Winner of the Prized Backpack

“Well, they finally did it,” Dan told me. “But I figure, after a couple years of not being bothered that’s pretty good, right?”

Dan the Can Man had been raided by the police. While he was away, canning I assume, the police raided his camp and took everything he had. Including his sleeping bag. Now all he had were the clothes on his back and whatever treasures were held in a sad-looking plastic bag.

Thank goodness he managed to find another sleeping bag. Those are highly desired and hard to come by in the world of homelessness.

“That’s pretty good though, right? Two years without being bothered. I guess I’m pretty lucky, right?”

I searched through my things. I didn’t have an extra blanket, but I did have my high school North Face backpack. backpacks are also prized possessions among the homeless and this was a good one. It was blue with no holes and had patches sewn all over it from places I’d traveled like Czech Republic, Holland, Austria and Singapore. I cut off most of the patches so it wouldn’t look too conspicuous, put a toothbrush and travel-sized Colgate tube in the front pocket along with some chewy granola bars and two dollars. And brought it with me to the Wednesday barbecue.

“So,” I asked Dan, “do you ever carry a backpack?” I was sure I’d seen him with a backpack once before, but mostly saw him carrying a ratty plastic bag.

“Oh yeah,” he said,”But I have a hard time holding on to those, you know what I mean? They’re real nice to have, but I can’t seem to hold on to ‘em. But they’re real nice,” he said, “they’re certainly very nice.”

He was sopping wet. The weather in Portland had been moody for the past couple of weeks. Storming with bouts of pouring rain and sometimes hail. His coat was made of nylon and completely drenched. But he was chipper and chatty that day.

“Dan?” I asked.

“Yes, pretty lady,” He replied.

“If someone had a back pack to give you, would you take it?” Dan has been known to turn down offers and I wasn’t sure if he’d take the pack.

But he did. Happily.

When I pulled the backpack out of the motor home, it must have been glowing with a bright blue aura because faces all around honed in on it instantly, like a giant sparkling diamond. Several people, scattered about, froze in their steps, eyes locking instantly on the bag. Eyebrows raised and locked eyes widened. They watched as I handed the pack to Dan.

“Wow, that’s a nice one,” Dan told me.

“That’s a nice pack,” chimed in a tall, thin lady with short brown hair and missing front teeth, “Got any more of those?” she asked. I told her I didn’t, it was my bag from high school and I only had one. I knew that lady. She always refused bread with her hot dog. “Just the meat,” she’d say, “No bread.” I always thought it had something to do with her missing teeth, but one day she told me, spitting in disgust, “When you’re in prison for so long and that’s all you get to eat, bread every day, you never want to eat it again. I’ll never eat it again,” she said.  “Tortillas are OK, though.”

It was Cinco de Mayo and we were serving bean burritos with tortillas toasted on the grill. She took one for herself and two for her partner who, according to her, was very hungry.

Dan liked his new backpack. After an unfortunate affair, he was the winner. Somewhat, anyway. Most importantly, he was happy. There’s not much of a better feeling than to see Dan the Can Man taken care of and happy. For that matter, I suppose in the end I was the real winner.

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