Homeless Santa and his Elf...

The bright color of Santa’s scarlet coat and his snowy beard stood out from the hazy blur of the distant buildings on Christmas morning, coming into sharp focus by the time I stopped at the traffic light.

My thoughts were with the freshly brined turkey sitting on the floor of the passenger side in what would become its roasting pan.

But there he was. Santa and his elf, both sitting cross-legged on the concrete, leaning up against the abandoned building that had once been a very active Blockbuster store. They were warming themselves, soaking up the bright sunshine as I passed.

Turning off at the next entrance, I circled the store, parked on one side, and approached the pair on foot.

They were lost in conversation, only looking up when I intentionally scraped my feet against the rough cement to announce my presence. Obviously homeless, the elf surreptitiously hiding something behind his back when he spotted me heading their way.

“Good morning guys, you look so comfortable there in the sunshine, I just wanted to stop and say Merry Christmas!”

We shook hands, did the introductions. Phil and Blondie, both veterans with multiple health issues that the VA won’t cover. Blondie was the talker, open, friendly. Phil was quiet, stoic in his silence, wary of my presence.

Blondies hands and face were covered with open blisters. “Ichthyosis” he explained, waving his damaged hands in my direction, inviting inspection. “It’s caused by sunlight. I have to stay in the shade.” he said as he sat there in the hot sun and boasted of his sun bleached hair from all the surfing he does. I doubted he could stand without support, much less surf.

We spoke of common experiences while in service. They claimed to have been Green Berets and Navy SEALS. I assumed they tell the same stories over and over among themselves, their fellow homeless and the passing crowd. I wondered if they believed their own stories after years of repetition.

Both guys had been in town a long time. When I asked him directly, Phil murmured, head down staring at his feet. “I’ve lived here all my life.” I think he resented my questions, resented me being there, resented all of “straight” society that so rarely treats him as an equal.

Blondie was bubbling and ready to talk all day.

I asked them for their opinion about gift bags that many groups hand out to the homeless.

“What should people put in them, toothpaste? soap? a poncho? antibacterial cream? Cans of tuna with crackers?”

“Nah, you can get that shit anywhere.” Goldie responded with an expansive sweep of his blistered hands.”

“OK, so people should just give money?”

Goldie was on a roll, eager to talk. “Nah, you know what 99% of homeless are going to do with that? Go right over to that store there and buy beer.” He said, pointing to the Gas-N-Go across the street. “Not us, but 99% are like that!”

He reeked of booze and I could hear the bottle he had tucked behind him scrape the concrete as he shifted his weight.

Knowing that I had to wrap it up and get home to put the turkey in the oven, I said “Well, I’ve got a present for you anyway.”

Before I had gotten out of my truck, I removed the folded $100. bill I keep in my wallet for emergencies.

When I first spotted the guys, I knew they were my Christmas Morning emergency.

Pulling the bill from my pocket, I carefully ripped it in half, one half for Goldie, one for Phil.

“You guys have to work together to buy what you need today. But let me ask you this. If cash isn’t the answer, and you don’t want personal care stuff like toothpaste, what do you want?”

Phil looked up for the first time and glared, hot-red into my eyes. “It’s not about what we want. It’s about what we need.” he said contemptuously.

“OK, so what do you need?” I asked
.
“A place to go.” answered Phil.

“Yes! A place to go!” Goldie exclaimed dramatically.

I had no answer for that. It’s a complex problem that most towns try to ignore with hopes that it will just go away. The cops chase them off but it’s like the stoned kids that communities hire to blow leaves off of their sidewalks, the leaves scatter one way and then simply blow right back with the next gust of wind. It’s no solution at all.

“Well, I hope that money can help to make your day a little better, although sitting here in this sunshine is pretty damn nice right now.”

“It sure is!” Goldie agreed enthusiastically.

Phil emitted a low growl.

We said our goodbyes as I headed back to my truck.

Leaving the empty Blockbuster parking lot and turning onto the main road again, I passed the guys, honking my horn as Goldie waved both hands wildly at me.

Phil sat motionless, looking down.

I knew that $100. was like giving a cookie to a starving child. The problems are way too big to be solved with just one cookie.

I wish it were that simple.