Summary

An out-of-work comedian named Douglas Pilarski reflects on his interactions with a homeless man named Demitri, whom he often encountered at a Santa Monica bus stop, drawing parallels with his own childhood lessons in empathy and the art of observation.

Abstract

Douglas Pilarski, a Portland-based writer, shares a personal story about his encounters with an 80-year-old homeless man, Demitri, at a Santa Monica bus stop. Through his recollections, Pilarski paints a vivid picture of Demitri's resilience and sense of humor, despite his living conditions. The narrative weaves in Pilarski's childhood memories of accompanying his father on outings in Pittsburgh, where he was taught empathy by interacting with homeless individuals. The article underscores the importance of human connection, observation, and the unspoken bonds that can form between strangers. Pilarski's reflections culminate in the realization that everyone, regardless of their circumstances, has a story worth acknowledging.

Opinions

The author admires Demitri's ability to live fully in the present without carrying a victim mentality or a chip on his shoulder.
Pilarski values the skill of observing people, which he learned from his father and believes is essential for understanding the world and its inhabitants.
The author conveys a sense of respect and curiosity towards Demitri, recognizing him as a character with a rich life story, despite his homelessness.
Pilarski seems to appreciate the humor and camaraderie he witnessed among Demitri and his friends playing poker on the bus, viewing it as a testament to their resilience and zest for life.
The article suggests that moments of connection, such as Pilarski's interactions with Demitri, are significant and can teach valuable life lessons, such as empathy and the importance of engaging with others beyond surface level.

I’m an Out of Work Comedian

and that’s not funny

I used to bump into a homeless man named Demitri. I first met him at a bus stop in Santa Monica.

I was impressed by him. So much so I remember him after all these years.

Demitri was 80. The classic image of a panhandler. He lived life on the streets of Los Angeles. My impression of him was that he was fine.

He did not act like a victim.

He was living today to the fullest. He did not walk around with a chip on his shoulder.

I lived in Mar Vista. I would commute to downtown LA a couple of times a week. I transferred to the RTD on Wilshire. He was always there when I caught the 320.

I admit I am a people watcher. I tried to strike up a conversation with him and failed several times before I could engage him.

Demitri had a sense of humor. I would ride the bus in, and we often took the same bus. I was in a suit. He was in a ragtag combination of a shirt and pants and some old shoes. He carried a paper bag with whatever belonged to him that day.

So why was I so interested in this guy?

When I was a kid, Saturdays were always special. My Dad and I would take off in his Caddy in the morning. We headed to his office on 5th Avenue in downtown Pittsburgh. I would sit in his office chair and play with the office supplies in Dad’s desk drawer.

There must be a surviving pic of me making a phone call from Dad’s desk. Proof that early on, it was clear that I was MadMen material. Now, where is that picture?

After the office, we made stops to visit his clients. As we walked the city streets, Dad would give me a dollar. He would point at a homeless person and push me into their path. I was instructed to say hello, tell the person my name, and hand off the dollar. It was a little scary, but I executed. I did this enough that I got used to it.

I was learning empathy. I was embracing people. I was learning about my world and the people in it.

We headed to the Hill District to see the old man at Anchor Hocking. He bottled soft drinks in cases of 42 seven-ounce glass bottles. We would return cases of empties and re-stock. There was more than enough room in the trunk of his Caddy for those bottles.

Then off to Squirrel Hill to pick up a paper bag full of hot bagels. We ended on Polish Hill to see my Gramps. I never left Grampsie without him pressing a quarter into my palm. My Dad grew up in that house.

Back to Santa Monica

Those early experiences were repeated for years. I was curious. I like to strike up a conversation anyway, so what is the difference? I saw Dimitri frequently. He started to recognize me.

I would say hello and try to get a conversation going. He was evasive. All I got was his name. He did not exactly run away, but I could tell he did not want to share. Others greeted him and called him by his name.

Up close, he was a scraggly character. His clothes were four or five days dirty. He spent most of his day on the street in downtown LA asking passersby for money. He always looked like he was full of energy. Impossible to pull off sleeping on cardboard on the sidewalk. I surmised that he may have a place to stay. None of this is my business, of course.

I saw him on the corner pretty regularly. I wanted to make an effort to help him. I tried to not get in the way. I saw him asking for money to buy items from the drug store. I saw an opening, so I made sure to help. I gave him a bag of personal items a day or two later. I filled it with razors, deodorant, socks, soap, and a toothbrush.

He accepted my goodie bag. He didn’t say anything. He just took the bag.

When I saw him, I would raise a hand hello then move on. I did not want to intrude. He appeared to be well. It really was not my business.

I was on the express one afternoon near the front of the bus. I heard some laughter and a couple of choice swear words. Guess who? He was leaning forward with his arms over the seat in front of him. He was with some fellows, and they were all holding dollar bills. They were playing poker for serial numbers. They would hoot and holler and appeared to be having a grand old time.

I heard him say, I’m an out of work comedian, and that’s not funny. What a line! I thought he was a genius there for a minute.

I learned how to size up a person with the power of observation. A skill that belongs in your toolkit too. He and I were not friends, and we were not colleagues. Besides the bus line, we did not have anything in common. He was an old guy making his way and trying to enjoy his life.

Dimitri, I am sure he lived a full life. He got hired and fired. He laughed and cried, he won and lost, he pushed away from his personal table fat and happy a time or two.

He went full power when he had a dollar bill with three nines.

But the one thing I learned from all of this?

When you are holding a pair of eights…

A comedian with three nines is not funny.

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Douglas Pilarski. Portland-based writer/journalist. [email protected]

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