These are the People in your Neighborhood
I don't think we give enough credit to the nameless people who play an important part of our daily lives. We've all got these people in our lives, it's just a matter of identifying them.
There are two specific people I can think of, from the time I lived in Portland:
One was a bus driver that frequently drove the late-night run on the bus route I took home from my first post-college job. At least one night a week I'd work late and take the bus home. The apartment at the time was on the fringe of the medical school and state-run hospital. During rush hour the route ran further, but late nights it would circumnavigate the campus and then terminate, so I was often the last passenger on the bus. Joining me on the bus would often be a colorful selection of characters sans insurance making their way to the emergency room for medical care. I knew this bus driver by appearance, but didn't know that he had ever noticed me as a passenger. One night there was a particularly fragrant character on the bus who disembarked at the emergency room. The bus driver then proceeded to pull a can of Glade Air Freshener out of his bag and spray the bus. I was the only passenger left, but he turned around and asked me if I could handle the stench. I laughed and assured him I was fine. A minute later I pulled the cord to signal my stop, and his response was, "I know where your stop is." We had formed a bond, and I was always thankful when I had him as my driver because I knew someone would be looking out for me.
The other person is a double-amputee vet who has a guitar and spends most of his days with a guitar and a collection hat, sitting in his wheelchair, on the north side of SW Morrison between Broadway and 9th. I would walk by him at LEAST once a day in my wanderings between home, work, and running around town. I have a strict no-donation policy when it comes to panhandlers, but what I will do is make eye contact, smile, and say "Sorry." I may not give money, but at least I'll give respect. With this fellow it had turned a routine - I'd smile and raise my eyebrows at him and he'd smile back with a nod of his head. Except sometimes there were days when I would be too tired, stressed or distracted to acknowledge him. Usually he'd say something like, "Hey, smile!" Normally someone telling me to smile is guarantee I won't be smiling anytime in the near future, but with this guy it always got a smile from me. It was a reality check. Because as tired, stressed or distracted as I might be I had a home and a job and could walk down the street. Count your blessings and all that.
This is an intrinsic part of the web of community that extends through all of us. Maybe even more important are the common threads that tie us all together.
Portland has Elvis. He's a homeless guy who dresses in an Elvis jumpsuit and carries a cardboard guitar. Most weekends you can find him at Saturday Market singing Elvis songs WAY out of tune. I know at least once he participated in the Starlight Run. I don't think he was an actual participant, probably just running the course, but he got the loudest cheers of anyone that night. You mention Elvis to a Portlander and they'll know who you are talking about.
Bellevue has the dancing lady. She wears a sandwich board and stands on a street corner to entice folks to frequent a particular business. But, instead of just standing there with a bored expression on her face she dances. She has got her GROOVE going on. She used to dance for a mattress store on the corner of 148th and 24th. Now she dances for a wine wholesaler off Northrup near 130th. Again, you mention the dancing lady and people know who you mean. Often they can recount other random encounters with the dancing lady while out and about, and it seems she is always dancing whatever else she may be doing.
How wonderful is it that we have this people to help form an instant bond with others. Regardless of how different we may be we can still share the common experience of Elvis and the dancing lady.
As the sibling of a somewhat marginal member of society this makes me thankful. My brother may never have a job, a mortgage, a wife and kids, or the white picket fence in the suburbs. But that doesn't mean he's not an important member of society. I'm quite confidant he's a nameless force in someone else's life, and for that I am thankful.
The Moral of the Story: Happy (belated by one day) Birthday big brother.
There are two specific people I can think of, from the time I lived in Portland:
One was a bus driver that frequently drove the late-night run on the bus route I took home from my first post-college job. At least one night a week I'd work late and take the bus home. The apartment at the time was on the fringe of the medical school and state-run hospital. During rush hour the route ran further, but late nights it would circumnavigate the campus and then terminate, so I was often the last passenger on the bus. Joining me on the bus would often be a colorful selection of characters sans insurance making their way to the emergency room for medical care. I knew this bus driver by appearance, but didn't know that he had ever noticed me as a passenger. One night there was a particularly fragrant character on the bus who disembarked at the emergency room. The bus driver then proceeded to pull a can of Glade Air Freshener out of his bag and spray the bus. I was the only passenger left, but he turned around and asked me if I could handle the stench. I laughed and assured him I was fine. A minute later I pulled the cord to signal my stop, and his response was, "I know where your stop is." We had formed a bond, and I was always thankful when I had him as my driver because I knew someone would be looking out for me.
The other person is a double-amputee vet who has a guitar and spends most of his days with a guitar and a collection hat, sitting in his wheelchair, on the north side of SW Morrison between Broadway and 9th. I would walk by him at LEAST once a day in my wanderings between home, work, and running around town. I have a strict no-donation policy when it comes to panhandlers, but what I will do is make eye contact, smile, and say "Sorry." I may not give money, but at least I'll give respect. With this fellow it had turned a routine - I'd smile and raise my eyebrows at him and he'd smile back with a nod of his head. Except sometimes there were days when I would be too tired, stressed or distracted to acknowledge him. Usually he'd say something like, "Hey, smile!" Normally someone telling me to smile is guarantee I won't be smiling anytime in the near future, but with this guy it always got a smile from me. It was a reality check. Because as tired, stressed or distracted as I might be I had a home and a job and could walk down the street. Count your blessings and all that.
This is an intrinsic part of the web of community that extends through all of us. Maybe even more important are the common threads that tie us all together.
Portland has Elvis. He's a homeless guy who dresses in an Elvis jumpsuit and carries a cardboard guitar. Most weekends you can find him at Saturday Market singing Elvis songs WAY out of tune. I know at least once he participated in the Starlight Run. I don't think he was an actual participant, probably just running the course, but he got the loudest cheers of anyone that night. You mention Elvis to a Portlander and they'll know who you are talking about.
Bellevue has the dancing lady. She wears a sandwich board and stands on a street corner to entice folks to frequent a particular business. But, instead of just standing there with a bored expression on her face she dances. She has got her GROOVE going on. She used to dance for a mattress store on the corner of 148th and 24th. Now she dances for a wine wholesaler off Northrup near 130th. Again, you mention the dancing lady and people know who you mean. Often they can recount other random encounters with the dancing lady while out and about, and it seems she is always dancing whatever else she may be doing.
How wonderful is it that we have this people to help form an instant bond with others. Regardless of how different we may be we can still share the common experience of Elvis and the dancing lady.
As the sibling of a somewhat marginal member of society this makes me thankful. My brother may never have a job, a mortgage, a wife and kids, or the white picket fence in the suburbs. But that doesn't mean he's not an important member of society. I'm quite confidant he's a nameless force in someone else's life, and for that I am thankful.
The Moral of the Story: Happy (belated by one day) Birthday big brother.
posted by Swankette at 4:25 PM
2 Comments:
I lived near Venice, CA for several years, and there were people who I "knew" by site -- from the Boardwalk, certain restaurants, etc. and everyone else knew them, too. It is interesting to think how we're all so interconnected....
There's a Metro train driver in DC who takes an incredible pride in his work. He's jsut got a beautiful latenight radio announcer voice and every stop is clearly and proudly announced, and every few stops you an absolutely genuine good wishes for a pleasant day or evening. Being on his train made me smile, and I was thrilled when he was doing the Red Line runs during my commute. I always tried to wave to him and thank him when I got off his train. Making a trip back a few years ago and hearing him again just about made my whole trip.
Happy birthday to your brother!
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