After some guy in LA, an alleged Marine, asked me two days in a row for five bucks to get back to Camp Pendleton, I usually ignore beggars. But last week I stopped for a pair.
There's two guys on the corner of 20th and Camelback in Phoenix. One guy's begging and the other's sprawled in the dirt. The guy sprawled the dirt got my attention. Krap. What if the guy's dead. I can't drive by and leave a dead body lying in the street.
So I stop and roll down the window. When the live guy walks over, I ask:
"What's up. Do you guys need help? You got water?"
"Waaataah!"
"OK, I'll get you some."
So I drive off and stop at Danny's at 20th and Highland for two big bottles of water. You remember Danny's. It was Danny's for years when the Phoenix PD used to take their patrol cars down from the Squaw Peak Precinct to have the illegals wash them on Saturday morning. All very mellow.
Ever wonder why Sheriff Joe never raided Danny's? Probably one of the Joyful Mysteries? Maybe Ed Montini of the Arizona Republic has the inside dope on that? Now Danny's is Jackson's and still has full employment, Squaw Peak is the Mountain View Precinct, and 20th and Camelback, which was headed for the Bonfire of the Vanities (the South Bronx), has a Whole Foods, Trader Joe's, LA Fitness and limited parking.
I get back from Danny's, which is now Jackson's, found an empty spot in the Bank of America parking lot and walked over to the possibly dead guy and the guy begging on the corner. The guy on the corner is having a bad day. People are stopping their cars to talk to him and he's waving get lost and shouting Fuck You at them... for who knows why.
The live guy walks over, takes the water and shakes my hand. I look down at the possibly dead guy and shout.
"Hey, buddy, how ya doin'. Do you need help?"
A guy with a neatly trimmed beard and a slick one-piece black bicycle suit and white helmet that matches his beard -- a college professor type -- cruises by me on an expensive bicycle -- probably on the way for a snack at Whole Foods -- says: "Leave him alone he's sleeping."
A guy with a neatly trimmed beard and a slick one-piece black bicycle suit and white helmet that matches his beard -- a college professor type -- cruises by me on an expensive bicycle -- probably on the way for a snack at Whole Foods -- says: "Leave him alone he's sleeping."
The possibly dead guy stirs, rolls over, opens his eyes, raises up on his elbow and pulls a small black Bible out of his pocket. Still mostly sprawled in the dirt, he waves the Bible in the air with his free hand.
"I have all the help I need!"
I look at the live beggar and ask him if I should call 911. The live guy manages to slur out.
"Call 911. I can't take care of him anymore."
So I called 911. I was reluctant to do it, but it's 10 am and already 100 degrees in the high Sonora desert. If the possibly dead guy stays sprawled in the dirt, he'll be a for real dead guy by noon. You just can't drive off and leave a guy to die next to a Bank of America parking lot across from Whole Foods.
The firemen must have been shopping for provisions at the Fry's across from the Whole Foods. They arrive in about five minutes, lights flashing, weaving through the heavy traffic on Camelback. The team gets off the truck, including a medic in green scrubs. They have no interest in talking to me and head for the possibly dead guy. Their captain kneels by the possibly dead guy and tells him: "I'm sorry, but you can't lie down here."
The live beggar slurs to the firemen: "I can't take care of him anymore."
As I drive off, I can see the firemen kneeling around the possibly dead guy, working through the fire department's protocol for dealing with the homeless.
We too will behold the transfigured Jesus on the Last Day.
