Episode 9: From the archives (2012): The kindest man in Norfolk

Riding the train to Norfolk, VA from Cincinnati means riding the Cardinal as far as Newport News, and riding a thru way bus ... which is generally just a Greyhound, but sometimes it's one of those Miller tour buses like the boomer crowd rides in group tours to Branson, Missouri.



There is a train station in Norfolk, but it's limited to military use... which was the case in 2012, when the events of this story took place, and it's still the case today.



I was riding out in late January to visit my daughter, who was still in high school then, so I could tell her in person that my marriage to the woman she had known as her stepmother for most of her life was dissolving. It seemed too important a conversation to have over the phone, and I didn't want her to find out on Facebook.



The wind was brisk where the bus left me, right off Ocean View near the abandoned Union Mission. I knew the mission had only recently closed, but I imagined that it was handy for itinerant travelers, such as myself. The new Union Mission was in an old YMCA closer to the center of downtown... which put it further from where I was, but also further from any potential tourists and the money set who crowded to Ocean View when it wasn't winter. And I didn't know exactly where to go, either. My plan to call the Catholic Workers fell through because their beds were full. I had enough money for maybe a night or two in a questionable and anonymous motel... which there are plenty of in Norfolk. I wanted to have some idea of where I was sleeping before I reached out to the Kid, but I also had a sense of urgency for my task. I was chased out of Mount Carroll, Illinois ahead of a blizzard that almost overtook me in Chicago and nearly got me stuck in Cincinnati longer than I planned. The weather was pushing me, and I couldn't escape the sensation that if I didn't go ahead and complete my mission in Norfolk that it would just overtake me there and push me into the Atlantic.



I've never liked Norfolk. It's an ugly, gray, institutional looking city. It's pretty much what you'd expect from a DOD town almost entirely dependent on the military to support what amounts to a service economy.



I reached out to her mother and tracked the Kid down at school, and she agreed to meet me at a KFC on a bus line convenient to us both. As I was walking that direction, towards a gas station, I was hailed by a tall black man in a long wool winter coat. He asked if I had a dollar so he could catch the bus. I told him I didn't. I knew by looking at him that he was living out. His jeans were baggy and the legs were rolled almost to his knees. The coat looked new and warm and his shoes looked like he was about to walk out of them.



Hey, he said. You got a dollar so I can get a pack of cigarettes?



Look, I said, pointing to my pack. I just got off the bus and am still trying to figure out what I'm doing. If I had it, I'd give it to you, but right now I'm wishing I had a spare dollar for a pack of smokes.



I don't know why I was so honest with him. I hadn't articulated that much about my journey to anyone, really. And if I were listening to anyone else tell this story, this would be the point at which I'd cringe... if only because oversharing on the road can sometimes be dangerous. I thought he was harmless, but did I really trust my instincts that much? All I wanted to do was see Stella, find a place to sleep, and maybe find a bottle. In that order.



The man's face brightened immediately. Oh, he said. You want a dollar? He reached into his right coat pocket and brought out four quarters. Here, he said, forcing them into my hand. If you take this and your ID over to that gas station, they'll sell you a pack of menthols. I didn't smoke menthols, but I was so taken aback by his generosity that I nodded.



And if you catch that bus -- pointed at the stop right next to the gas station -- it'll take you to the Union Mission. You tell 'em you're that's where you're going and the driver will let you ride for free.



I thanked him, and he waved as he walked away.



I did finish what I went there to do, and I did manage to find a place to sleep. But before I did that I walked over to the gas station and bought a pack of cigarettes. Because you don't treat kindness lightly. Not when the instructions were so carefully specific. But it was the man, too. I couldn't get over his willingness to share what was probably panhandled money with a total stranger. I still can't, I guess. And if people really ask me why I feel like I do about the homeless community, the kindest man in Norfolk is one of the reasons why.



Thanks again for listing to this episode of a Record of a pair of well-worn traveling boots. Be sure to subscribe on iTunes, Spotify, TuneIn, Stitcher, or Podbean. Check out our previous episodes if you haven't already. I drop a new episode every other Monday. You can find me on Twitter and Instagram... the handle is dirtysacred. Thanks again for listening. And may the road always rise to meet your feet.