safe and sound and torn in two
by bam
the bag is home now. is nestled at the top of the stairs, off where no one can see it through a window. it felt safer that way.
so did i.
that bag had quite a chase last night. three blocks through streets, a gravel parking lot, a long alley. for awhile there i was hot on its trail, just a half a block behind. then in the gravel lot beside a bank, it went one way; i, the other.
or maybe i was just too slow. when i came through, onto the sidewalk on a busy street, when i yelled, did anyone see a guy running with a flowered backpack, all i got was hunched shoulders, a collective shrug.
no one saw a thing.
that’s when the cops came screeching to the curb, yelled to me to get in, and we chased some more. darn red-flowered bag. made it kind of hard to hide, eyes everywhere were peeled, looking for the child’s backpack with the big red flowers.
guns drawn, flashlights combing shadowed nooks and crannies, that’s how policemen seem to look for things. they wouldn’t let me out, and all i could think, was, oh, my mom, and T, the little one, they must be scared to death, back at soup kitchen.
that’s where it all had started. back at the big church kitchen where we always cook. every third sunday of the month, there we are. been doing it going on five years. i always stash my bag atop the freezer, not too far, i realize now, from the locked back door.
what happened is i got there early. decided this time to do some cooking from whatever was sitting in the fridge. i was alone for quite a while. my mom came later, and near 6, my 6-year-old. he got hungry around 6:30, still half an hour before we fed the folks. i made him a little plate of things he might actually eat, the corn, the stewed apples, a roll with pbj. my mom was hungry too. she made a little bowl of the stew bubbling on the stove.
since i was ready, since there was nothing left to do, except wait for the big clock to slide to 7, when they’d let the hungry in, i decided to leave my post for just a minute. to be hospitable instead of busy, to sit with the two early diners, my mom and T.
soon as i sat, i heard my mom call into the kitchen, “hello.” someone just walked through, she said. so up i leapt to see if i could help.
not a soul was there. and then i saw, neither was my bag. i went straight for the door, saw someone running with what i thought looked like my bag. hard to miss those big red flowers. i ran and yelled. hey drop that, you’ve got my bag.
when i rounded the corner, i saw some folks, did you just see a guy with a bag? uh huh they said, and pointed toward the street that ran along the tracks.
i ran too. running, yelling. one guy in a white mercedes wagon even made a U turn to chase him in the gravel lot. someone along the way must have called police. someone saw him close enough to say, later on, that’s him.
all i knew was i was chasing navy pants, and a navy-grayish top. and a flowered bag that wasn’t his.
what happened next is we thought we’d lost him cold. they finally drove me back to the soup kitchen where it started, where my little one was sobbing, and my mama rather shaking.
then the cops came back, said we picked up someone who matches the description, you need to come for ID. so in we slid, into the back seat, me, my mom and T. he was shaking to my left, my mom and i squeezed hands on the right. this is not why we spend the week planning menus.
the police pulled up to a leafy corner. there against the fence was a guy in jeans and a navy-grayish shirt. my mom, who’d seen him in the kitchen, said right away, “that’s him.” so did another couple who they brought back, who’d seen him running right along their side.
right away, my heart sank. i thought i knew who it was from the years at soup kitchen. and i thought i knew him too from selling papers (a newspaper written and produced by the homeless) outside my grocery; i’m pretty sure he’s a guy i often talk to.
i said, to the plainclothes cops, just get my bag, and i won’t press charges. i just want my bag. i had realized how very many pieces of my life would be lost; nothing that really mattered, my work ID, a credit card, a driver’s license, that little bag i love.
once the other folk said it was him, 100 percent, they slapped on handcuffs, walked him in the paddy wagon. the plainclothes cop got a call. said it seemed, from inside the wagon, he was talking. next thing we knew, they were walking him, in cuffs, down the block to get my bag, they were fairly certain.
bless his soul, i say, he went and showed them where he dropped it. all the pieces of my life i wouldn’t have to retrace and chase.
but then the cops, oh, eight or nine, came to where i sat in the back seat of the unmarked squad car, they said he had 30 previous arrests, had twice been let off for similar thefts inside churches. they wanted me not to drop any charges. the commander, a big gruff guy, did all the talking.
hey lady, he said, we’ve had half the force out here for the last hour. you let him go, it gives him carte blanche to keep stealing.
i asked, they denied, had they made a promise, that if he gave me back my bag, i’d let him go? i don’t like to double cross. it’s not why i spend the week planning menus.
i was lucky, they told me. no one got hurt. next time, it might not be so lucky. someone might get hurt. the right thing, one or two or three said to no one in particular, was to not let him go again.
i sat there churning. i thought i knew this guy. i thought i like him. and for heaven’s sake, he gave me back my bag.
but in the end, with eight cops looking me in the eyes, i finally nodded. go ahead.
late last night i got a call. it was one of the arresting officers. he said i need to be in court on thursday. said the charge is felony theft, as his record leaves them little choice.
i asked where he was, the guy who took my bag. in jail, at the police department. then he’d be moved to the county jail. a place i wouldn’t wish on anyone.
i climbed into my bed a couple hours later. that comforter felt soft, too soft. i thought of him, the man i am now maybe sending off to prison.
i am feeling sick. and torn.
like i said, it’s not why i spend the week planning menus.
talk about real life ethics. not even the jesuits, got me clear enough for this one. i think of my brother, once carjacked at gunpoint. i remember he wrote letters for years to the guy in prison. i remember the hope for redemption. i have the same thoughts. think in some ways a night in jail beats a night on the street. in other ways though, it beats not a thing. i’m too close this morning, to think much besides the details of how it unfolded, and how i had no intention of going to court when i walked in that kitchen to feed the folks so very hungry. any wisdom out there?
Indeed a very difficult dilemma. Years ago, the young adult daughter of our babysitter removed my credit card from my purse (and removed from my dresser the sweet heirloom diamond ring passed on from the generations at age 16 from girl to girl (although she denied it and I couldn’t prove it) and charged up a boodle in a short period of time. I was furious (I, too, thought I knew my sitter), but my Catholic husband said that her life was chaotic enough without us pressing charges. This happened right around Yom Kippur and a debate raged inside me while I pondered the whole forgiveness thing. We had no choice but fire the babysitter; we didn’t press charges and to this day the whole incident still gets my juices boiling (if I got the ring back I probably wouldn’t still be pissed.) In your case, I believe pressing charges is not eithically or morally wrong and even the right thing to do unless you’re willing to beome his “patron” and give him the financial and emotional support he needs to change. That would be a tall order that I doubt any of us would be willing to fill. By the way, I am glad you weren’t hurt and don’t have to deal with the hassle of stolen money and identity.
You are doing the right thing, hard as it is. The man has 30 prior arrests–those are the only times he’s been caught! If it had been your mother’s purse, your son’s backpack or your husband’s wallet with the same arrest record, would you want to drop the charges, or get the guy off the street?
makes my blood BOIL!He is targetting places of safety…that’s evil in my book…and multiple priors? Without question he needs to be taken off the streets.I may be coming across a bit harsh, but no one dare mess with my loved ones…or anyone else for that matter.
bec, my blood is boiling right along with yours!! How dare this man prey upon someone trying to feed the hungry and those who are legitimate in need!!! My family has been the target of many crimes … my parents had TWO vehicles stolen and trashed, their house broken into and ransacked, many valuables stolen, other family members suffering break-ins, items stolen and vehicles crashed into by illegals with no drivers license, no insurance, no money, etc., so this is a very sore subject for me.I myself have been the victim of a mugging many years ago. I was beaten up for my purse, but fought back and survived, getting my purse back (not a smart thing to do according to the police, but adrenaline took over … sort of like you instinctively running after the thief). Sometimes you do things without thinking first.You did the right thing. Your huge heart wanted to help him by not sending him to jail, but the truth is, you may have saved someone’s life by getting this man off the streets. Statistics prove that thiefs steal to support habits you would never think of giving your hard-earned dollars to. Their thievery only escalates until one day, tragedies occur … and I’m not just talking about having to cancel a credit card or get a replacement driver’s license. This person knew full well who he was stealing from … someone with a gigantic heart that gives of her time to help those in need. He took advantage of the situation. He was an opportunist and you were easy prey.Let the punishment fit the crime. He deserves whatever the justice system deems appropriate and do not feel a bit guilty about stating FACT when you testify. Who knows? You may have saved HIS life, too.
i understand how you feel, but i agree that you are doing the right thing. the only thing there is to do in this situation. so glad you are safe.
… oops … in my haste I typed ‘thiefs’ when I should have said ‘thieves’. That’s what happens when your blood is boiling …
I am seeing this late…but it made me think of Pema Chodrun (American Buddhist nun extrordinaire) who observed that there is compassion and then there is ‘stupid compassion’ which made me step back a bit! It was hard to reflect on that, but she is right….people must experience the consequences of their behaviors or there will be no growth and change. There are many poor troubled people who work hard to respect the rights and boundaries of others and do not steal. I understand your sadness BAM…it is sorrowful to be so up front and close to pain, but that is part of the journey also and there is grace somewhere in all of this. You of all people will find it and we are with you on the journey.
Years ago my husband supported one guy on the streets with frequent extravagant cash donations. The guy had a real and horrible sob story and genuinely needed help. He bore visible scars from attacks he’d suffered. His life on the streets was mean indeed. My husband always wondered if he was doing more harm than good, but being persuaded by Jesus’ admonition to give to whomever asks, he gave.The fellow drifted out of our neighborhood and our lives. To our horror awhile later we read that he was in jail–for mugging elderly folks and taking their cash on a regular basis. He’d been doing this all the while in our neighborhood. The evidence against him was indisputable. We were really taken aback by this experience. This guy who it seemed we had known–we really couldn’t believe it. To this day I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing, and I don’t know why I’m relating this story except to say that when it comes to giving and acting in compassion, things are rarely very clear cut. I think with your situation bam you did the right thing without a doubt, and one can only hope that this guy will learn to make better choices. And can you imagine how upset the homeless newspaper publishing folks are at this? Imagine how betrayed they feel! Regardless, we must continue to give and to act in compassion toward the world around us. As a Lutheran friend once told me, God doesn’t ask us to succeed in our efforts, he just asks us to be faithful to his will and to do it. We aren’t so much accountable for the response of the person on the other end of the equation. I hope you guys can continue to do your soup kitchen work without feeling too weird, especially your little guy. Maybe you can leave your purse at home in the future and keep your keys and driver’s license in your pocket….So glad you’re all safe and sound.
Hi All, I am back at The Table, wondering it is time for some levity relating to a homeless person described by a friend of mine who lives in LA. This summer, going through a divorce, she had just come from an appointment with a therapist where she had been weeping. This is what she wrote:Yesterday when I left my therapy session in Westwood a homeless man came up to me and said “Ma’am (didn’t insult me with Miss) I was wondering if you could help me I’m trying to redo the interior of my Lear Jet & you would not believe how EXPENSIVE it is!” He went into some details on the cost of upholstery, sound system & other appointments – I’m sure he worked on ajet assembly line at some point in his life. I told him I has just been crying 15 minutes ago & now he had made me laugh & I gave him $10.00, much more than my usual handout but I had to give him extra for creativity. He said “Same time, same place next week and we can discuss some other issues you may be having”. So BAM, the next homeless person you want to help, may actually help you!