From the front passenger’s seat of my friend’s car, I noticed a man running down the sidewalk. Washington Street was busy on this Saturday afternoon as my friend piloted us westward toward our meeting at our favorite cidery, and the man was galloping gamely, dodging slow-moving pedestrians, and ignoring stop lights. At the corner of Washington and Emerson Street, the man ran against the light; one car narrowly missed him. Just west of Emerson there is a bus stop, and it became obvious to me what the galloping man was attempting to do: Catch the Number 8 bus.
When I was a newlywed and living in Pittsburgh PA., I worked in the display department of a downtown department store. My bride and I were walking and shopping near the store when we passed a man sitting in the recess of a closed banking institution. Just as it is everywhere, Pittsburgh’s downtown sees people of reduced circumstances soliciting funds from passersby. The art school that I attended was downtown, and one of my high school friends attended the Art Institute of Pittsburgh with me. He also gave away any money he had when he passed someone who asked for it, and I would share my lunch money with him. I had become more resistant to the pleas, but on this day, the man, his cracked and peeling bare feet extended toward the passersby on the street caught my bride’s eye, and when she saw him, she turned toward me, mutely asking that we be kind. I sighed, and placed some money in the man’s hat. Things got interesting after that. The man asked if I could get a jitney (illegal taxicab) for him, and when it arrived, I helped him into the car. The man gave the driver his destination and then said, (referring to me) “He’s got this.” I spun away from the car and my bride’s sad eyes told me that I would, indeed, get that. I paid the man’s fare. My bride was happy, and I assume that the man was, also.
On the recent afternoon on East Washington Street, I watched the running man reach for the Indygo Number 8 bus; his hand appeared to be inches away from the back of the bus as it pulled away. The man bent over, his hands on his knees. My friend said to me, “Let’s help him.” We stopped, and I climbed from the car to ask the man where he needed to go. He told me, I opened the rear passenger door of my friend’s car, and we took him to the IndyGo bus terminal. He thanked us, and went into the terminal.
Do some good. The grand and glorious things do not always have the greatest impact. My friend Paula Nicewanger’s impulse to help a running man probably had a positive impact on his life. My first bride’s gift of passage to the man on the street was “some good, done.” She is currently looking for agencies and associations to whom she can donate the business clothes that she no longer needs. My second bride used to take our young children to the Wheeler Mission on Thanksgiving to help serve dinner. These gifts may seem small but have a large impact. Give a gift. What may seem small to you, may be large to the recipient. One of my favorite poems is by James Wright. “A Blessing,” ends with “Suddenly I realize / That if I stepped out of my body I would break / Into blossom.”
Do some good, and perhaps — you will break into blossom.
cjon3acd@att.net