What I'm Not Verses What I Am

 It was early afternoon on Saturday, February 12, 2022 when I walked into the Bryn Mawr Red Line transit station in Chicago. I was dressed in my red hemp coat, with multi-colored mittens, my white dog hat covering my head, a dark green duffle bag with my overnight clothes and things from the night before, plus my red Nikon camera bag, which houses my cell phone, outer battery charger gym lock and a slew of other stuff, including my reading glasses, both slung around me. I was squinting, reading the machine, trying to figure out how to buy a temporary bus pass, as my other pass failed on me miserably the night before. As I was doing that, a middle-aged African-American CTA booth lady had an angry look on her face, as she came out of the information booth and at first snarled at me, followed by a series of angry words "There's no change in the CTA machines!" I was astonished to say the least. 

Then I began thinking that she actually thought I was homeless. I laughed to myself and responded that I wasn't I homeless, that I lived in Evanston and I was just trying to read the top of the vending machine for instructions on how to purchase a card. She wasn't convinced, not that I was trying to convince her of anything really, she just didn't seem convinced that anything I was saying to her was truthful. So, in order to convince her, I used her tone because it was the only level she seemed to understand. Once I explained to her that I wanted to buy a Ventra card and put money onto the card, she talked to me as opposed to talking at me, yet still in a loud overtone. 

This isn't the first time that this homelessness judgement has been applied to me. It has in fact been applied to me several times, around the world in my travels over the last few decades, dating back as far as the mid-1980s and to be honest, it's not very nice. Sure, I've played homeless characters as a background actor on network and cable TV shows like Shameless, Empire, Chicago Fire and Chicago PD and in indie films, but thats not the point.

Back in 1984, while waiting for a friend to come home from his job, he used to live in the Hubbard Street Lofts down on West Hubbard Street within he Gold Coast district in the early days of gentrification. I was sitting on his building's concrete stoop, when a Chicago Police Department paddy wagon rolled up with three cops sitting inside. "What are you doing," growled one cop, as he jumped out of the truck and asked me for ID. I was dressed in a gray sweat shirt with hoodie attached, blue jeans and an orange duffle bag. The cop eyed me up and down and asked me if i was homeless. I told him no as he continued to check my ID. When he saw that i lived in suburbs and not the city, he snarled, "you don't belong here. Go back home," as he climbed back into the vehicle and proceeded to wait for a little while longer to scare me, until my friend came home and they left in a hurry. 

A long time ago, more than likely back in the 1990s, I remember being at an Orange Line CTA station waiting for a bus, I was dressed in another colored hemp coat, sporting a warm hat on my head, wearing warm patterned mittens and had a backpack on, with a darker orange duffle bag slung around my shoulder. Without warning, an older middle-aged man approached me and asked me how long I had been in the city. He told me it was going to get colder and it was not advisable to be on the streets. He suggested I go to Pacific Garden Mission in Chicago, a mecca for those lost, homeless and looking for the lord. "I used to stay there when I first arrived in the city over 20 years ago," he explained, as he reached into his wallet and handed me a $20 bill. "You're going to need this. Buy yourself something warm and something to eat," he said. "I'm a construction worker now. Good luck and may the lord be with you, " he said as he disappeared into the crowd of commuters.

Shortly after I began traveling to New York in the early 2000s, I was in New York City for a late November 2007 ( I think), for an off-Broadway spoken word-interdisciplinary performance and was dressed in red hemp coat, my red fish cap possibly adorned with buttons on my head, a backpack on my back and a shofar (ram's horn) inside a cloth bag. I was sitting on a curb in Times Square near the bleacher area. It was a Friday night, the garbage piled high in the garbage can I was sitting next to. I was in deep thought-show preparation most likely as it was at least one hour away, when i was suddenly startled by an overweight woman who said "Oh here." pushing a brown bag which was presumably food inside. "It's okay, she replied, "there's plenty of food inside, go on take it; I'm giving it to you." i thought for a minute, then i discovered that she thought I was homeless.  "Oh no-no-no, " I replied, but she insisted even harder. "Please take it. I'm giving it to you, as she pushed the bag into my hands and left just as fast as she entered my space moments earlier. 

I started getting used to the idea that this was going to occur in my life more and more and sure enough it did. I would be waiting for buses and trains, between 2007-2022 and out of the blue strangers would approach me, asking me if i needed a helping hand. In my mind I didn't but i knew i couldn't convince them, no matter how hard i tried. I don't know if it was my innocent looking face that made them approach me or if it was my clothes I wore on those occasions or even the places I would choose to sit, not conscious of what was placed next to me.

During the height of the pandemic, one sunny afternoon, I took a walk to a local Dollar Tree, armed with a deep spaced backpack and a strong tote bag to carry all of my groceries. After I exited the store, I sat on the curb, downing a Gatorade and then began to arrange my bags. As I was arranging my groceries, I noticed a man on a red moped zip past me, waving and then did a U-turn and drove up next to me and asked me if I was okay. I had to admit I was exhausted and resting before I had to make that seven block walk back to my studio apartment. This time I was wearing my red fish cap adorned with several pins, a faded I LOVE NY white tee shirt, faded shorts, white athletic socks and a pair of grubby gym shoes. Sweat poured down my brow, as I wiped it away with a bandana i had in my back pocket. The man on the moped was fairly well dressed, as he addressed me and asked me if I lived in the area. I nodded yes. Then he asked me how i was doing financially. I didn't say much, as he opened his wallet and handed me a $20 bill and said to me, "You look like the honest type who wouldn't spend all this money on beer." I laughed and thanked him as he sped off and out of the parking lot.  

Sometime in September 2021, when i was in Watseka, Illinois, approximately 105 miles south of Evanston. I was sitting at a bench, resting after walking around a mostly empty downtown and doing a little shopping before i left the next morning by Amtrak. as I was resting my feet, a man who was walking past me, asked me if i was alright. I nodded yes, as he reached into his pocket and handed me two dollars, at first thought I knew that he thought that I was homeless, when in fact I wasn't, but instead of fighting with him telling him I wasn't, I just accepted the cash from him as he walked on by. Later as he passed me by again, he asked me again if i was alright and if I needed anymore money or help of any kind. I nodded no, as he reached into his pocket and then stopped. He wished me a great day and walked away. Later that hour, as I returned to where I was staying, only to hear a friend of his remark, "I saw you as i was driving you looked like a homeless person but with familiarity."

And there you have it. My own experience of looking homeless when in fact I'm not. I like wearing what I am wearing because i want to feel comfortable, not fashionable and is't that what life is all about comfort? So what if my beard is whiskery and my hair is long and my other bits of clothing is outside the normal structure? I'm not in it to win it, I'm in it to be me. 

It's not what you look like that counts, it's who you become, that sets the sun.