Summary

A man in Canberra, Australia, returns found money to a street-living hobo who surprisingly refuses it, challenging the man's preconceptions about charity and lifestyle choices.

Abstract

In a personal narrative, the author recounts an encounter with a street-living hobo in Canberra's city center. The hobo, who is known for collecting cigarette butts and sleeping on the pavement, inadvertently leaves a small amount of money at his sleeping spot. The author finds the money and later returns it to the hobo, expecting gratitude or need. However, the hobo declines the money, uttering the phrase "I don't want money," which leaves the author reflecting on his own assumptions about homelessness and the complexities of helping others. The experience prompts the author to reassess his understanding of the hobo's lifestyle and the broader implications of societal labels and preconceived notions.

Opinions

The author initially views the hobo through a lens of stereotypes, labeling him as "penniless" and assuming he would need and want the money returned.
The hobo's rejection of the money suggests a level of contentment or self-sufficiency with his lifestyle, contrary to the author's expectations.
The author acknowledges his own surprise and internal conflict at the hobo's refusal of assistance, indicating a deeper contemplation about the nature of charity and respect for individual autonomy.
The story implies a critique of societal judgments and the tendency to make assumptions about people based on their living conditions or choices.
The author seems to recognize his limited understanding of the hobo's circumstances and the broader issue of homelessness, questioning his own knowledge and the effectiveness of conventional welfare approaches.

“I Don’t Want Money” … A True Story

This was said to me in the nation’s capital by a street-living hobo

This is one of my “Me and …” stories … true stories from my life. №.12: ‘Me and a Hobo’ … “I don’t want your money”

**ROLLING HIS CIGARETTE** * Image by Leroy Skalstad from Pixabay

The location for this true story and the background:

I used to work in the heart of Canberra … Australia’s capital city. Almost every day when I left my office building to wander the streets to get a bite of lunch, or simply go to move my car into a new timed-parking-spot, I would see a street hobo looking for cigarette butts on the ground or in the trash bins.

He would be tightly focused on the task, and many times I observed him collecting a dozen or more. He would then sit down on the pavement and convert them into smoking sticks of his own.

It took me back to the time when my own father was ‘addicted’ to cigarettes (before tobacco became a seriously recognized health hazard), and also to my grandfather who always had a pipe in his mouth. As a boy, I was fascinated by the way he lit his pipe … quite an art-form ... and he always looked so relaxed.

This story of mine today is not about cigarettes or pipes, or even the art of collecting and re-using cigarette butts. The aim of the intro paragraph above is to introduce you to the man who lived on the streets and tell you of one particular interaction between him and me.

The man:

He was a genuine sidewalk guy … he walked the inner city streets all day, and even slept on the pavement under the overhang of the big city building that was my office complex in central Canberra. If you know Canberra, I’m talking about the area that’s called ‘Civic’.

During the daytime he always carried his rolled up sleeping bag. To me, he seemed well-organised for this particular lifestyle, but of course, I am not suggesting that it was his ‘chosen’ lifestyle. Never-the-less, organised he was!

The day I found his money:

It was a day that started as every other working day for me … drive into the city; head for the immediate outskirts of ‘Civic’ (where timed parking spots could be found); then a walk to the city center and the big office buildings.

As I walked along the covered sidewalk to my own building I passed his usual sleeping spot. Normally, at that time in the morning he would still be there, tucked into his sleeping bag, and ‘away-to-the-world’. But on this day he was gone. However, at the exact spot where he normally lay, I spotted a small pile of coins (not a great deal of money, but I thought: “He’ll certainly want this”. So, I stooped down, collected the money, and pocket it … to give it to him next time I saw him.

There was no doubt in my mind that the money would be missed, and needed. He always appeared to me as one of those ‘penniless types’. Oh, what labels we give to folk we don’t know! And how true, that phrase turned out to be.

The day I gave the money back:

I think it was a couple of days later when I next saw him … hunting for ciggy butts as usual, so I approached him with the money in my hand, and said: “I found this money of yours. You’d left it on the ground at your sleeping place”.

He looked me straight in the eye and, without hesitation he said: “I don’t want money”, and continued on his merry way!

Takeaway:

The story above is true, and as you can imagine, the unexpected response to my gesture was quite a knock-back for me. It was difficult at first for me to come-to-terms with what he had said to me. You see, he hadn’t simply dismissed me as a ‘do-gooder’ or a ‘helping hand’ (and in truth, I was probably both … and more!). No, he just got on with his life, showing no particular interest in me or the money.

That experience made me think; made me revise some of my preconceptions of ‘others’ and others’ lifestyle choices.

What do you think? Would you have done more? Perhaps offered him a lot more money; maybe put him in touch with welfare agencies and the like. My own reading of this man and his life choices is that he would have rejected all that too. He seemed quite comfortable with his ‘hobo’ lifestyle.

There I go again … calling him a hobo … will I ever learn?

Maybe I’m wrong … What do I know, really know, about how the other half lives? Is this event telling me that “ I don’t know nothin’ ’bout anythin’ ”? Probably!

**CLEARLY, HE DON’T KNOW NOTHIN’ ’BOUT ANYTHIN’!**

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“Me” Story №12: “Me and A Hobo” (aka ‘I don’t want your Money’) written by Fred: writer on Medium * * * * * © Fred Ogden 2022 * * * * *

**Original Photo** **by Brett Sayles on Pexels** (wording added by author)

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