You would think someone in the situation Jenkins finds himself that he would go out and find himself some sort of religion. In my experience, that is what people do when they are wrapped in the clutches of peril or disaster. They call out to God as their head is pressed against the cold porcelain, their arms wrapped around the toilet. They murmur silent promises that a lifelong pursuit of kindness and warmth is forthcoming if ONLY the man in the blue uniform making them walk the straight line under flashing lights would simply go away. The groan in agony "God, oh God, if only you will make him/her come back to me again… I will never stray!"


Of course you know what I am saying. The desperately uttered promises of change thrown at the wall of shame, pain or catastrophe that faces all people so often in their lives; it's human nature after all. And for what? Silly really when you think about it. If calamity comes anyway the deal is off and God is blamed, if it is averted, the relief is so great the promise is forgotten.


So you would imagine, with nothing in life to really call his own and while wandering through the lamp lit night of the streets that were his home that he might call out once, maybe twice, for the help of infinite wisdom; most would, and they wouldn't mean a bit of it but Jenkins- well Jenkins- in his faded army coat and tattered jeans really did not think that was necessary. It was not that Jenkins hated God. He simply did not really think about Him.


Jenkins was unusual, even by homeless standards. He had a watch that worked as time was important to him. He bathed daily, as best he could, instead of only when completely necessary; when he simply couldn't stand the stink of himself any longer. He had made some friends among the local restaurants and he ate regular meals. You could see him standing in the back alleys in the morning mist eating a plate of food as a man or women in white aprons stood beside him talking softly. They would laugh together as Jenkins ate with without hurry.



Oh, he would of course by necessity participate in the standard homeless traditions. You would see him, this tall lean black man, with bald head and squinty eyes, walking the back alleys finding items of value thrown out in the dumpsters. He was particular though and he would gather them up in his cart and weave his way through the alley's and streets to Lester's Second Hand Store. He would unload the lamps and fans, clothing and even the books, which he hated to give up but would. Then the transaction would be made. It was a wonderful deal for Mr. Lester as he paid almost nothing for the items but almost nothing to Jenkins was a long stretch better than absolutely nothing. It meant to Jenkins he would never have to do the thing he could never do. The thought of pandering made him nauseous, he had vowed to himself never to be in that place and I would see him do this and it made me happy, proud almost like a father.



Then Jenkins would check his watch, and make his way to church. It opened at eleven am every day. Jenkins walked through the freshly swept streets with his hands in his pockets and would pass the Lutherans first, and then he strolled on by the Methodists, never raising his gaze in curiosity. Next were the Protestants. Then he would pass the massive steeple of the Catholics, their towering cathedral laying a shadow across the sidewalk. Finally he would turn the corner at 5th and slowly walk the last two blocks, then go up the small flight of steps, hitting each one, and enter the local library.


It was warm and bright and silent and he was never bothered. They all knew him by now, new his name was Jenkins and maybe if he would have been different they would at some point have to have done something about it. But the way he scanned the aisles, searching for something until one caught his eye was genuine. The way he would sit in silent content with eyes moving back and forth along the pages and the small expressions of joy, sadness, wonder and concern was true. You cannot loiter while reading. So they let him be. Sometimes one of the librarians would bring him a Styrofoam cup of hot coffee; he would accept it with a smile of thanks and go back to whichever selection laid before him.


There was a time some months before where an arrogant child of high school age was arguing loudly with one of the desk attendants about an overdue fine he had. He could not pay it he said, although he could. He needed this book for school he also said, which he did not. Finally after several minutes Jenkins rose up from his table, taking his current book with him and walked up the boy. Jenkins at him for a moment and then placing the book down on the counter brought his single index finger up to his mouth with firmness, with concern. Jenkins then lowered his hand from his mouth slowly and put it in the long side pocket of his army jacket. He brought it out with ten dollars in single bills and placed them on the counter while the attendant and arrogant boy started at him with wide eyes.


Maybe he smiled, maybe he didn't but I remember him thinking how funny he thought the whole affair was as he barely glanced at the boy, gathered up his book from the counter and returned to his seat. He sat down and took a sip of coffee and slowly opened to the page where he had left off and the day faded away along with all the worries in the world.

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