Unsheltered: Meet Will

"There’s no way you’re telling the truth…”

At least that’s what I wanted to say.

Glad I kept my mouth shut.

Random passions and skewed timelines cluttered our conversation. A defense mechanism probably. A wall that, in knocking down, wouldn't yield any pleasure for either of us. But what would someone with nothing to lose gain in telling anything but the truth?

Still, it was easy for assumptions to crowd the head. One day he pronounced himself Muslim for nearly two decades, the next he recited his favorite bible verses.

In our short time together, the only certainty I unearthed was a sincere kindness and spirituality. For a man who was hit so hard, who shouldered the pain of several lifetimes in one, to offer such a progressive outlook on the world and to those around him, well, it was downright inspiring. He exuded such a genuine selflessness to the point it made me consider what it was, if anything, I was offering those close to me.

* * *

Will conversing across the tracks in Kensington

On a stiff November night, Will collected from what was left of the evening traffic. He worked the 5th Street stretch from Market to Chestnut, pushing his wheelchair up and down the left-hand side of the three-lane, one-way highway in the shadow of Independence Hall. His open styrofoam cup suggesting a dollar or change or whatever’s to be spared. To the drivers halted at the red light, his benevolence presented in a relaxed demeanor. Warm, tired eyes, and a weighted smirk hang tough after a long day.

For whatever reason, he never catered to those bustling by on the sidewalk, even though at day's end cars were scarce.

It was around 6:30pm, the sun was set. Trails of its exit torched the sky a deep indigo. In an hour it would be black. The stars don’t really shine in the city.

Time and time again I would pass him thinking: Tomorrow night I’ll engage. Or, you know what, Thursday would actually be better. And then tomorrow would pass, then Thursday. Week after week.

Finally, I approached him, and did so at the very same time as a young black guy in need of a light. So we all just stood there together awkwardly for a moment. Me being C in an A and B conversation.

Will obliged with a smile—cemented in wrinkles and rain, and framed by the dark, coarse stubble of his goatee. The man lit his cigarette and acknowledged Will's favor with an “Alright, man.”

There was no ‘extra change’ request, nor an offer. Not even a thanks.

Just a favor come and gone.

We both felt the emptiness of the moment, so I tried to levy situation, and asked “Hey man, you gotta story?”

You know… like a douchebag.

Wary and on guard, rightfully so as I’d learn.

a slice of pizza did not win him over.

Explaining to him that I wanted to write his story for a blog that no one reads didn't exactly move the needle.

He only agreed after I told him that I was in the process of moving out on my own. I may have let on that it was more a nerve of mine than it really was at the time. Regardless, what opened him up to a conversation was his sincere interest in me. For the first fifteen minutes, he asked more questions than I did. We had ourselves a couple of overpriced sausage and onion slices from the Bourse Building that Will would later declare "sucked.”

He told me I should have gone to Sonny’s on 3rd, declaring it the best pizza in the city.

Eventually, we got to talking to Will thanks to some cutting-edge journalism from yours truly...

“So how did you become homeless?”

“Well, I left home.”

You can't teach that sense of humor, ladies and gentleman. I laughed but stopped quickly when I watched the smirk vanish from his face. It was almost as if I never saw it, like an old western sharpshooter drawing, shooting, and holstering his pistol in the blink of an eye. His smirk stung because you knew there was more behind it.

Without dragging his words, as he had been for most of our conversation, he laid it out shocking and simple, “It’s real easy. When you have a grandfather who molests you and your sisters, it’s a time in your life you just do what you need to do… I was molested for eight years, man.”

He continued, “There’s a lot more sad in my life than happy.”

Will explained that he was raised by his grandfather in Philadelphia. His biological father moved to California after splitting with Will's mother when he was still a young boy. She remarried and raised him, his baby brother, and two sisters with her new husband - an emotion-suppressing alcoholic, he finally exploded and pushed Will’s mother down a flight of steps, killing her and his baby brother. He explained the entire nightmare family situation with stunning candidness.

"It is what it is," he says of the past.

He left home and became a Firefighter in the city. After several years on the job, Will claims to have woken up in the Crozier Burn Center. He had been in a coma for nine months. While fighting an active fire, the roof fell through and he went with it. Once healthy enough to leave, he took off for California to visit his father of the same name. Unfortunately, the reunion was short-lived and soon after, he moved to Las Vegas to sell crystal meth. Successfully I should add.

He made a small, quick fortune. Night clubs were his niche as he paid off the managers to deal inside. It was all a means to an end. With his drug sales and a partner, he bought the rights and facility of Holy Grounds Coffee in Las Vegas, a $46,000 venture. It was a Christian coffee shop, hence the name.

As Will motioned with enthusiasm several times, “Everyone was welcome!”

Everyone except him.

He was swindled out of the deal by his partner.

He explained, “See, in Vegas, you can’t have nothing in your name for legal reasons, so I put her in charge and everything in her name. Then I got cut out."

He plays unfazed but a sadness creeps through his tagline, "It is what it is.”

There is in fact a Holy Grounds Coffee Lounge in Las Vegas that is now permanently closed.

At a loss, he returned to Philadelphia for the first time since leaving for California. If returning home wasn’t painful enough, Will was there to have his leg amputated due to long-term complications from the fire. He never went back to his old home or tried to reconnect with his family. Instead, while sleeping on the streets, he searched for what was to come next. Unfortunately, there was never another business venture, job, or even a roof.

“A nice Asian shop let me stay there for a while.”

“They let you sleep in the shop?” I ask.

“No, outside, but it was a place to stay.”

Another time we talked, his sagging t-shirt revealed a few tattoos crossing about his neck, shoulders, and back. Some of which turned out to be in favor of a particular German worker's political party.

“What? You’re not racist?” he asked me.

Later that same day, an African-American mailman handed him a pair of heavy-duty gloves. A thoughtful gift, as they provided strong protection against the dirty tread of the tires that he maneuvered all day long. This exchange occurred casually in the middle lane during rush hour. Their banter and laughter gave the impression that this was a common occurrence.

When I pushed back on some of his unconventional remarks, Will countered in an odd way. He started to explain that he was actually Muslim and has been for the last 17 years. This, despite reciting his favorite bible passage, Psalms 121, the first time we spoke:

I lift up my eyes to the mountain, where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

Had family provided help rather than harm, I think Will's story would be very different.

Now, with family willing and able to offer a hand, he refuses. Over 18 years ago, his ex-girlfriend birthed a baby girl. He professed his love for them and how wonderful they both are, especially his daughter. Although they have been separated for basically her entire life, Will says he communicates with her via email at the public access library. He also said that she’s offered him assistance, and, apparently, he refuses.

"It’s supposed to be the other way around, ya know?”

A few months after Will and I first sat down at 5th and Market with our slices, I ran into him on the platform of Kensington’s Somerset station. In twisted irony, I was there looking at a potential apartment.

He obviously was not.

The area is well-known to users, the police, and pretty much the general public as a heroin hotspot.

Before he revealed his goings, he was sure to ask me why I was here, “of all places.”

When I told him, he begged of me not to move there. Will ripped into the neighborhood, and occasionally, into me for being dumb. He continued his argument well beyond the point of conviction. It certainly felt like a while.

“This place is bad news. It’s filled with heroin and junkies. It’s dangerous. You don’t wanna live here."

Then, without being prompted, Will lamented, "I just bought a bag and I was gonna do it, but I just threw it away. Just threw it away, man. I don’t want it.”

On that first night, he declared sobriety of 19 years. To his word and credit, Will was as sober as all I could tell each and every time we spoke. I think I’m a worthy judge on the matter. Although I praised his strength, in my head I placed him here on the occasional days he was absent from 5th and Market. Definitely a shameful assumption on my part. I sure hope it was a battle he was winning. It looked that way.

* * * ​

But to say I know Will after a few conversations is not true. I am still physically and mentally oblivious to what he goes through on a daily basis.

It’s hard to tell if he needs an ego boost or approval. Who’s approval? God perhaps, or maybe his daughter's, or maybe his own. It could be a sense of importance he longs. The same thing you and I search for on a daily basis.

This is a stirring factor at the tip of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs (Self-Actualization) and a common theme in Dale Carnegie’s infamous, How to Win Friends and Influence People. It’s my Doctorate degree in Psychology’s rationalization for Will’s strong-arming proclamation that the best pizza in the city belonged to Sonny’s on 3rd.

Turns out they don’t sell pizza.

All I know is this: in the short time we spent together, the man managed to gift more often than he received, an impressive feat for any human, let alone a homeless man.

To a drunk and dirty man who tried provoking us the moment we met eyes: Will labeled him “fake homeless, an alcoholic," then gave him the rest of his pizza.

Fifteen minutes later, the staggering, agro-inclined fella refused Will one of his many cigarettes, to which Will responded by telling him to put his dick back in his pants—a friendly gesture, since his fly really was down—and, shortly after, provide patient subway directions that I’m certain were not followed. As the guy lumbered on Joe offered him a sturdy “God Bless.” He meant it and he wanted the man to hear it.

Internal Note: I’m such a narcissist that I thought he was kind of playing it up for the cameras, if you will. In the way that he wouldn’t have been so, I guess, overly nice and generous? Like how is he supposed to be while living on the streets with one leg? Mean and aggressive… pickin’ fights? Don’t think so. This is not a game. The guy provoked us the moment he saw us. The guy posed no real threat to both Joe and I, but who’s to say they don’t run into each other tomorrow night. If something happens, he doesn’t have a phone to call 9-1-1. He’s on his own.

It made me glad to hear him say how fast he was and that they even called him one of two nicknames ‘Speedy’ and ‘Legs’… the second one being pretty damn funny, but Joe told me with proud assurance of his speed, so I simply saluted him.

To a woman who had no change to spare but the decency to roll down her window, apologize for not having anything to offer, and wish him a good day, Will gifted her a heartfelt and wonderfully bodacious compliment amidst the red-light frozen traffic, “You too! And God Bless! I love that smile!”

He had a thing for smiles.

One rare morning that Will was already panhandling before 8am, he stopped to greet me and the other zombie commuters as we ascended the subway stairs. With our heads down, galumphing towards the finale of our morning trek. We were brought to life by a beaming voice with a simple demand:

“Smile! Let me see those smiles! It’s gonna be a great day!”

That was the day I knew I had to meet him. To get to know him a little bit.

Will left me with this quote which I cut short earlier, “There’s a lot more sad in my life than happy... that’s why I do what I do today. Give back to the people because a lot of people don’t have it. I don’t either, but you know what, man? God is good.”

Later he would wrap that thought…

“Be true to yourself and be true to God.”

More Human Interest