For ten years or more, a man lived on the bus bench across the street from our office building. He was probably in his late fifties or early sixties with a full beard. His long gray-blonde hair was one big rat’s nest that he usually kept hidden under a thick knit cap. Whether winter, spring, summer or fall, he wore a filthy old coat whose original color is anyone’s guess. He always seemed to be reading the newspaper and smoking a short fat cigar. We suspect one of the kind lawyers who work in the building by his bench was supplying him with his daily smoke and read. Last Christmas I wrapped up a book, Strange Stories and Amazing Facts, that Clifford had finished reading. I took it to him along with a new pair of gloves (his gloves no longer had fingers) and a blanket. He quietly thanked me as he stared at his hands. For weeks after that, every time I saw him, he was reading that book. He slept in the doorway of the vacant building next door to the law firm. Someone told me that folks called him “The Professor” because he used to teach at UT. No one seems to know what took him from that past to this present. The Professor moved on a couple of years ago. I hope his new place has a kind benefactor who will share their cigars and newspapers with him. But I digress. . . .

  We usually stay in the downtown area, but we had run out of places to look and still had some things to give away, so we headed south. Kate and Breezy noticed four men standing outside of a laundromat. Two of them were leery of us. They each took a blanket without ever speaking to us and then went inside the laundromat where they watched us through the window. The other two stayed and talked to us for a long time. They talked about their families, playing music, finding work, and getting off the street. One of them was a musician and the other a tree-trimmer. They were going to use the money they earned the day before to get their guitar and chainsaw out of the pawn shop. The musician and I even sang a few bars of John Lennon’s “Happy Christmas” together. They said that their campsite had burned down while they were out doing day labor the day before and they had lost everything. I was glad that we still had enough left that they could take a couple of blankets each and several sweatshirts and sweatpants. They wished us a Merry Christmas and one of them even hugged me before we left.

  At this point, we were just about out of everything. Kate took us back to McDonalds. We decided that we would just leave what was left in our cars so that we could hand it out if we came across someone later on. After Kate left, Breezy got the attention of a man who was “flying a sign” at the intersection near McDonalds. He took a blanket and one of the hats with the socks and gloves, thanked us, and went back to his spot in the intersection. Just as I was about to close the trunk, we heard someone holler, “Hey, wait! Wait a minute.” I never would have guessed the man approaching was homeless. He stood tall and straight, and was spotlessly clean. His hair was clean, thick and shiny; his clothes looked clean and new; his skin was fresh and healthy; and he was wearing a very nice leather jacket. (Homeless people often look care-worn and road-weary. Their faces are often lined and weathered, their hair thin and either greasy or straw-like; and their clothes could stand up on their own.) He called himself “Harmonica Kevin.” There was just something about him. (My grandmother would have said, “He had a certain je ne sais quoi.”) He exuded this infectious peacefulness and happiness. I think Breezy and I must have visited with him for 45 minutes. He gratefully took a blanket, a backpack, a hat and some toiletries. He kept telling us “Y’all roll!” He was the most cheerful man I have ever met in my life – he even played his harmonica for us.