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Crazy John's was one of my goto sub shops in Baltimore. The Baltimore & Howard store has been run out by development near the Civic Center, or whatever it is called now. But there is still a Crazy Johns on "the Block" They even have a website now. The Skipjacks was Baltimore's profession hocky team at the time. |
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written sometime in 1988 |
 hen do I actually sacrifice for anyone? As this question formed in my
mind during the Sunday School lesson today, I knew I had to deal with what
happened Friday night. This writing is the beginning. It is my confession. he game started at 7:30. My practice has been when shooting the
Skipjacks to eat a cheese steak sub from Crazy Johns on Baltimore St.
Tonight I had talked on the phone till around 7:10 and had a decision to
make. There really wasn't time to walk two blocks, wait for them to make
the sub, walk back, and eat it, then get the camera in by 7:30 to shoot the
first face off. But 1 didn't want to go in and wait in the stands for fifteen
minutes. I decided to go order a sub even though there wasn't time and now
I can't even remember being hungry. his was the second time this week I had been assigned the Skipjacks,
and for the second time I passed what I think was the same man selling
candy to benefit the
retardedboyscouts (that's the way he
said it.) It was that special fund raising size; just a little bit bigger and a lot
more expensive. I thought about how dedicated he must be and what a
sacrifice he must be making. Was he worried that people might think him
foolish? Did people think he was foolish?
But more than that I thought that
somehow the hawking of candy outside the Skipjacks' game misses the spirit
of fund raising. About that however, I could be mistaken.  walked a little farther
and was glad not to see the guy that I think asked me for money the last time
I took this walk. His speech was slurred and I really couldn't understand
him. I assumed that he was drunk and that he wanted money to stay that
way. I asked him what he wanted, but I couldn't understand his answer so I
just said sorry and walked off. hat was two days ago. As I was being
thankful that I didn't have to deal with him, a man carrying a baby asked me
for ninety cents. I had a pocket full of quarters so I gave him four. Not
really a sacrifice. And who did it hurt if he was a professional panhandler.
Not me. He said he wouldn't ask except for his little girl. I walked away
thinking that I really hadn't made much of a difference. I wondered what
Jesus would have done. I imagined he would have seen the man's real need
and addressed that. I think that my giving him what he asked for was for
me, expressing my willingness to be used, to be laughed at in secret for
being gullible, to be a fool, to err on the side of helping humanity. I think
that by calling him humanity instead of a person removes me far enough from
him for the incident not to bother me. ut what happened next bothered me. I failed. And from this failure,
forgiveness is my only salvation. I made my way the rest of the way to
Crazy Johns and ordered my sub. 7:15. I'll never make it. t was a warm
night, so I walked around outside at Baltimore and Howard to wait for my
sub. A guy asked me for a match. I didn't have one. As he walked away I
thought maybe I should have made some comment about quitting smoking
four years ago so he wouldn't think me snobbish. Why would I even worry
that someone who asks me for a match might think me snobbish? hen as I walked toward Howard Street I saw him. He was
unconscious. His hips were on the curb and he was lying in the street. His
feet were tucked back under him. I don't know how he got there. There was
a little bottle beside him. I thought, "A drunk has passed out." He wasn't
there when I came by earlier. The first thing I did was to turn and walk the
other way, a regular Levite. As soon as I did I thought about what I was
doing. I turned to watch to see if he would get up and stagger away, and I
could just shake my head under my breath and be thankful it wasn't me.ut he didn't move. Some boys came up to him and shook him, tried to
rouse him, asked him if he was alright. I was both glad that someone was
helping him and sorry that I was just standing there. After all what would
Jesus be doing now? The man just moaned and didn't show any signs of
coming around. And as I watched these helpers around him one of them
said "Dammit we're just trying to help you" and as they walked away one of
them kicked him in the head. Not by accident. It was an intentional "Fuck
you asshole" kick in the head. I was stunned. I had stood there feeling
guilty about not helping this man while I watched boys I thought were being
helpful turn into street thugs. Thankfully they walked away and I thought
about what I would have done if they had started going through his pockets
trying to rob him. I couldn't find an answer; I still can't.  man who was
standing beside me watching this evolve (I was not alone in my inaction, but
having fellow Levites did not comfort me at all) made some comment about
young hoodlums and ain't it awful. My spirit turned and walked away then
came back as I just stood there. Finally I thought of calling for help. So I
walked to the pay phone and pushed 911. I told the operator that an
ambulance was needed for a man lying in the street, and I told her where.
There was a crowd gathering, a less menacing, merely curious crowd. I felt
that no one would hurt him further now. I walked back in Crazy Johns, my
sub was ready. took my sub and soda and started back for the truck and the hockey game.
I paused as I walked by the man in the street, trying to assure myself that I
had done enough, and get some kind of approval from those standing there
that it was alright for me to leave now. They just looked at me. Neither
forgiving nor condemning. I looked down at the man. He was dressed ok.
Not a definite bum. He didn't shave this day but I sometimes go several days without shaving
myself. And he was bleeding. From his ear. I hadn't seen that before. I
guess from that boy’s kick. I saw his hand move. He was still alive.
I walked on. really felt like a priest or a Levite. I got back to the truck. It
was 7:25. It would be really irresponsible now to sit and eat. I left the sub
and the soda in the truck, and began loading myself up with camera,
recorder, battery pack, and tripod. As I locked the door and turned toward
the pass gate, I heard the siren of a Medic. I told myself that
everything was OK.
by Bill Butler, 1988 |
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Page maintained by Bill Butler. © 2014