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I first saw Phil at the corner of Buffalo’s Bailey Avenue and Broadway Street, an intersection nostalgic for prosperity. This corner, a convergence of neighborhood and forgotten industry, dusty with decades of historical poverty, has become a pocket ripe for panhandling and all sundry of shenanigans.
Phil’s hair stuck out in a wiry halo of gesticulation as he darted between the lanes of traffic. His smile beamed and glowed down into the windows of passers-by as they counted the red light seconds of his intrusion, most rolling their windows tight, a few making offerings in response to his undeniable charisma and impish charm. I was headed in the opposite direction, so went on my way, but the thought of him stayed. As I shopped for Christmas delights, my mind turned again and again to this fearless urchin and all he might be doing without.
Hours later, headed back to my daughter’s apartment, I returned to the intersection and there he was still! Now, he was on the opposite side from me again but this time I applied just the right amount of danger to the situation and swung a u-turn across four lanes of traffic. Pulling up alongside a gated auto shop, I caught his eye and waved a ten. He was by my side in no time, smiling away, thanking me profusely, and poking his gaze into my SUV. His eye caught on a blanket in the passenger seat.
“Got anything else? Food? I’m cold out here,” he hugged his arms and scoped my mobile mansion, so chock-a-block full of life-sustaining treasures. I handed him the blanket with a smile and again he glowed at me. “I’m Phil,” he said.
“Good-bye Phil,” I said and watched him skip away across Bailey Avenue, my blanket around his shoulders like an extra large fuzzy scarf, my heart now in his hands. Oh, Phil.
The rest of that late afternoon I spent researching ways to serve Buffalo’s homeless population. Were there any holiday food programs at which I could volunteer? Was there a way to take this new-found love of Phil out on the road and help others like him? For days after, every time I went into a store I would think – what does Phil need? Could he use these gloves? This hat? Alas, I did not see Phil again, but he stayed with me in countless, heart wrenching ways.
*****
This past year, my daughter’s apartment has been a haven for me. She has opened her home to me for visits and as a place to get off the road for a bit. Most recently she took me in when I needed gallbladder surgery. Her apartment is in the Lovejoy district of Buffalo, a gritty criss-cross of streets once dedicated to Polish immigrants. While still staunchly protective of its “own”, it is now also home to porch thieves, tweakers, and lazy opportunists. For all my daughter's generosity, I do my best to show my gratitude – mainly, you know, with money.
One evening she was getting ready to meet some friends for dinner and I reached for my wallet, only to remember about Phil.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry I don’t have any cash. I gave my last ten to Phil,” thinking myself funny and fully expecting her to ask who Phil was.
I don’t get the sharp turn of my daughter’s full attention often, but that brought her to a standstill, her mouth agape and her voice an octave above normal.
“You gave money to Bicycle Phil?”
My heart turned over inside itself and my mind, oh my story-spinning mind saw what a fabrication it had made. It took me a beat or two to ask some questions and confirm, that yes, I had given my money to one of the city’s most well-known pan-handlers.
“Everybody knows Bicycle Phil,” she said.
Sigh.
*****
Flash a few days forward to Christmas Eve with my sister’s family. At some point, the conversational space opened and I began to tell the story of Phil, along with my daughter's response. Before I got too far, my nephew’s knowing look told me – yes, he too knew Bicycle Phil.
“But, I didn’t see him with a bicycle,” I said.
“Oh, I’ve seen him panhandling with a bicycle with no tires,” my nephew’s comment got a laugh from us all.
Oh, Phil.
*****
As I write this blog, I stopped to search a bit for an image online of the intersection where I met Phil. Not kidding – the second hit was a Reddit thread “We all know Phil right? Broadway and Bailey?”
The jig was up - my special moment with an unknown person in need was now a city-wide phenomena. What had changed?
*****
A year ago as I headed out on my grand, nomadic adventure, my meditation teacher said something that has really stayed with me – “Watch your mind.” Indeed. What a story I had spun, a longing my mind had created, and even a bit of an attachment to the flood of joy and emotion I had felt in that brief encounter with Phil. Without any information at all, my mind with all its pre-programmed perceptions, had written the story of Phil with me as a lead character.
So, Phil, I have to thank you. Thank you for letting me practice generosity. And thank you, even more so, for leading me to the sharp clarity of recognition that comes when we see our perceptions for what they are. Because, in that moment there was no story - just a spark of love and the truth of inter-connection – on the corner of Bailey and Broadway.
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