House Members and Hobos

Per my casual comment and Trueblat’s encouragement, I’ve decided to catalog my experiences with members of Congress and other high-ranking officials, contrasting those to my run-ins with the local homeless crowd around where I live and work. Now that I think about it, there are some interesting similarities. Ted Kennedy, for example, drinks about as much as the guy down at the corner. I saw him leaving the Phoenix Park Hotel and he looked about has haggard as any of the bums on the streets, although he was dressed a lot nicer. I can see why they wouldn’t let him on a plane, though. That is one scary dude.

On the same day I saw all of the justices of the Supreme Court, I had a nice run-in with the protesters in front of the Supreme Court building. They don’t quite count as hobos, but they’re close enough to merit mention. There were two groups of protesters there that day. One was a left-wing group with signs with the logo of NOW and pro-choice slogans. (Isn’t it interesting they don’t call it “anti-life?” I wonder why?) They sat there until the video cameras for the news agencies got set up and then they waved the signs and chanted for a few minutes while the cameras rolled, and then they left.

The other group was more entertaining. They brought a bunch of musical instruments, like guitars, harps, etc., and played music and sang about peace and stuff. The one guy leading them all was actually quite a good singer; I enjoyed that part of the protest. I was waiting for two hours to get in to hear the oral arguments, so I didn’t mind a little background music. But then they stopped playing music and all lined up and were bobbing their heads and shaking and praying or something. I dunno if it was really praying; some of them looked more like they were having a seizure or something. This one chick with red hair kept screaming unintelligible things. I never quite found out what they were protesting. They need to work on their message, I guess. But they were much more faithful than the NOW people. The singers stayed for several hours. I really did like the singing. If they had sung something like “Kumbaya” I would have gone over to join them.

I ran into a few Representatives from the House a couple times in hearings and conferences and stuff. They are all pleasant, patronizing, and like to talk about things they know nothing about. Kind of like the homeless people I pass on a daily basis. Most of them try to be pleasant, they patronize you in an attempt to appeal to your pity, and they love to talk about any ol’ thing. Some of them probably know more about politics than the House members, actually. My least favorite guy sits by the bus stop at Washington Circle. He chain-smokes and mutters angrily at people and scribbles things on a paper cup. Even The Redhead doesn’t have much trouble not giving anything to him. After spending two years in Latin America I have developed a well-hardened conscience that is not very susceptible to the pleas of panhandlers. The Redhead, on the other hand, cannot help but feel bad for them. According to my way of thinking, they really don’t need spare change; they need food or help finding gainful employment or help treating substance abuse. We’ve volunteered at the Capital Area Food Bank and we don’t feel completely heartless. But The Redhead is very empathetic, and it’s much harder for her to dismiss them. One day she told me she had a confession to make. She said it in such a way that I was expecting something like, “I broke your Clié” or “I lost your wallet” or “My name is actually LaFawnda and I’ve been leading a double life.” But she just confessed to giving a panhandler a few bucks in the Metro. I laughed and hugged her and said that it wasn’t illegal and isn’t an unpardonable sin, either.

I’m not sure which group I like better, the important people up on Capitol Hill or the homeless people. The Senators sure smell better, but you get to know the hobos. There’s the guy that sits under the tree. The guy with the dreads and all the magazines sits by the hospital. The big jolly guy with few teeth sits by St. Stephan’s. I think I’ll actually miss them when I move back to Provo. Except the smoking guy. He’s almost as scary as Ted Kennedy.