8-16-04

Who likes bums? I do. I do. Bums on our street corners, bums in our dumpsters, and bums hanging out in front of the places we eat. No matter where you find them, they are always stinky and usually crazy. Pity them all you want, but at the end of the day they're still going to be bums. And that's why I love them.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not talking about any poor unfortunate victim of an oppressive capitalistic society. I'm talking about bums. The kind of bum who, if given a million dollars, would probably find a way to be homeless again in a couple weeks. The kind you see strung out in a park lawn at three in the afternoon. The kind of bum with a personality and is so impressionable that you give them nicknames. You might say, "Hey there's crazy Whataburger guy". This would be the nickname for that crazy guy who hangs out at Whataburger, laughs at you for no reason and plays air drums to the songs on the speakers. Badly, I might add. There are countless numbers of them and when you live in a big city, you soon find that they supply you with a myriad of hilarious stories.

While I love them all, I do hold some bums in higher respect than others. There are bums who I want to shake my head in shame at, and bums who I want to give a hug. Actually there is only one bum that I would consider touching and that's the sweet ol' bum that I've come to call "Blessings Guy". He mans the median of a busy intersection in Beverly Hills. He's there fairly early in the morning for a bum (10 or 11 AM) and hangs out until 3 pm or so. He's probably about 50 years old with a very bum-like crusty beard, a fishing hat, and torn up jeans through which you can see bright red long johns. He stands in the median with a change cup and a sign that says "Blessings". Every day he is out there, standing his ass off, handing out blessings.

Bums compete on that block all the time, but it would take quite an effort to oust the old hippy Blessings Guy. Once a man stood on a parallel median about 25 feet from Blessings Guy and would dance for peoples spare change. It didn't matter that he couldn't dance very well. What mattered is that this bum knew not the ways of a successful bum. He looked like he had just become homeless. I'm sure if he had humbled himself and asked the Blessings Guy for advice, Blessings Guy would have explained some secret bum mantra that was developed over twenty or so years of bumming.

It's obvious to me that if you're going to do something for hand outs, you want to make sure that what you're doing is cost effective. If you make ten dollars in hand outs one day and you danced for five hours, you have to think about what it will take to continue making the same amount of handouts. You're probably putting a lot of wear on those shoes for one thing. Also, think about the amount of energy that you're exerting. You're going to need some quality food to keep up that sort of stamina 7 days a week. Even in bumming, there are occupational liabilities. Blessings Guy knows it. You don't see him doing a crazy jig, using up all his energy to get a couple of bucks. No, he's patient and steadfast. At the end of the day, he walks away with the same amount of earnings and he doesn't have to invest it in Dr. Scholl's ointment or a diet heavy in complex carbohydrates.

Sometimes I wonder if he'd do better holding a sign that says "Wishes". Blessings are a dime a dozen, but how often do you get a chance to make a wish? There are hardly any wells where I live, the pollution keeps me from seeing the stars, and there's not a genie in sight. Honestly, what am I going to do with blessings? Can you bless me with infinite blessings? Can you bless me with a remote control that controls time? Probably not. Plus I'd love to wish on a bum. All I'm saying is think about it, Blessings Guy.

More than his advertising techniques, Blessings Guy has the right attitude for a successful bumming career. He's constantly humble. He knows that you don't have to give him money and that you aren't a bad person for not paying attention. He knows the societal role that he plays and tries as hard as possible to not be a nuisance. I even saw him peeing into a cup instead of just going on the lawn. Now that's a classy bum. The bum that takes over Blessings Guy's spot at 3 PM is the worst bum I've ever seen in my life. He stands there, talking his crazy talk, cursing everyone for not giving him money. I think maybe he has a sign, but it's hardly as charming. He's so angry and abrasive that I'm afraid to roll down my window and give him anything for fear that he'd just bite my hand off instead of picking the money gingerly from my hands. One day I was driving on the other side of town and I saw the same bum being a normal guy and hanging out at an apartment complex. I realized that this guy takes the bus over to the rich neighborhood and does the majority of his bumming there. The last time I saw him, he was wearing some brand new shoes, brand new slacks, and a vibrantly clean LA Lakers jersey. I shook my head.

You can admire the good bums all you want, but try and get a laugh out of someone regarding one and you look like an asshole. (case in point) The greatest bums of them all are the crazies. The bums that you never see making a devoted effort for money as much as you see them talking to themselves and being passed out. These bums always bring a little color to street life assuming that they don't kill you. They are ever awkward but always willing to attempt some sort of conversation. My friend David tells the story of the trivia bum.

He was sitting outside a coffee shop with a few "Hollywood-esque" friends when they were approached by a local bum. He was a fidgety man and for the previous five minutes, David noted that he was trying to remember something. Finally he spoke.

"Who was the greatest white basketball player that ever lived?"

David and his friends stopped their conversation, confused, and looked at the man. You would think David's friends had never encountered a bum before. There was silence, then, finally, David spoke. "Larry Byrd?"

"Bah! 'Somebody before that!" With that said, the man started to walk away. Dave looked puzzled but for a completely different reason than his friends.

Dave called after the man, "Wait! Jerry West?"

"Aha!" The man exclaimed and pointed his finger into the air. Victory. Dave had done it. He had answered the bums crazy riddle. I wanted the story to take a twist and the man would turn around. "You've done it Davie boy! I had to test you to make sure you were pure." Then he would blow a little whistle and the two would fly away in a crazy elevator that can go upways and downways and slantways and backways. No such luck. The man walked off talking to himself, never to be seen again.

These are the sorts of exchanges that one can only hope to have. I endured a more uncomfortable encounter. I was driving to meet someone and had noted several bums spaced out on the streets of LA. I came to the realization that every time I give them money, they are going to use it to buy drugs. Every time this must be the case. So I decided that I would never give a bum money ever again unless they looked like they really deserved it. Just after thinking this, I pulled into a gas station for some cigarettes. I was returning from the cashier, trying to quickly stuff my change in my pocket as I noticed a bum had his crazy eyes set on me. He was about 20 feet away and I could see his mouth moving, but I couldn't hear anything. As I got closer, I realized that he was having a conversation with me, but decided to start it from 20 feet away at room volume. As soon as I got within earshot to him, I recognized the same old bum banter that I'd heard time and time again. First they start off with some sort of disarming chummy speech that ends with a really obscene joke and a hearty laugh. The laugh is so heart-felt that you can't help but to laugh with them. "You're crazy," I chuckled to him, meaning it in every way possible. Then as if the charismatic tape ran out, the theatrics are dismissed and a serious demeanor follows. This is when he popped the question.

"Can I have a buck so I can get some food?" By this time he was already in my personal space. He'd been watching me since the cigarettes and knew that I had cash on me. My only hope was to pull out one singular dollar bill from my pocket without revealing the other two. I failed. I pulled out three dollar bills and handed him one. I'm screwed and he knew it. "Can I get another buck for my old lady?" He quickly interjects before I can put my money away.

Now I'm getting pissed off. This guy had already ruined my new policy for giving money to bums and now he was going to milk me for more money than I was willing to give a good bum. "No, dude. I can't."

"Please, please, please, please, please," like a child who can't get his way, the crazy druggie bum begged me for a dollar. I couldn't help but be caught off guard by his lack of shame and gave him the money. I'm not going to say I wasn't also fearing some sort of scene possibly involving me getting hurt, because I was.

I've come to the conclusion that having pity on them is sort of useless. Where they are at, generally, is where they put themselves. I think of them as stray people. Like the stray cat that lives on your street and whenever you pass his yard, you have to stop and give him a little scratch behind the ears. So is a bum. The difference is that you give bums money so that you don't have to touch them. To try and change a bum is to ask him to give up his freedom and be a slave to the shackles of society. It won't happen. They are just too free to be caged and too crazy to pee in the right places.

Josh Gilpatrick