Mr. Sam

Everyone knew Mister Sam. If you went to the Mall, you've seen him outside, but never in. If you had reason to go by the Safari Club during the day, you saw him outside”a seemingly permanent fixture sitting in a chair, leaning back on two of its legs against, his tree. The Rescue Mission, have you been there? If so, then across the street in that little stand of trees (it's fenced now to keep them out), Mister Sam could be seen shootin-the-breeze with the fellas, while waiting for the evening meal to be served. And yeah, if you saw him walking real slow on either 77 or Harrison avenue with his head down, don't worry, he wasn't sad, he was just lookin' for stuff.

If you knew your way around the streets, you not only have seen Mister Sam, but you've spent some time with him. He had a good ear for listening and sound advice to help keep you out of trouble. He also had a way of seeing right through false bravado”he knew we were scared.

Mister Sam always had a smile and a story for the young-ones that also walked the streets with bowed heads. Hey, besides finding cigarettes, people actually lose quite a bit of money that somehow finds it way to the ground. Pay phones and stamp dispensers used to be an easy score for pocket change, until everyone started using those damn debit cards, but paper money, even upward to a twenty-dollar bill, could often be found on the ground.

Mister Sam was a wealth of information to the older street folks, the mid-twenty to thirties crowd, they knew he didn't miss a thing out there. The younger street-dwellers ranged in age from ten to sixteen years old. They were the ones who had runaway from home, escaping from situations often worse than the hardships that being homeless produced. They never approached Mister Sam though when they saw him talking with some of the older guys; for it was this group that the kids feared most. Children were prey; it's not something that's hard to remember.

Mister Sam knew so much, saw so much, and endured way too much. He was truly the Bard of the Streets, a natural storyteller. He would tell us of his adventures when he was a younger man (he would always wink at us girls then) and had hitchhiked around the state, sometimes even going north into Alabama or Georgia. Once, in an effort to comfort us, he told us about guardian angels. He said that these special angels would lie at our sides, keeping watch as we slept under bridges or in abandoned buildings. Most of the kids didn't believe the angel stories, especially those that had woken up to a rape in progress”with themselves as the main course. Still, it was nice to pretend. There was one young girl though, who told him that she knew about the angels; "Mista Sam sir, I know what you mean. I know about them too."

He said, "I bet you heard 'bout them in Sunday school when you was little huh?"

"No sir," she said. "I never went to no Sunday school, but I heard them speak to me, and idunno, I kinda felt them near me sometimes when I was in the forest."

At that, some of the kids started laughing at her. One of the older boys, John was his name, spoke-up and looking at the girl said,

"You shouldn't tease Mister Sam 'cuz he's one of the good guys."

Mister Sam was still and quiet though, just looking at the girl. Leaning closer, his eyes now searching her face, her eyes, he did something none of them had ever seen him do before. You see, he was always careful not to touch us kids, he knew that touching did not always mean the same thing to street kids as it would to others. He knew that touching was often nothing more than a behavior that started shortly after an adult had given a hungry child some food or money”behavior that led to acts that reaffirmed to the children that they were indeed worthless. Yet now, here was Mr. Sam reaching out with his heavily callused and dirty right hand, ever so lightly placing it on her left cheek. His eyes slowly closed as he seemed to be listening. Listening with his mind. Another surprise”the girl didn't flinch or get all jumpy like she always did when some of the boys or men tried to touch her. Although the lighting was not the best, some would have sworn that her head tilted ever so slightly, imperceptibly pressing her cheek into the palm of his hand.

He then said, "Missy, I believe ya. I believes you seen them angels in the woods. You juss be careful though, some angels might be bad angels. You hear now?"

Barely audible, she breathed out, "Yes sir Mista Sam."

Despite a life marked by loss, sorrow, poverty, and ill health, Mister Sam always had a kind word for the lost. For some reason, in the summer of 1995, he left his familiar stomping grounds and headed east and south, to the middle part of the state. There he was picked up for vagrancy and public intoxication. While in jail for the evening, he was beaten to death by the police.

May they rot in hell.

NOTE: Mr. Sam was murdered in a small town just north of Gainesville, FL.