"For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.13 So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love." 1 Corinthians 13:12-13
“On Sunday, you want to sit near a church. If the message makes them feel bad, they’ll give more money. They always give me McDonald’s burgers, too. I hate those things. We save them for Debbie’s dog.” Brian takes a puff of his cigarette and hands me his radio. “Know any rock stations? None of that pop. Maybe country, reminds me of the good days.”
Not the good, old days, the good days; the days where the weather doesn’t heat him to exhaustion or freeze him to frostbite; the days he gets to interact instead of being stuck in a mindless wander; the days he gets enough money to go to the casino, not because he wants to win money, but because it’s something to do.
”I never lie. Look at me. I’ve got nothing to hide. I always tell the truth, no reason for me to lie.”
Brian’s a 6'4" homeless man with a thick beard and long, mangy hair hanging over his eyes. His scabbed knuckles are testimony to his nickname “the protector” given to him by the homeless community.
“If I see one of my friends in trouble, I protect him. I don’t always win, but I have to help.”
He tells me that most days he can’t feel his fingers, and he still has a few bruises on his back from when a metal pole was swung at him outside a Quiktrip. A man was harassing his friend, Brian intervened, the man went to his truck and came back with a metal rod. The Protector.
“I never fought growing up, I don’t like it at all, but sometimes, I have to.”
Thirty years ago, Brian lived out in Salt Lake City, Utah, working for his father. After a falling out, he ventured in his hometown from job to job. After getting let go from a fast food chain, he found himself down to his last $100. An ex co-worker, knowing of his condition, approached him and told him his brother just opened a deli in Tulsa. A little cash donation would ensure that he would have a job and place to stay once he got there. Desperate, not able to pay rent, no other options on the horizon, Brian gave him the cash. The little he had left, he spent on a one-way bus ticket to Tulsa, to a new beginning. Unfortunately, it was not the beginning he was promised.
After a long trip, he stepped off the bus into the hot Tulsa summer. With nothing but a sack of clothes and an old sketchbook, he found himself in a strange town, filled with unfamiliar faces, ready for a fresh start. He threw the sack over his shoulder and looked for the man who was supposed to be waiting for him. "He must be running late." He pulled out his sketchbook to try to kill some time. Hours went by. He got excited every time someone approached the stop, only to be let down as they either got on the bus or kept walking by. The day turned to evening. He ventured across the parking lot and sat against a tree for shade, trying to get relief from the scorching sun. He laid their with his eyes focused on the stop. Any minute now his coworkers’ brother would arrive and take him to his home. Evening turned to night. The 28-hour bus ride began to take its toll, so he decided to close his eyes just for a few minutes. A new beginning.
That was the first night of many Brian slept under that tree.
Jobless, homeless and not a dime to his name, Brian learned to adapt. During the day, always keep your belongings in sight, especially your blankets. Desperate people do desperate things. Leave your blankets alone, you might as well start looking for new ones. Don’t sleep in the Tulsa tunnels; the enclosed settings are dangerous. He learned this after being robbed at gunpoint. On cold nights, sleep next to the generator behind the hotel; the heat will keep you from freezing. He was no longer looking for a job; he was looking to survive.
Over time, he made friends within the homeless community. There’s Debbie, who has a daughter and dog. Brian says he loves Debbie, even though she doesn’t love him anymore. There’s Pitbull Brian. He’s also named Brian, and he owns a pit bull named Pit. Pit is nice to you as long as you're a nice person. It can tell who’s good and who’s not. Pit once snapped at a man in the Walmart parking lot. The man called the police and said a homeless man is harassing people with his dog. Pitbull Brian stayed to calm the man down as ‘the Protector’ and Rose Man ran Pit away from the scene.
“I helped a wanted felon escape,” Brian jokes. “They would’ve killed him for snappin, not Pit’s fault he wasn’t a good guy, Pit knows that ya know.”
Rose Man and Brian were long time friends on the street. Nobody knows Rose Man’s real name, but the homeless community would bring him paper, and he could fold them to look just like roses.
"He would crinkle the edges and everything. I mean, I can make a matchbox out of a deck of cards, but that’s nothing compared to his roses.”
During the 2013 winter storm, Rose Man and Brian sat with their backs against the hotel generator. Unfortunately, the low heat was no match for the icy sleet pouring from the sky. Trying to dull the cold, Rose Man started drinking mouthwash.
“It wasn’t Listerine, it was that other brand. It says it has the same ingredients, but it doesn’t. You can drink Listerine, but that other stuff makes you crazy. It’s cheap so people drink it.”
Brian noticed Rose Man’s eyes glazing, slowly turning a murky yellow. The Protector put Rose Man on his back and began trudging through the sleet. The slush poured as he slowly went step by step toward Walmart. Rose Man, who had been shaking moments earlier, was now limp across his back.
“He needed help, I knew he needed it…it was cold…I collapsed right outside of Walmart. Maybe 10 feet from the door. I woke up in the emergency room. Rose Man died. I miss him.” Brian looks off. “If you brought him paper, they looked just like roses. I should’ve kept one.”
Five years ago, Brian’s dad also passed away, leaving behind a decent size inheritance. However, the money came 30 years too late. This is his life now.
“For 30 years, nobody could find me, now suddenly lawyers keep finding me.”
He said several times a year, lawyers will somehow contact him, telling him they’ll help him manage the money if he signs. He doesn’t want the money.
“I’m still young. I’ll need it more when I’m old or when someone out here gets sick.”
The best money he ever made came from a brief term in prison. On the weekends, he was released to work at the fast-food chain, Sonic. A co-worker would give him a tub of tobacco, and he’d sell it back in the prison for $2 a pinch. He left jail with $2,000. That first night out, he spent part of the cash on a hotel suite, then gave the rest away to his friends who needed it. He didn’t want the money and figured someone else could use it more.
“We don’t beg because we want to, we beg because we have to.”
Sitting on a corner, he holds out his hat. Not the life anyone dreams of, but it’s the life he was dealt. It’s the life he learned to live.
“They know what I want, I don’t need a cardboard sign. They get stolen anyways.”
Cars pass by, pretending not to see him. He takes another puff from his cigarette as he pulls his hair out of his eyes.
“I go to church, you know. I usually can’t make it through the music. Do you ever read those words? I tried today, but I got tears and had to leave.”
The sun’s starting to go down, the weather today is one of those good days. The rock station is playing some oldies.
“Can I borrow your phone? Debbie has a phone now. She’s doing real good. I love Debbie, but she doesn’t love me no more.”
