I remember a young man I had the pleasure of meeting back in 1986. He was a young man, 23. I seem to recall he was a nice looking young man, that is to say he was not unpleasant to look at. He wasn't really tall, neither am I, but I believe I stood slightly taller. His skin was very pink, and fair. He was raven haired, with dark eyes, and shoulders wide and strong. A nice young man. Homeless; his name was Larry.
Larry and I met in Sycamore Grove Park, late one night, when hardly anyone is there at all. But there are a few fellows who enjoy a night time stroll through the municipal park in Highland Park, for whatever reason. I like the fresh, night time air.
Just above Griffith Avenue, directly opposite the soccer field and pedestrian bridge, there is a narrow trail leading up to where the Audubon Society Building is. There is a small clump of trees, and that is where I saw this stripling standing. I say stripling because even in the soft, mystical glow of moon light, I could plainly see that he was but a youth. Never the mind I thought, as he lit a cigarette, and told me his name. We chatted awhile. i tried to tell a few light hearted stories and perhaps a suggestive joke, or two. Then we walked up a space, to where the dirt road widens and starts to turn, and head up toward the lake. There is another foot path that leads down to a small sort of gully, with soft,green grass. That is where we sat and talked a little more. I learned much from the lad, and hope as an older fellow I was able to mentor him in a positive way. I am concerned with the youth of today, after all.
He was a laid off tradesman. I met plenty of them on the street. Laid off roofers, laid off wall hangers and framers. This was in the middle of Reagan's war on the poor, remember. Most of us homeless then were young men. I met young, homeless veterans like myself. Later, after Reagan's Amnesty of South of the boarder, for hire cheaper, Illegal Alien Laborers, Clinton's so-called Welfare Reform would put all these homeless children and mothers, women; you see, young and old, into the street. And cities like Phoenix, with absolutely no rent stabilization laws what so-ever would start to price every poor person they can into the street. But this is when "Homelessness" hadn't been entered into the American Lexicon. We were still street people, or even bums, later we would be made fun of on American T.V as bag ladies and crazy people (How long would it take you being on the street, before you went loco, do you suppose?). I left that young man ( we parted at the end of the long road that runs up towards the avenue 52 off ramp of the Pasadena Freeway) with a calm, happy, satisfied feeling of contentment, having met a worthy, new friend. But I left a bitter sweet sadness too.
For somehow I sensed the meaning in this encounter, the historicity of it, if you will. And after I made my way back to camp, I prayed if it be God"s will he let me live long enough to see Reagan dead and buried, so I could curse his grave, knowing he was rotting in hell for what he and the neo-cons had wrought upon our land..