Successful people are always looking for opportunities to help others. Unsuccessful people are always asking, “What’s in it for me?”
– Brian Tracy
I
t was an ordinary Saturday at Fenway Park in Boston. The streets were exploding with hoots and hollers. A closer look, however, revealed that no one was engaged in conversation. Men and women alike kept their eyes either on the ground before them, or focused straight ahead. Then I saw him. An elderly man was sitting alone on a stoop. Curious, I wandered over for a better look. A shiver traveled the length of my spine. Unfortunately, the temperature was not the cause of the horrible sensation.
Amidst a flowing river of Nikes and Timberland boots, the nameless man wore shoes that had worn through long ago. Dressed in threadbare rags, he held a silver coffee can in one trembling hand and his sign in the other. It read: Hungry Korean War Vet. As if already dead, the man’s yellowed eyes, sunken deep in his head, belied years of alcoholism and a gray tinge painted his somber face. I was reminded of my own sacrifices made for my country in Operation Desert Storm. At that time, I thought that my stomach might actually kick up the two hot dogs I’d just devoured.
People circumvented the man as if he were a leper. Not one person stopped to help. Obviously, it was easier to assume the man was a con artist than to find the truth in his tormented eyes. I somewhat understood. There were still many truths people did not want to know. In this case, that truth only defined a cold and uncaring society.
Other passers-by went above and beyond apathy. They were mean enough to leave behind an insult, or a laugh to stab the poor man’s heart. The vet was too old and weary to strike back at the masses. Each time a harsh word was offered him, his eyes closed briefly and then opened again as if he’d completely absorbed the cruelty.
Fifteen endless minutes elapsed and although the coffee can remained empty, I witnessed a fellow human being suffer too much embarrassment and humiliation. Whatever dignity remained was greedily and brutally stripped away by those who, somewhere along the line, were hardened and left blind.
Suddenly, another unfortunate soul captured my attention. It was another elderly gentleman; this one, confined to a wheelchair. The man slowly approached a curbstone, and then worked his chair back and forth in an attempt to clear the lip. It was no use. Determination and effort were quickly replaced by frustration and mumbled curses. Through it all, hundreds of patriotic baseball fans herded around him and proceeded on to their different ways. I stood paralyzed with shock.
As the numbness wore off, I took two steps to assist, but was one step too late. The homeless man placed his sign and empty cup on his stoop and went to help another who needed help more. My eyes filled. There was still some good left in the world. Strangely enough, it always seemed to come from those who were in desperate need of what they themselves gave so selflessly. The two shared a genuine smile, which apparently only those in - need could understand. The pauper returned to his stoop between the judgmental gaze of a million cruel eyes. I stood amazed. The same chill returned down my spine.
After placing a crisp twenty-dollar bill in the beggar’s can, I received a nod for my generosity, and then a tap on the shoulder. My brother Randy’s raised eyelids told me that he didn’t approve.
During the lengthy ride home, I explained the tragic scene and the topic led to some unusually deep discussion.
We traveled a good distance in silence. I decided that as long as my own intentions of helping were pure, then I didn’t see any risk of injury to anyone. The odds seemed better. Besides, it was one of society’s problems that more people should be taking personally. With thousands being swallowed up by substance abuse, alcoholism, unemployment and homelessness each day, it could have easily been anyone sitting on that same lonely stoop. Then, placing myself in that man’s shoes, l only hoped that someone would be kind enough to take a chance on me rather than the state’s lottery.
Reaching Fall River, Randy broke the silence with a very innocent question. Though he expected no answer, Randy asked, “Steve, don’t you ever wonder why God has given so much to so few, and so little to so many?”
Surprised that my brother’s thoughts mirrored my own, I smiled. The answer seemed so easy, so obvious. To Randy’s surprise, l responded sincerely, “I think that God has given enough. The problem is that people have forgotten how to share his generous gifts!”
Needless to say, the rest of the journey was driven in silence, the Boston Red Sox continued to lose and somewhere on a very cold stoop a needy man sat alone.
- Steven Manchester