Homeless Guy....

   As I have mentioned a couple of times previously, I was the manager of a 7Eleven in Orlando, Florida. It had its perk's and disadvantages, but one thing that always comes back to me was a particular gentleman that would come to the store every night.  As I remember it, his name was Richard and he had a dog.  I don't remember the dog's name, but I remember that Richard loved that dog.  Every night he would come into the store with the money he had obtained through out the day and buy his dog a can of dog food.  The dog was on a blanket in a grocery cart and Richard would push him every where they went.     

   The furry companion was a hound dog mix of some kind, but was just happy to ride around in the grocery cart.  He was well taken care of, and even though Richard looked like he had been dragged through hell and back, the dog was very clean and very healthy looking.  
   This was back in the early 90's and we made our own sandwiches every morning and threw away the ones that were headed out of date at night.  When I was on nights and Richard would come in with his dog, I would let him have a sandwich that was going to be thrown out anyway and he would talk about things as he consumed the sandwich of the evening.  Most of the time it was about how things were in Orlando, or his opinion on politics.  One night though, after months of buying cans of dog food and receiving free sandwiches, he told me how he got to the status he lived day in and day out.
   See, Richard was not always what you would call a transient, hobo, or bum.  He had not started out his life with goals to be a homeless street walker with his only companion being his dog.  As he told it, he actually was once a very popular person.  Someone of major influence in the day to day lives of those of the more wealthier crowds.  Not sure how many, but I would hope it took at least 5-10 yrs for Richard to get to the state he was in.  He told me that he actually had lived most of his life in New York, and even though it was expired, he still had his New York driver's license.  Even after seeing his drivers license and business card, his last name still escapes me just like the dog.  I do remember one thing that was on his business card that struck me at first.  Below his name, in smaller print, were the words 'Stock Broker'.  
   At a happier point in Richard's life, he had been a father and husband.  He   had loved and was loved, and it was taken away in a last breath.  His family and his mind were taken from him by a drunk driver.  In one horrible accident, the once proud and well situated young man lost everything, including his will to continue.  He gave up his house that was no longer a home, his job that no longer held its challenge, and his life that no longer had meaning.  From what he said, his only belongings he had were kept in a storage unit near by.  He had pictures of his family he kept in his pocket, but you couldn't tell what had happened if he didn't tell you.  All you could see from the outside was a dirty, crazy shell of a man that cared deeply for his four legged companion.
   Every once in a while I think of Richard and wonder if anyone ever missed him.  If anyone knew what became of him after the tragedy that drove him to a life on the streets, and as I sit here typing this out I wonder if he is still alive, or did he ever find peace....

Rides...

   So in previous blogs I have talked about the many different jobs I have had, and the several addresses where I have received mail.  There are a couple of other things I have changed several times, one of those being a mode of transportation.  You don't really think about how you are getting places until you don't have a way to get places.  You really begin to appreciate any mode of transportation once you have walked to the store and back pushing a double stroller.  Not so bad on the initial trip, but the return can be quite interesting when you have 10 plastic grocery bags tied precariously around the stroller in various places.  And once home you pick one son up out of the stroller just as you see the stroller flip back from the weight of the bags with your other son still inside.  He of course is laughing, but you feel that sudden panic hoping he is okay.  Well, shall we begin....

   Of course like other kids of the 70's I started out with a bike with a banana seat.... 

 

   Mine was blue and had a really thick back tire because I would skid and ruin regular tires, but basically looked like the one in the picture above.  As the years continued, I would change the type of bike I was riding, but pretty much always had one as back up transportation.

   When I was eleven, my father bought my older brother Paul a new motorcycle to replace his older one.  Paul had been in an accident on his old bike, breaking his leg in two places, so he needed a bigger faster model...LOL.  And I was 'given' the older one to ride.  It was a Suzuki 50cc street bike and it was the most awesome thing I had ever ridden.

  

   Understand I was eleven and it was the early 80's.  Not sure what ever happened to the little motorcycle.  I rode it around the neighborhood a few times and then it quit working.  I don't think my mom really wanted me riding it anyway, because when I inquired about fixing the bike, it never ran again as far as I knew.  And since it was a kick start, it didn't take long for me to give up trying to get it running myself.

   My next mode of non-human powered transportation was another 2 wheeled awesomeness supplied by my Step-dad David Hunter.  I was 16 and living in Okeechobee with my brother Paul.  (That's another story for another time)  And as a surprise my parents show up with this baby in the back of the family pick-up for my birthday.

     It was a great bike, and got a lot of use and abuse.  I didn't get a whole lot of use out of it at first because I seemed to have trouble passing the written test for my permit.  I still drove it around the area where I lived, but never strayed too far because getting busted without a license (as I learned later in life) is not a good thing.  Once I got back to Orlando I passed the permit written test and was able to utilize the motorcycle a lot more.  Also around this time, my mom decided my sister Amy and I should go to a Baptist private school.  This particular school was a about 8 miles away and they didn't offer a bus, so there was a time where Amy and I would get on the Rebel and ride across town to school and back.  Since this happened to be a Baptist school and they believed females should only wear skirts or dresses, Amy would put jeans on under her skirts so she could ride the motorcycle.  When we would get to school, she would quickly pull off her jeans in the parking lot.  


   One time Amy decided she was going to get a ride home from someone else, that might have to do with the burn she got on her ankle from the exhaust when I was messing around on the motorcycle.  Anyway, I was being my normal immature self behind the bus that was taking the schools football team over to the practice field.  Popping wheelies and 'cat-walking' the motorcycle up and down the road while the bus was preparing to leave seemed like a good idea until.... As I brought the motorcycle up and began cat-walking it towards the bus, I realized to late that I didn't give enough room to bring it back down in time before I hit the back of the bus.  Next thing I know I am laying on the ground and watching the motorcycle shoot up the back of the bus, lay over and land back on top of me.  If it hurt I didn't notice it, the door on the back of the bus flew open and the football team poured out.  Lifting the motorcycle off of me, they were asking if I was alright, but I was so embarrassed I just jumped on the motorcycle and drove off.  I found out a few days later I had to pay the school $90 for a busted taillight and one of the football players gave me a small plate that I also knocked off that said 'diesel' as a memento.  After that accident, the motorcycle never really ran right, and I decided to sell it.  That didn't please my Stepdad, and I still feel bad about that situation.


   One of my first four wheeled modes of transportation was an awesome little ride known as a 1984 Dodge Daytona Turbo.  I was 18 when I bought it in 1988 for a little over $3200.  And it looked a whole lot better than the one below, but it was gold colored like this one.  She could run like a scalded dog and was easy to control on curves.  Which was a blessing and a curse.  One time, as I was making one of my several trips from Orlando to Okeechobee, which was on a little traveled two lane road that was constructed with banked curves.  

   

   The deputy sheriff that pulled me over didn't look thrilled at all at my ability to maintain my vehicle at such a high rate of velocity.  The conversation started with, 'Boy, do you know how fast you were going?'  He had clocked me running 137 mph through the trees, but finally clocked me at 107mph as I slowed to come around the curve.  He said he had to wait until he could see me before he could get a real speed on the radar.  After staring at me for what seemed like forever, he made me get out of my car and get into the back of his cruiser.  We then took a little trip to the closest Sheriff's Annex.  He sat me down and asked where I was going in such a hurry.  I said I was meeting someone in Okeechobee.  Then he asked, 'What would you think if you hit a tree at that speed?'  Seriously, what would I think?  I really don't think I would have time for a thought before I hit the tree, but I did not say this out loud.  After threatening me with jail time for Wanton/Wreckless driving he took me back to my car and gave me a ticket for $244 and said he never wanted to see me again.  Of course I had to make up the time I lost visiting with Mr Deputy Sheriff.


.....I am going to leave off here for now... I will blog about more Rides at a later date....  Just a hint of the next mode of transportation...  1967 Ponycar...