By Vivian Luu
Spring 2009 Kaplan Award Winner
If you have ever walked past or into the Safeway on the corner of 50th street and Brooklyn avenue, you’ve probably seen the old, black man slumped over the black chair that’s about to fall apart, with the funky eyes and the crooked smile.
“Real Change?” the old man would ask you, followed by “Have a good day sir, have a good day, ma’am,” depending on who you are.
Well I tell you what: That newspaper vendor is me. That man you ignore is me. That man you say “I’m sorry” to is me.
Don’t feel bad because you don’t want to buy my liberal newspaper from me. Don’t feel bad because you have no money to give me. Don’t feel bad because you don’t like people like me.
I’ve been selling these papers for over 15 years here. Everyone knows who I am: Ed. Not Edward, because that’s my father’s name. Just Ed. Ask the manager at Safeway. I’ve been here for a long, long time. People know who I am and I know who they are.
You think I’m homeless. Well I tell you, I’m no fool. I have a job. I sell newspapers and you can damn well see that. Every week, I take out 500 papers from Real Change. Thirty-five cents each.
And I sell ‘em. Most weeks I sell ‘em all. I’ve been the top newspaper seller for the past 14 years at Real Change. Those other guys can only wish to sell half of what I do. It all has something to do with my schooling. I graduated from the University of Northern Illinois with a degree in sociology. Sociology, you hear that? I know how to work with people and interact with them. That’s what makes me such a good salesman: I know how people are.
But hey, I’m just like everyone else. I have myself two hands, two feet and a brain. I come here every single day, rain or shine, and I say hello to people and sell them the newspapers. Hell, I was here during that snowstorm over the winter. Damn, it was cold! And I was still here.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to make the others look bad. I know they work hard. But they’ve given me a fair share of trouble. A long time ago, this woman tried to get a restraining order against me so she could snatch my spot and start begging in front of the Safeway. She said I was trying to kill her. (God damn that woman!) For nearly three years, I had to go to court, like, once a month because of that bitch. And you know what the judge said? He said, “Well if I thought I was going to get killed somewhere, I’d get the hell away from there. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to go to that place so I can get killed.” Yeah, that’s right.
So I got a restraining order against that bitch instead. And when she tried to get near me (which she did), she went to jail. Twice. That fool doesn’t come around anymore.
And then a few years ago, the Safeway got a new manager. I tell you, he was the biggest pain in the ass I had ever met. He wanted me to come and ask him if I could sell my newspapers in front of his Safeway. I told him I was on public property so I could do whatever the hell I wanted so long as I didn’t hurt anyone else. He wrote to Tim Harris, my boss, and you know what Tim said? Hah! He said I had every right to be where I was and if that manager were to give me a hard time, he would get the whole Real Change staff and the vendors to come and picket in front of Safeway.
That sucker. He never dared to pick fights with me again. We actually became good friends because he realized it wasn’t worth it to be such a prick. That helped me out a lot. I’m still here, aren’t I?
A lot of folks say I’m just some lazy bum. Well tell you what: I have myself a one-bedroom apartment in Lake City and I ride the bus or I ride my bike down here every single day. (I get my exercise that way.) I’m not freeloader and I work hard for what I have. My $10 per hour is giving me my shelter and my home phone and my TV.
Whether you believe it or not, I’m paying for my grandson too. Tyrese—he doesn’t live with me, but I pay for everything. His toys, his karate lessons, his coats—he used to lose all his coats and one day, I just told him, “I’m gonna whoop your ass if you lose another coat”—he hasn’t lost one since. His mom is nice. His dad, my son, well… I’m glad I don’t have to see that son-of-a-bitch again. But I still spoil him like mad.
I remember when I was young, moving from place to place: Canada, New York, Illinois, England. My church gave me a graduation present when I finished college and of course, I asked to go to England. The church members bought me round-trip airfare to England, but when I got there, I loved that place so much that I just killed my ticket and stayed there.
I met some friends and this sounds really bad, but I started selling dope and robbing banks. Yeah it’s hard to believe—me—old guy—doing all this crazy shit. [And he starts wheeze-laughing.] I’m surprised I got away but really, there’s nothing they could do to me but kick me out of the country. It was good becThat Vendor Is Meause I had no responsibilities and I could do whatever the hell I wanted. I liked that. But you know, all good things must come to an end. I got sent back to the states. But it’s all good—I like it here.
I gotta admit I’m pretty happy with where I am. I feel like my own boss and I work when I want. Selling papers, talking to friends. And then when I get home, I just roll up a joint, drink a beer and fall asleep. What’s better than that?
***
Ed could’ve written this story himself, but he didn’t.
I met Ed while grocery shopping at Safeway—bought Real Change a few times—and decided one day to see what he was up to.
This story wouldn’t have been the same if I had written it like a traditional journalist. Without speaking in first person, without putting myself in Ed’s shoes—writing as if I were there in the cold, selling newspapers, raising my grandson—you wouldn’t have been able to see what it was like to be this man. So as you walk past the U-District Safeway and you see the old man in the black chair, don’t forget to say, “Have a good day, sir,” knowing that you know who he is.