REQUIEM FOR ROBERT

The news hit like a lightning bolt straight to the heart. Robert was dead. Or maybe he wasn't, somebody had seen him early that morning, somebody else saw him last night. Or, he's just up at the corner, saw him a while ago. Nah, he can't be dead. Not Robert.

Rumors leap about like raptors through homeless nation. And they're usually that, just a rumor. Somebody heard something from somebody who heard something from somebody who thought he saw something. Or somebody got the name wrong.

Easy to do in homeless nation. Nobody knows anybody's name. Anyway, not their real name. It's either, "Red, " "Tiny," "Slinger," "Pigpen," "Cowboy," "Cough-drop." - Hardly anything at all like a real name. In fact, there's some kind of status attached to a moniker. Zero status attached to a real first name. And, hey, if anybody at all knows your last name, you're either lying about it...or you're some kind of poobah in the pecking order.

And that was the problem with finding out if the rumor was true about Robert. He was just Robert. No idea about his last name except that it was maybe Italian. And that could have been wrong. But he was Italian all right. In fact, he was Sicilian...and THAT'S Italian.

I knew that because, well Robert looked Sicilian. And before all of you Sicilians get your noses out of joint and going all "Godfather" about it, I say that as a compliment.

He was of Sicilian heritage, and he was from New York City. Kinda short and wiry, coal black hair tied in a neat little pony tail, and big black eyes. And walked with that kind of street swagger that says, "I'm from New York, and you're not." And he talked in that great New York
accent that only another New Yorker can really fathom. And he had the widest, most genuine smile I have seen in all of homeless nation. And possibly the best sense of humor. And he was extremely kind, and caring about other people.

And yeah, he was dead. That rumor was sort of confirmed when police visited the bus station place and started picking up people to take them in for questioning. Robert was dead all right. Somebody murdered him. They beat him to death. Beat. Him. To. Death.

One of the awful things about homeless nation is the way some people check out of it. Nobody talks about it too much. It's kind of a bad omen to even bring it up.

Robert didn't deserve to check out that way. Nobody does. But Robert was all heart, and fun and smart and had those big black eyes that sparkled....and could see right through the BS anybody put out. And he was an excellent friend.

Robert had a wife and daughter up there in the East. He had lost his job, and traveled here with the promise of work...which did not materialize. So he worked hard at odd jobs, and sold papers and worked with a crew tearing down trees, and panhandled. And every penny he made went back to his wife and child. Except for what he kept to eat something and a few beers here and there.

And he was saving money to go back home. He had just about enough money for the ticket. Just a week or so more, and he would be on his way. He died a few days before he could swing the ticket. And I'm sure, that along with his friends in homeless nation, somebody up there in the East feels just as bad about losing him.

I'd like to remember Robert here in a special way for him. Part of his favorite song, the theme song from the movie, "ET" (Yeah, yeah, strange for a New York guy, but....whatevah!)
So here we go

Come back again
I want you to stay next time
'cause sometimes the world ain't kind
when people get lost like you and me.

I just made a friend
A friend is someone you need
But now that he had to go away
I still feel the words that he might say.

Turn on your heartlight
Let it shine wherever you go
Lit it make a happy glow
for all the world to see

Don't wake me up too soon
Gonna take a ride across the moon
You and me

Turn on your heartlight now.


Requiescat in Pace, my good and dear friend. And so long, Robert.