Wanna Buy Some Magazines?

Today is one of those days where I cannot focus my mind on any one thing.

It’s been a pretty busy day so far, but is slowing a little now.

Focus, focus, focus….

Here’s a quick road-trip story. Rosie, if you remember more details feel free to add them.

During my first year at Auburn I spent a lot of time with my friends from Florence, Nick & Shawn (Rosie). Nick’s parents owned a trailer in Ridgewood Village Mobile Home Park and Rosie was his roommate. (I eventually lived across the street from Nick’s trailer). I spent much of my free time at their place watching movies, playing video games, or playing games on the computer.

These were old-school computer games (not the oldest but old school just the same.) Civilization, Wolfenstein, Leisure Suit Larry. We would sit and play these things for hours upon hours.

One Friday I ended up a their place without my car. One of them came by my apartment to get me. We went to eat or to a party or to the free movie or something, and then we ended up at their trailer.

We sat around for a while playing computer games. After a while it was late, I was tired and ready to go home. Nick had gone to bed, and Rosie was playing Civilization. Long story short, I asked Rosie to take me home, he said wait. This went on for a couple of hours.

Not long after the sun came up, Rosie agreed to take me home. We got in the car and drove toward my apartment. Rosie looked at me and said, “Let’s go to Atlanta!”

By this time, I was exhausted and I was pissed. “No way. Take me home.”

“No, we’re going to Atlanta.”

“Ha ha, that’s funny.”

We turned onto Shug Jordan Parkway toward the interstate. I continued to tell him how unfunny this joke was. I complained and whined and demanded that he take me home. He continued toward the interstate. A few minutes later we turned onto I-85 toward Atlanta.

Now the joke had gone too far. For the first few exits, I expected him to get off the interstate and take me home. He didn’t. I protested as we passed exit after exit. I sat steaming silently in the passenger seat. Then I faded off to sleep.

I awoke a couple of hours later as we entered downtown Atlanta. Rosie drove to Underground Atlanta and parked in the parking deck.

It was about 10 in the morning. I was in a little better mood after my nap. I don’t remember a lot about that day. I know we walked around Underground for a while. We walked up to the Hard Rock Café. We might have walked to the CNN Center.

One part of the day stands out in my memory, and made the entire trip worth it.

The walk to Hard Rock took us through Woodruff Park. As we passed through the park, we encountered several of Atlanta’s homeless. On the way out we did our best to avoid them. When we returned to Underground we passed through the park again. We tried to hurry through the gauntlet of beggars. We didn’t make it through.

A disheveled, dirty African-American man stepped in front of us. His clothes were filthy. His hands were hard and calloused. His scraggly beard was mostly white, in stark contrast to his dark skin. His musty odor preceded him by a few feet. He was either 40 or 65, his hard life made it impossible to know.

I can’t speak for Rosie but I, being 18 or 19 years old, was scared to death. I was frozen in place.

After only a second or two he spoke, “You boys wanna buy some magazines?”

“No thanks!” I started to walk away.

Rosie grabbed my arm. I heard him ask, “How much?”

I sighed and resigned myself to the situation.

“Five dollars each. We gotta sell them for the shelter. If we don’t sell magazines, we can’t stay.”

Rosie and I each bought a magazine or two. I looked at the copy of Popular Science in my hands. It was published 2 years prior. Relieved the encounter was over I shrugged it off and began to walk away. Then the man (I’ll call him Ben) spoke again.

“Where you boys from?”

Rosie stopped and answered. Upon hearing we were from North Alabama, Ben’s face lit up.

“I used to live in Huntsville! I worked at Boeing as an engineer.”

Rosie asked the same question that bounced through my mind, “How’d you end up here?”

Ben proceeded to tell us his story. He lived in Huntsville with a wife and kids. Worked as an engineer for Boeing. Then he started taking drugs, eventually got addicted. It cost him his job, his family, his home, his life. Now he lived on the streets of Atlanta trying to sell enough second hand magazines to stay in the homeless shelter.

We ended up talking to Ben for at least an hour. Listening to him tell stories of his fall from grace. After our talk we wished him luck and went back to Rosie’s car. As the sun began to set, we headed west toward home.

We drove, as far as I remember, silently all the way back to Auburn.

That night, when I finally got to bed, I thought about the day. I’d had a good time, in spite of my protestations. I thought about Ben. I hoped he’d sold enough magazines that day to sleep in the shelter.

I was thankful for the experience of meeting him. I had learned something, I just wasn’t sure what. I thought about it for a long time.

Eventually I fell asleep.

I’m not sure if I learned anything that day. Maybe not even a month or a year later. But the experience stayed with me. Stays with me actually.

Ben was the first homeless person I’d ever interacted with. I’d seen them in New York and in Atlanta. Probably in Florence. But I’d never talked to any of them. I’d never listened to them. I’d always thought of them, and treated them, like hobos. Nothing more. They were simply a nuisance to be stepped over, and ignored if possible.

Ben taught me that these were real people. With real stories. Tragic stories. They were more than dirty clothes and unwashed hair. They were fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters. Full of guilt and regret. Living life one day at a time.

I try to remember that now as I live my life one day at a time.