From James Wyatt's ENGL 101 class at Yokosuka, Japan:

He walked with a slight limp, his shoulder length, salt-and-pepper, curly hair bouncing with every step. I had worked on MacDougal Street for about two weeks in a tee-shirt store and had seen him mostly in the late afternoons or around dinner time. He had brilliant white teeth and a beautiful smile. His eyes were gentle and sparkly but if you looked deeper into them, you could see a far-off sadness. His routine was to follow people down the densely populated, touristy street and tell them jokes. These jokes were always simple ones – ones that could end quickly if the people indicated through their body language that they wanted to be left alone.

"Hey, don’t ah know you? Ah've seen you here befowre," he'd say to catch their attention. Or he'd try, "How're you doin' taday? Isn't it a beautiful day? The sun-a-shinin', breeze keepin' us nice and cool. My, my, my, life couldna be bettah. Say, didja hear 'bout the peanut that trahd to crahwss the rowd?" He'd wait for their answer but they'd usually smile and agree about the weather then start walking. He'd follow them down the sidewalk, walking a step behind because it was too narrow for three people at once. I'd hear him continue his joke until his voice faded in the distance. It was hard to make a living in New York no matter what you did or aspired to be.

'd go back into the tee-shirt shop and start folding tees. Business was always slow until late at night when a different crowd, the yuppie tourists, would look for somewhere to party on MacDougal – it was famous for the Italian café called Café Borgia and the popular Whad'Up Club. But by then, Smiley was long gone.

Over the months we had struck up a few conversations but he always seemed to keep his private life to himself. He just had a look about him that said that he didn't really belong on the street for the usual reasons – like drugs or alcohol. He looked pretty healthy. He wasn't a skinny man; nor was he fat. His shoulders were always back and his head held high – but not in a pretentious way, just in a way that signified self respect. He seemed to carry himself with ease in spite of the syncopated beat of his limp. I wanted to ask why he limped and a couple of times I caught myself looking at his ankle which was covered by a brown, polyester, patterned sock that looked like it had seen better days. His shoes were black and quite worn especially on the heels and outside edges. The whole time I knew him, I'd only really seen him in two or three different outfits – and they were stained and ratty looking. But it didn't change my opinion of him, which was that he was a good guy just trying to make ends meet.

I decided to start bringing him food, which once I began to do I felt obligated to bring. But to see the smile on his face as he ate was worth the effort every time. He didn’t eat with desperation like I thought he would, he always took his time, laughing about this or that. Then he'd see his next audience, put his plate down on my stoop and say, "Now, jus hold on here, Ah see someone-a-comin'." And with that he'd be off trying to make people smile for cash.

It had been a good four months of chit-chatting when I finally asked him his name.

He said, "Ma name's Smiley. That's what everyone cawls me, Smiley," and then his face lit up with all those white teeth of his and shiny eyes.

"Wha's yur name?" he asked.

"Lee. It's short for Lee-Anne, but everyone calls me Lee," I answered.

"Hmmm…Ah think Ah like Lee-Anne bettah for you. Mine if Ah cawl you Lee-Anne?" he asked.

"No, I don't mind," I said, "Lee-Anne is just fine, if you want." Even though I had agreed, I felt strange about it because only people back home call me Lee-Anne. But somehow, he was so out of my circle that I didn't mind it coming from him.

The end of November and Thanksgiving was fast approaching and I decided to bring him some warm clothes for the winter. I bought some black, leather gloves, a navy scarf and a wool toque from a secondhand store and a friend had donated a white coat to my cause. I gave him these before the Thanksgiving weekend so that he would be warm. He was grateful as we both knew how cold those New York winters could be. Strangely enough though, about three weeks later – in the dead of winter – I saw him without the coat, bracing himself against the wind, his breath rearing up like ocean spray along a rocky shoreline. He still walked up and down the street trying to make people laugh, but you could see he was freezing by the way his shoulders touched his ears and how he'd stand on one foot, then change, bending his legs like he had to desperately relieve himself or burst.

I called him into my store to warm up and asked, "Where's your coat?"

"Oh, Ah gave it to a guy Ah know. He's ahwn the street n' can never make enough fer the shelter every nahght. He need it more than Ah do," he said with his eyes turned away while rubbing his hands together.

"Want some hot chocolate? I have a thermos that I brought from home," I said and reached for my thermos before he could say no. I poured us both a cup and asked him, "How much do you have to make before you can pay for the shelter?"

"Well, it costs fahve dollars a nahght fer a bed. But that don't include nothin' else. Some people can't make that much in one day, and even Ah have a hard tahme in the winter cuz there jus ain't no tourists around much. An no one wansta be out in this kahnda weather. Know what Ah mean?" He took a sip of his cocoa.

"Smiley, how did you end up on the street?" I asked, knowing I was taking a chance.

He paused and sipped on his cocoa, "Well, we all have our stories. Mine jus ain't that nahce. Ah was a construction worker all my lahfe; it's the only thang Ah knew how to do. Ah was a foreman on buildin' sites and Ah worked pretty much awl the tahme, this bein' New York City n' all. Then 'bout fahve years ago, Ah was walkin' back to my place in Queens, 'n a pit bowl ran clear out n' chased me down. He got howld of the back of my leg," he said reaching for his right calf, "and tahwre my muscles right outta my calf. Ah've had three surgeries and a coupla skin graphs done but it's still doesn’t work rahght. It bothers me some — in the winter 'specially. My Achilles tendon was towrn and so Ah can't wawlk the same. This here ended my construction career n' took all my savings to pay for." He rubbed his knee and flexed his leg.

"But what about the owner of the dog? Couldn't you sue him?" I asked, fully engaged in his story.
"No owners came forward. The dawg was caught and put down, but no one claimed that he was their dawg, so nothin' could be dahwn."

"Smiley, don't you have any family you could live with?" I asked desperately.

"No, not really. Ah'm OK. As long as Ah get into the shelter at nahght, Ah'm fine. They've started a program, whadda they cawl it? A vocational rehab program, Ah think. They want to train me fer some jowb and gave me a choice about what Ah'd be interested in. Ah chose to learn compewters so that Ah can sit on the jowb, but at my age, Ah'm not sure how many people would hahre me. Ah never thowght in a million yeers that my life would be endin' in this wahy," he said, with a distant look in his eyes.

I felt a sudden awkwardness and said, "Aw, Smiley, your life isn't ending! You're still young and age is really only in your mind. You are still young," I tried.

He looked at me seriously and said, "Ah'm nowt young in heeer," he pointed to his heart, "this is where Ah feel owld. Ah've lahwst my family, my home, my savings, my dignity – everythin' a man works for in his life. The Lord seen it fit to take everythin' away from me, but he can't take my spirit. He can't take my sowul." His eyes met mine and the hidden sadness swelled in his gaze forcing tears to well up.

"I'm so sorry Smiley. I'm so sorry for your loss. I had no idea," I said empathetically.

"It's OK, how couwld you know? Most people thank that a homeless guy is there from druugs or laziness – it simply isn't true. Most cases are from other reasons and social services can't reach or give 'm what they need. They depend own the kahndness of others but it's hawrd diggin' yer way outta a hole. You can't sahve – or even git a jowb les you can have a place to shower or wear clean clowthes. Lahfe ain't easy own the street. It's desperate. It's cruel. It's dangerous. Don't you ever git there, no matter what," he said.

"I won't. I promise," I agreed.

We both fell silent. He finished his cup of cocoa and said he had to be on his way. I watched him looking out for people, a chance of making a buck for a laugh. It was snowing by then. It broke my heart that clearly life had been unfair to him, that what he had dreamt his life would be had fallen apart in one single act.About a month after our talk, the owner of the tee-shirt shop told me that he was going out of business because it had been too slow he couldn't continue to keep the store – he had to let me go. I thought of Smiley and how I was going to get another job. It wasn't going to be easy since no one really hires in the winter, but I knew that something would pull through somehow – no matter what.

About a month after our talk, the owner of the tee-shirt shop told me that he was going out of business because it had been too slow he couldn't continue to keep the store – he had to let me go. I thought of Smiley and how I was going to get another job. It wasn't going to be easy since no one really hires in the winter, but I knew that something would pull through somehow – no matter what.