By Matt Jones design/feature editor If you are like me, you see them every day: a homeless man sleeping on the streets or a beggar pleading for your last few bucks. Normally, I pay little attention and try to avoid interaction. Not knowing their situations or their personal experiences, I often go on about my business and justify my actions because of concerns with safety. However, my weak justification slowly melted when I met John. I was driving from Missouri to Texas, returning from Spring Break. After a long week on the road and an unexpected funeral of a close friend, I was tired and just wanted to stop for gas. But halfway through my eight-hour drive, I was starting to go crazy driving alone and simply wanted to rest. I refueled and grabbed a soda for the road. It felt good to finally stretch my tired frame and get out of the car. I made my way back to my little blue Corsica and got behind the wheel. Back on the road, I slid my sunglasses up off the tip of my nose and lit a cigarette. It was then that I first saw John.
Internal struggle He sat slouched on one knee with his thumb stretched out against the sun. Long, blond locks were tucked neatly behind his Cincinnati Reds cap. A black-and-brown burlap bag lay beside him on the shoulder of Exit 248, just west of downtown Tulsa. I turned away and tried not to notice him. I rolled down the ramp slowly but could not help looking. Deep blue eyes pierced through the glass, and soon, I was staring into the face of a stranger: a man traveling on the road of life. His eyes and face revealed a life of hardship and physical labor. Perhaps in his early 20s, his aged skin was dry and leathery. Every instinct told me to keep driving, but my left foot reached for the floor. "How could I leave him there?" I thought. "He looks seemingly hopeless. Surely, I can help." With a slight tap of the brakes, I pulled cautiously to the right side of the road and watched his every move as he sprung to his feet and grabbed his bag.
Getting to know him He wore a torn green T-shirt and black work pants. He had a small tattoo of an eagle in flight on his upper left shoulder. He had brown leather construction boots and an Army jacket tucked under his right arm. Soon, he peered into my passenger window. I reached across and rolled it down. "Where you headed?" I asked. "I'm not really sure," he replied. "I hear Texas is nice this time of year, and I can get a job on an oil field." "Gotta name?" I asked. "Don't we all," he said as he bit his bottom lip hoping that I would enjoy his sarcasm. I did. I offered to take him to the downtown Fort Worth bus terminal, where he could then find a place to sleep and make calls to possible employers. Silence filled the car for the first minute. I didn't know what to say or what to ask. I didn't want to seem intrusive, but my imagination was already conjuring up images and stories of his life.
Rocky road traveled "Where you from?" I asked. "Here and there," he said. "I learned the road early, and it has been my home ever since." John told me of his childhood and how it often prevented him from ever staying in one place for long. His father left when he was 3, and his mother often moved from town to town in hopes of starting over each time. John said he learned the importance of work by watching his mother often work several jobs while trying to provide a home for him. At 15, John quit school to work for an uncle at a service station. He said he couldn't stand sitting in a classroom all day with other people who couldn't stand being there either. Money being tight, he said it made more sense at the time to work. A year later, John hopped on a train and left his mother and uncle behind. He was young and free and had heard there were jobs out west on railroads and oil fields for any man willing to work.
Friendly philosophy This was his first time alone on his own. He said he often learned the hard way that life isn't easy. "You make mistakes," he said. "Everyone does. You have to look at every experience as one to learn from. Despite how bad things seem, you are a better person having lived through it and learned from it." John wakes each day with the sun and said life is only what you make of it. John said although he is not a religious man, he has a lot of respect for the church. "It gives people hope and a reason to carry on when things are hard," he said. "It also gives people the compassion and generosity to help people like me every once in a while." I remembered my original hesitation for stopping and apologized to John. He smiled and said he understood. "Man, you never can tell out here," he said. "You just have to hope that a person is going to treat you as a friend and not a stranger on the street." As we slowly made our way to Fort Worth, John continued to tell me story after story. He told me how he taught himself to read by spending hours in public libraries. John said even though he never finished school, he hopes to continue his education if he ever settles down long enough.
Open road optimism John didn't know what to think when we crossed the Texas state line. This was his first time in the state since he was a child. He sat quietly and absorbed his surroundings. After a minute or two, he lifted his head and smiled. "Things are going to be just fine," he said. "Once I get set up here, I may just stay awhile." John had two phone numbers in his left pants pocket. One was to a close friend in Kansas, and the other was to a worker's union. John said the union hired willing hands to do physical labor on oil fields. John expected to be working by the end of the week. He knew the work would not be easy, but it paid well considering his circumstances. He spent almost two years at a similar job in Oklahoma. He left after a fight with another employee. However, John was a gentle man. Beneath the muscular frame and dirty clothes was a man who laughed and smiled. He said he usually tries to avoid conflict and simply wants the best for his life.
Goodbye to newfound friend "When it is all said and done, I want people to know that I tried," he said. "I want people to know that I gave it my all." As we arrived at the edge of town, John thanked me for the ride and told me that he would never forget what I had done for him. I couldn't help but think the same about him. As unexpected as he was, John reminded me that not everyone is on the same journey in this world. As we parted, I gave him my number in case he ever needed anything. It wasn't until I drove away that I realized I would probably never see John again. However, there was no sadness. I had met a man who walked beside me in this world. I had taken the time to stop and listen to a stranger, who later became a friend. Looking back, I can still see him sitting there, slouched on one knee with his thumb stretched out against the sun. John was free. For a man that seemed to have nothing, he sure seemed to have a reason to smile.
Matt Jones |
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