AUGUST 14, 2019 – I try to be a nice person. Generally speaking, I think I am nice . . . most of the time . . . in public, at least . . . when I have to be. But then someone calls me out. Not to my face, not expressly, but by showing me “nice” well beyond “Minnesota nice.” Yesterday I encountered such a person.
I’d been chasing around like crazy. Not until 2:00 could I hop off the hamster wheel long enough to grab a bite to eat. By that hour most people were long back in their offices. I strode through the downtown skyway unhindered until . . .
I encountered a young homeless woman crouched in the shadows near a skyway intersection. Propped up beside her was a carboard sign that read, “HOMELESS.”
Being “Minnesota nice” but not all the way nice, I ignore homeless people. It’s not that I lack a heart, but a good many of these people seem to suffer from addiction or serious mental disorders. I’m not a social worker, and without becoming one, I can’t distinguish which street people “deserve” an outright handout and which do not. Thus, like most downtown office workers, I buy lunch, greet friends and acquaintances I meet along the way, and head back to my office.
This time, however, another player was involved; a person who broke my stride.
As I approached the homeless woman, I noticed a guy in his late 30s standing apart from her but looking if he wanted to say something to her. No other people were within sight. He turned to me and said, “Would you mind stopping for a moment while I talk to this woman? I don’t want anyone to think I’m inappropriate.”
“Sure,” I said.
The guy then crouched down and asked the woman what she needed. She had a comely face, but long, unwashed, knotted hair. She did not look ill, but I noticed her bare feet and ankles were filthy. “I’d like something to eat,” she said.
The guy then said, “If you’d like I can buy you a sandwich.” As he led the way to a nearby sandwich shop, he furtively told me, “I’m not going to give her money, but I feel sorry for her.” At the shop the guy told the woman to order whatever she liked. He paid; she thanked him sincerely, took her sandwich and sat down at one of the tables to eat. The guy and I then departed.
We introduced ourselves to each other, and I learned that he was a partner at a well-known patent law firm two blocks over from my office. Ben Tramm is his name. He told me his inspiration was a former colleague who had bought whole bags of groceries to distribute to homeless people. I told Ben that his spontaneous, non-judgmental out-reach to a person in need—whatever the story behind that need—was an inspiration to me.
If I’m generally, most of the time, Minnesota nice, Ben, I decided, is the real deal.
© 2019 Eric Nilsson
