
                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: MONDAY, March 12, 1990                   TAG: 9003122970
SECTION: EDITORIAL                    PAGE: A9   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: Sue Linsdey Editorial Writer
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

WOMAN WITH A BANJO

THE CALLER to the office was fed up with the homeless, and said he had the solution: "The homeless need rules," he said. "The rest of us have to live by rules."

He's not alone in his intolerance. An article in this newspaper last week said that across the country, Americans' compassion has worn thin. Panhandlers are becoming increasingly aggressive as the number of homeless grows.

I don't have the answer to the homeless problem. I think this country now has too many homeless for the "thousand points of light" to manage, but I also don't think the caller's "rules" would work. In fact, I'm certain "rules" are not the answer.

My favorite street people are the ones who follow their own light. They are very much themselves on the sidewalk, and rules would cramp their style. There are a couple who stand out in my memory, and as far as I could tell they didn't bother anybody. As a matter of fact, they both did a lot for me.

One was an elderly woman who played a beat-up banjo and sang for her quarters across from a department store in Washington, D.C. Her songs were kind of jazzed-up blues, with a little gospel thrown in. She drew quite a crowd in the weeks before Christmas, but she was there summer and winter, rain and shine.

When I lived in Washington, I used to leave work and walk up to see her frequently. I always gave her something, but I didn't walk several blocks out of my way to her corner because I wanted to help her out. She was the one who helped me. I was in a big city, nearly alone, in my early 20s. Life sometimes looked bleak, and her singing always made me feel better.

I don't know whether she was homeless; she might have collected enough money each day to pay the rent on a lush apartment. But she seemed to enjoy herself singing on the sidewalk, and I don't know that she would have been happier had she not spent her days sitting on concrete. I know her presence enriched my life.

When I worked in Richmond, my office was in a newspaper building that an elderly man adopted as his base of operation. He carried with him a couple of grocery bags containing his belongings, and always wore a rumpled wool suit, a dress shirt and a hat, even on the hottest summer days.

He would walk around the building and see to things, and he took his role pretty seriously. He usually was out front in the morning, when most of the people went to work. But he made sure he was back at the loading dock when it was time for the afternoon papers to be put on the trucks. He never got in the way, but you had the impression he was making sure people were doing their jobs right.

He was too dignified to ask for money, but once in a while I and others gave him a little bit. I liked watching him "work." He apparently thought the newspaper industry was important, and that helped my attitude. When my job demanded that I go to work at an odd hour or on a weekend, I was always glad to see that man on his beat. His dedication gave mine a boost.

Most people lead happier, more productive lives if they have homes. But I believe it's a mistake to think street people have nothing to contribute to society. The ones like my friends who thrive on the streets just don't make their contributions by the "rules."

by CNB