I'm sketching at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf in town, where there are lots of windows to let in the good light and keep me away from the smokers outside. Today, it feels like the Christmas season is upon us, with everyone wrapping up and drinking hot chocolate, peppermint flavored coffee and egg-nog lattes. Outside, Trolleycar Joe is getting harassed by the local cops again.
It's a regular occurrence to see Joe's trolleycar bus parked in a side street somewhere in Uptown. You can't miss it; it's conspicuous as hell. The cops come to shake him down...they know he sleeps in there with his young son after they lost their house several years ago. They know, too, that Trolleycar Joe has a lot of seedy friends among the homeless and the young street punks, and that he helps them out whenever he can. I've never seen him turn away someone who is hungry or in need of a dollar. The cops threaten him with a ticket and then leave, knowing that Joe and his friends have their 3 hour parking window timed out to the second.
Today, Joe is getting a haircut with friends. A young couple is outside the trolley, and the young lady is giving him a haircut and a shave. His straw hat rests on his lap as she lathers up his gruff beard. Her partner is also working on another seemingly homeless man on the folding chair next to his. There are three other older men waiting behind them, sitting on the low concrete wall, and they are chatting in the shade of the overhanging trees. People drive by and wave to old Joe and they honk. Some stop their cars and drop off baskets of canned goods...this time of year, they drop off extra blankets because the trolley is drafty and cold in the winter nights.
People are always giving Joe things...maybe it's all the good karma he's built up over the years. A ragged man offers a cup of brewed coffee to Joe, a refill perhaps, and then he walks into the trolley and I don't see him come out for quite some time. Even a couple of hours of unmolested sleep is a needed respite to someone sleeping on the cold streets. The woman finishes the shave, and gives a dab of hair oil to Joe's freshly clipped hair...he is still a handsome old man and you can see that he likes the attention and that he enjoys looking his dapper best.
Just before the hair cutters arrived, I pulled my car into my spot at the coffee house and took out a plate of Italian cookies my Italian mother baked that week. There were a variety of biscottis and traditional Christmas cookies that I knew Joe would appreciate because his parents were Italian immigrants as well. Every year I do this, and every year Joe gets teary-eyed and thanks me with a smile. But as soon as I give him the basket and he gives he a gentle warm thank-you, he immediately takes off the plastic wrap and offers the cookies to his son, his son's friends, and all the homeless that have gathered around. He samples just one of each and lets everyone else enjoy the bounty. I don't know whether to get angry or to laugh. "It's just Joe being Joe," I think to myself . Maybe that's his secret to his karmic good will, to give everything away and it returns back tenfold in friendships and in good deeds.
I'm sketching as the last of the old men are trimmed. The young lady and man take their portable plastic basins, dump the lathery water into the sewers, pack up their scissors and their folding chairs and cram them into their little hatchback. No money exchanges hands, only hugs and thank-yous are expressed and hats are tipped in appreciation. That's the magic of Joe. His son speeds toward the men and he jumps off his bike in a hurry and the men store the bike on a rack at the front of the trolley, locking it down in seconds as if this move has been practiced many times before. His son jumps into the driver's seat and beckons his father inside. Ever the showman, Joe takes off his hat as he waves from the double swinging passenger side door just before the cop cruisers slowly patrol the street.
Joe moves on to find a safer side street for another couple of hours. He'll be back, though.
It's Christmas time and the homeless guys emerge at the table near the window to where I'm sketching and they show off their new slick cuts to each other. One breaks out a cigarette and another emerges with a fresh, hot refill of drip coffee and shares them by pouring them into tiny taster cups that are free at the counter.
Life is good when Joe is around and the karma is flowing. I even get quite a bit of sketching done today and the hot chocolate hits the spot.
You have some great stuff!
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