At a Jewel on a Sunday morning, I sat down on the bench to rest before going out into the cold with my groceries. There was a man slumped over at the end of the bench. He seemed homeless; the sole of his shoe was coming loose.
After a moment, I decided to touch him, and he sort of raised up. I held out a $20 bill to him. He had a hard time moving, and an even harder trying to get his fingers around the bill. I convinced him to put it in his pocket because he appeared ready to slump over again and drop it. I knew the $20 was not going to change his life, but I was OK if he bought whiskey, and it dulled his pain for a while.
To make conversation, I asked if he had been in the Army.
He muttered, “Semper fi.”
“You were in the Marines?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
He had met the needs of our country, but when he was in need, our country had abandoned him. At that moment, I did not feel proud of our country. That evening, as I almost froze walking 75 feet from the car to the house, I wondered what our homeless ex-Marine was doing.
— James W. Creaser, Elmhurst
