reminder of a social responsibility that creates an intellectual and emotional conundrum for us. It seems that we keep unsuccessfully attempting to apply some whack-adoodle curative model or another. I understand the practical imp lications of these approaches, but I cannot blend them with our moral obligations. They just aren’t working.
I have a good friend, Dave Walker, who spent a full career in the Tulsa Police Department and polished off with a stent running the homicide division. Because of his position, he found himself with a regular and recurring role in the true crime television program, The First 48.
Now retired, Dave speaks to various groups over the region and is developing a creative mission that involves playing catch. Yes, ‘catch’ as in with two gloves and a baseball.
Although I am now in a stage of life I label as “wobbly,” Dave and I recently played catch in my backyard. Giving myself a narcissistic self-appraisal, I performed admirably. I believe my friend is on to something and I will write more about it soon.
Dave recently spoke to a group in Springfield, Mo. Having made the drive, he pulled into a convenience store for relief and a beverage.
Pulling into a parking space, he noticed a man staring at him. Based upon the man’s clothes and demeanor, Dave judged him to be homeless. The man moved in the direction of his car, Dave concluded he was about to be panhandled. He promptly exited his car and went into the store. He did what needed to be done and returned to his car. The potential panhandler was nowhere to be seen. Dave started his car and eased toward the street.
BANG! BANG! BANG! The knock on the passenger window was staccato terse and quite unexpected. The face of the homeless man smiled at him through the window. Dave cracked the window.
The man asked, “Are you the guy from The First 48?”
Almost hesitant, Dave responded, “Yes.”
“I thought it was you.” A larger smile broke his face.
The man continued, “Oh, I watch it all the time. I’m a big fan of yours.”
The man was indeed a fan, homeless, but a fan. During the ensuing conversation the inquisitive man recounted episodes and crimes, asking insightful and probing questions.
Behind them a car honked, realizing he had some vehicles delayed, Dave concluded the conversation, and drove away.
A couple of blocks away, a Mother Teresa thought invaded Dave’s mind. “I should have visited longer, been more – well, more something.”
“Could I have truly made a difference? Would it have made any difference? If I talked with him longer, I could have made him feel more important than some goober honking behind me.”
“Why don’t I feel better about this? I did talk to the guy.”
Such moments pass us by. Unclaimed. Unutilized. Unrecognized until it is too late. Do opportunities repeat themselves?
Oh well, next time. Maybe.
One of the greatest diseases is to be nobody to anybody. - Mother Teresa
