"Just 2 Bucks for the Bus" (March 2010)

We've just returned from Memphis and the latest Folk Alliance International conference. Imagine nearly 2,000 musicians, professional and enthusiasts alike, plus lots of reps from most every sectors of the acoustic music business, all jammed into the fancy business-class Marriott by the Mississippi and the pyramid in downtown Memphis. Sort of eclectic would be a good description. Lots of fun, not much sleep.

While I always enjoy the conference wherever it's held, on repeat visits I guess I've grown fond of Memphis. Other than Beale Street, it's pretty real. It struggles with its past, present and future almost equally. It's within sight of Mississippi and Arkansas after all, places still beset by intense poverty and difficult economies. But there is a friendliness and an honesty in most of the people you encounter going out to eat, riding a trolley, or elsewhere doing your business about town.

The conference directory and program book, always thorough and well-laid out, included a bit of guidance on the city's panhandling problem. "There are many social services set up to assist the homeless, and if you'd like to volunteer while you are here contact one of these agencies."

But still I wasn't prepared for the homeless man who jovially wanted to shake hands with all of us on our way out to dinner, just asking for 2 bucks to catch the bus. It always tears at me, especially since I know that $2  doesn't help much, it's probably headed for a quick bad end, and that giving in to my rural naivety and easily played heartstrings is as liable to get me in trouble as to do me any good. We tried to be friendly and keep walking, but he stayed with us for over a block, insistently pleading for the bus fare before we finally turned the corner to the restaurant.

I've no idea how much the bus would cost, but I wished I'd had enough to save him whatever scraps of dignity he could hold onto. A few days earlier I'd enjoyed a day off at Mardi Gras with my friends John and Kathy in New Orleans, a city no stranger to desperation and poverty. I admired greatly that my friend could simply hand a bill to a pleading stranger and wish him well. That's John, true and through. A damn good Samaritan.

Those incidents have me pondering yet again the thin and blurry line between the Good Samaritan and the potential victim. The media is constantly bombarding us with stranger danger, random acts of senseless violence, and countless other routine and occasionally unthinkable ways for bad things to happen to good people. We lock the doors, roll up the windows, put our "don't approach me and I don't see you" karma on, and essentially try to buffer ourselves against the uncertainty of our fellow humans.

Risk. It's part of being human, and part of being alive. Most other creatures we share the planet with go through each day with the simple goal of eating and not being eaten. But even for us there is a finite chance that any day will be our last, through some unpredictable circumstance or occasionally our own decision-making and risk taking. How do we measure that risk? On what scale do we weigh it out? We draw on our experience, perceptions and imaginations and make the best calculation we can. But in the end, it's only playing the odds, not a guarantee.

I'm still wondering where two bucks would get one on the bus from Memphis. Other side of town at best probably. To leave is expensive. The shiny casino glitz of nearby Tunica MS might as well be a far-off galaxy. Still, I've regretted not giving him the two bucks, to give him a chance to find his way towards something better. Or not. I'll never know.