Mickey Z

Cool Observer

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

His manifest erosion

Once upon a time...

At the top of the Grand Central Station stairs sat a homeless man. Way back, when I endured the only office gig I’ve ever had, I saw him asking for money near the #7 train. He was about 50-55 and claimed to be a Vietnam vet (if everyone who claimed to be a Vietnam vet was authentic, the U.S. must have had about 10 million invaders over there).

As the months turned into a year, the Vet was at the same spot every single day. I watched him progressively waste away. The Vet lost at least 40-50 pounds…his skin color turned a sort of grayish tone…he barely had the strength to hold up his tattered coffee cup.

It’s pretty shocking to witness a human being’s demise on a daily basis especially when you’re watching him along with thousands of others…most of us contributing to our own demise by submitting to suicidal 9-to-5 (more like 8-to-8) grind.

Even with his manifest erosion, I only started regularly giving the Vet money after a specific incident. The Vet was seated on a milk crate a little nearer to the turnstiles than usual. An extremely large cop noticed this. He approached the Vet with that annoying police swagger we all know and hate…brusquely ordering the poor man to move. The Vet meekly voiced his protest and this massive man in blue loudly and inarticulately bellowed: “Don’t make me put my hands on you, man, ’cause if I do, you’re gonna get hurt.”

This pathetic moment—essentially ignored or unseen by my fellow passers-by—spurred me to immediately adopt the Vet as my own personal cause. I started giving him money the next time I saw him…and went as far as making up regular packages that included underwear, socks, food, and new signs to help his begging.

For some reason, he never used the signs I gave him.

The End