‘It hurts so bad, I know that toe’s infected.’
That’s all young Jim Smithers could think of as he hoisted himself to his feet and started limping down the street. Each step was a jolt of pain.
He just turned 25 and his Levi’s, a white T-shirt and a beach towel were all he owned. He carried one slipper. It hurt to put over his throbbing toe.
He had to make it down to his spot on the street to start the daily humiliation. It was 3 blocks away, but it might as well be 10 miles.
With no address he couldn’t get antibiotics for his infected toe, and no address meant no food stamps. Each day was a desperate battle to feed himself.
Jim Smithers thought back on his short, unhappy life. When dad died he had to drop out of high school to take care of his mother who was crippled. Get a job and support himself and mom? Pay the bills? It was all too much for a kid.
As he limped along he remembered how, by the grace of God, mom got on welfare and got to live in the room of a house somewhere. There were some happy times but life closes in too soon.
She was OK, but he couldn’t live there and had to leave. He hugged his mom for the last time and cried as he walked away. He promised to send money but he needed every dollar for food.
To help his ailing mother, he had joined the army to send her his pay. But right off they sent a scared 18 year-old to war. He ended up with lead in his knee and a push out the door. He’d fought for his country and was given the street.
He really wanted to work but there were no jobs in Kona. And he had no idea how to do the whole big money thing, not at 7 bucks an hour.
His toe hurt, his heart ached, and he missed his mother and old friends.
The other homeless people had the same sad stories. Life had left them lost and broken, disabled in the heart. There was nothing to do but stand on a corner with a cardboard sign and hope for some aloha.
With a lump in his throat Jim Smithers stood on a little island in front of the Kona Walmart. He saw the looks of disgust, and the shouts, “Get a job!” That hit him in the gut every time.
It was either have dignity or starve, and he had to eat. The money he got was not free, it cost him his self-respect. A thousand people a day thought he was dirt.
But it was a thrill and a relief every time a stranger gave him money.
He thanked God and a few kind people for the handful of dollar bills each day.
Making it up to the bushes, he tried to sleep but his growling stomach kept him awake all night. He’d do the same thing tomorrow, for the rest of his life.
All we can do for our fellow man is give, and not judge.
Dennis Gregory writes a bi-monthly column for West Hawaii Today and welcomes your comments at makewavess@yahoo.com
