Just saying: Cornered

In our Manhattan Upper East Side neighborhood, he is easily the most ebullient street person we have. I don’t know if he’s actually one of the 4,000 homeless in New York City, but if he is, it’s a condition that he accepts with amazing good humor. There is always a radiant, if largely toothless, smile on his rubbery face.

I’ve been encountering him for at least 10 years. He sits on a crate at the southbound subway entrance to the 6 train as thousands of travelers (including me) pour by him, ignoring his existence (except me) with practiced aplomb. He calls himself The Corner Man, camping at the northwest corner of Lexington and 77th. At first it began with my making eye contact with him and offering a slight nod. He seemed to appreciate this extremely modest bit of recognition and our relationship slowly built from there.

Invariably I wear a ball cap when roaming about the city, and he would spot me a half-block away and offer a fashion commentary on whatever cap I wore. During baseball season I wear a Red Sox cap, and this seemed to delight him as he called me Mr. Boston as I descended into the subway.
In the past couple of years, we’ve added a fist bump to the encounters.

In the last year I have raised the psychological stakes significantly by handing him two dollars, post fist bump. This altered for evermore the nature of the relationship. I had become part of his support network, although I never saw anyone else give him money so I alone may be his support network for all I know.

He has not become the slightest bit unctuous when it comes to the money, but a couple of times when I was going to the drug store across the street and not the subway, he would call out, “Hey, Boston!” to make sure I knew he was at his customary corner station in case I wanted to make a special non-subway visit.

His name is Juan Carlos, a rather Spanish royal name for a street person, and one of these days I’m going to take him to the Dunkin’ Donuts not far from his crate and ask him about his life and how he came to be The Corner Man. If I do I will make sure to tell you about it.

There is a common urban myth that some of these street people actually make enough money panhandling that after a good day they take the subway up to the Bronx to their apartment and a warm bed and a hot meal. This is not Juan Carlos’ story, I’m certain, but I wish somehow it could be true.

One block east from The Corner Man another street person sometimes hangs out. He makes no eye contact, says nothing and sits on the sidewalk with a paper coffee cup to collect any monetary donations. Sometimes the cup contains a few coins.

Like many other street people he has a piece of cardboard telling a common story: Vietnam vet, homeless, hungry and in great need. I give this guy $5 every time I see him. I told him that I served in the Navy during Vietnam and he seemed to appreciate that bit of news, although he is mostly impassive, radiating despair so thick you can almost see it. Unlike The Corner Man, there is no chitchat with this guy, although it was clear that the $5 captured his entire attention.

After a few more $5 donations, he would recognize me and I was able to squeeze out a few sentences from him, nothing of much use though. He was a handsome man, if you could get rid of the despair, and I told him that with some sprucing up I could picture him in a company boardroom. He lifted his head and gave me the grandest smile that made me think I had stumbled onto something in his past life. The smile faded away but it stays with me today.

I haven’t seen him for a while. Next time I’m giving him $10.