comin together part 1: the lost geezer

I nearly bumped into the old geezer when I stepped out of the elevator of my bldg. Must have been in his 80s. One shoe on, the other gone (anyone find a light tan moccasin, right foot?). Shirt half tucked in, half out under a tattererd vest. Wearing a jaunty cap. Not grubby, but definitely not from the right side of the tracks, either.

Can I help you? I asked. He happily murmered some response, and got in the elevator.

Curious, I watched the elevator light to see which floor he got off -- but the light didn't move, nor did the elevator. I heard him humming a tune to himself.

Maybe someone's grandpa, here, I thought.

Dogs in tow, I had a banking deadline to meet, and no time to hang around wondering how to handle the situation, so out the lobby doors I went.

If I had my cel I would have called 911.

Approaching the building was a neighbour I'd seen often but never met, and frankly, had felt intimidated by for no particular reason. The situation called for self-transcendence, to I called out to him, "hey, do you have a cel phone?" He didn't, but when I explained the situation, he offered to see if the man was still in the elevator. He wasn't. Turns out the old geezer had found his way into the stairwell (not easy to do).

The neighbour - and I would not have anticipated this - was gentlemanly and kind with the old guy, asking if he were lost, and if he needed some help getting to his correct address.

The old geezer cheerfully announced his must have gotten the address wrong, and was sure he just needed the building next door. He made his cheery exit, cap still jaunty.

The building next door is Chill Winston's, a restaurant.

Sure enough, he tried the locked doors. The chef, interrupted from her prep by the man's knocks, came to the door, and she too was kind. But not so kind as to agree that his home was inside the building!

I couldn't not stay engaged with the story at this point, and seeing a police car by the former Brother's restaurant, went to ask for help. The police, however, were in the midst of an arrest of a young guy who'd been sleeping in the doorway, so back I went to Chill Winston's, all the while keeping an eye on the geezer's whereabouts.

Was he someone's grandpa? Was anyone up all night, searching the streets for him, like that asian family on TV a few weeks ago?

was he an SRO occupant? or someone turfed out of the slum buildings, closed for safety reasons (among others)?

had he slipped away from a senior's home?

A guy was preparing the Chill Winston patio for business, and yes, he had a celphone.

I called 911, worried this was a waste-of-their-time call, but the police woman was interested, took the details, and said she'd send someone over to take care of him. (THANK YOU, Vancouver Police Dept'!)

Meanwhile, the geezer had wandered into Blakes. I slipped in there, and let the barristas know someone was on his way to help the guy. The good folks at Blakes got him some coffee, and last I saw, he was contentedly sipping, sitting in the best seat in the house - a soft chair right in the window.

These are the moments I love to see - and exemplify, in a small way, my hope for change - ie. the integration of those of us in the area who have money, and those with less (if any), looking out for each other.