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| Barney and Andy had to deal with Otis, the town drunk, but they did so with neighborly kindness. |
I miss Santa
I don’t mean the guy who
busts into your house and brings you a few things from your Wish List each
December.
The Santa I miss certainly
had a white beard, dressed in red and had a pointy red cap.
He also walked the streets of
my town all summer long, in shorts with red and white striped socks, while also
making appearances at just about any public event that took place here.
He cut quite the figure at the Lions Club bingo tent at the local carnival and
his red hat could be seen popping out of the crowd at a school concert. Someone
started a Facebook page dedicated to him.
But as quickly and randomly
as the man everyone in town called Santa arrived, he also disappeared.
And no one I know seems to
know where Santa went.
I miss Santa.
Santa was the latest in a
not-very-long line of people you could best describe as Town Characters. I say
it’s not a long line, because Santa’s predecessors held their titles for an
awful long time. And it always seems when one went away, another magically
showed up. It was as if somewhere, unknown to the rest of the world, there was
a job board for Town Characters and it announced when and where there were
openings.
We have an opening now in my
town.
Every town and city has not
just the local “characters” but people who are consistently there – in the
background, on the street corners. What movies get wrong with extras is having
different people in the backgrounds; they should have the same people there in
the background, just like they often are in everyday life. Some are indeed
characters, others might have drinking issues that label them so tactlessly as
the town drunk. Others might be people with physical or mental disabilities
that put them on a different path than most. But they are there, always there
and part of the community, too.
When I lived in Des Moines, there were
three: I called them Running Man, who was often seen running down the street in
jeans and long-sleeved shirts; Waving Man, who stood on street corners and
waved at everyone who drove by; and Box Man, who wandered the city always
carrying a box.
On a recent trip back to Des Moines, I was pleased
to see that Waving Man is still there, waving away at those who drive by. Many
of my friends refer to him as “Mr. Happy,” and also delight in seeing him day
in and day out.
Box Man wasn’t so much a
character, it turns out, as a man with a mission. A friend of mine saw him at a
baseball game and chatted with him. Turns out Box Man spent a lot of his spare
time in search of cans and bottles, taking advantage of Iowa’s 5-cent deposit
law. He made as much as $3,000 a year, just returning cans and bottles. My
friend wanted to write a story about him; Box Man didn’t want the IRS on his
case and politely declined.
Sometimes all it takes is a
conversation with the Town Characters and you might find out there is a story
there. I bumped into Santa at a garage sale and found out he had been an
antiques dealer, and he was able to point out to the garage sale host that the
candlesticks she was selling were more valuable than the dollar she was asking
for. He also told the story of needing a heart operation a few years back and
how upset he was that the doctors were going to have to trim his beard.
“I need the beard,” he said
he told his doctors. “The kids call me Santa.” But alas, they shaved the beard
anyway. It grew back and Santa was back in business.
It’s probably easier to be a
Town Character in a small town, particularly one such as mine that sort of
welcomes eccentrics more than many other small towns.
But it’s not a special
tolerance that likely makes a small town a better place for those who walk a
different path; it’s just that in the small town, we might know who these
people are and what their stories are.
I thought of this the other
day as I was out for a morning walk. I encountered Benny, who I often see
walking the streets and roads of my town. Benny’s not that much older than me,
and I believe he was seriously injured in a car accident years ago when I lived
away. He’s not a town character so much as a recognizable figure to anyone who
lives here.
On the bike path, Benny came
toward me flashing a cross and saying, repeatedly, “She said see me in heaven.
She said see me in heaven.”
In a bigger city or another
place, I might have been a little afraid and avoided him. Instead, I looked
closer at the cross Benny showed me, made from twigs glued to a piece of metal.
He turned it over, and there was a thermometer.
Benny pointed to the sky.
“She said see me in heaven,” he said, shook my hand and waved as he walked
away.
Benny’s just a guy around
town, looking forward to seeing someone someday in heaven. For now, I’m looking
forward to meeting the next Town Character, whoever he or she may be.
And in this town, it’s a
pretty good gig. You might even get your own Facebook page.
