Summer Friends
I met him in the summer of 2002. It was one of those perfect July days, bright sunshine, yet not too humid or windy, which is rare in Chicago. A deep blue sky and puffy white clouds reflected in Lake Michigan, while young people played intense volleyball games in the sand and dogs chased frisbees in the park.
He was one of the hundreds of homeless people who lived on the city's streets, but he was actually the first one to whom I had ever spoken. In fact, I would not have spoken to him at all had it not been for my six-year-old niece who had run full speed towards the dog lying by his feet.
"Brianna, be careful!" I shouted after her.
"No need to worry," the elderly man said. "He's a friendly one."
"What's his name?" Brianna asked.
"His name's Bear," said the man.
"Bear?" Brianna inquired. "That's a funny name for a dog."
"His name's Bear 'cause he's tough. He's a survivor. I've had 'im since he was just a pup and he's been livin' with me ever since."
"Where do you live?" Brianna asked innocently, at which point I felt the need to break in and tell her that this was a personal question, and it was rude to ask people you didn't know where they lived, but the man replied.
"We live right here."
"You live in Navy Pier?" Brianna asked. "But where is your house?"
I again tried to dissuade Brianna from any more questioning, but the stranger said, "We don't have a house. We live right here on the streets. Me and Bear got everything we need right here in these bags." He pointed to three giant garbage bags which seemed to contain mostly old clothing.
I was dreading Brianna's next question, which I assumed would be about food, but instead she said, "Why is Bear so tough?"
"Because he lives outside all winter, just like a bear does in the wilderness, and it's cold here in the winter. There's only one thing that Bear is scared of and that's the 4th of July."
Now both Brianna and I were curious. "Why is he scared of the 4th of July?"
"He don't like them fireworks they shoot off into the sky. Reminds him of where he was born. There was always lots of shootin' going on there and one day his mamma was shot and killed from a stray bullet. He was the only pup who din't run away. He stayed with me, and as I told you, he's been with me ever since."
"What a sad story," I remarked. "He's lucky to have you to take care of him."
And so this is how my relationship with a homeless man in the city of Chicago started. His name was Jerry.
For the rest of the summer I continued to run into Jerry and Bear. They spent their time at Navy Pier during the summers, because Jerry said the best money came from tourists. In the winter they moved over to a street corner in the Loop, the financial district of Chicago, and lived off of the coins donated by the men and women on their way to work. I didn't see them during the winters, but on the first nice day of each year, I could be assured that I would run into them during my bike ride along the lakefront.
I often put a dollar in Jerry's cup or brought a biscuit for Bear, but other than that, I never tried to offer Jerry anything of material value. I somehow knew that it would hurt his pride. The funny thing about my conversations with Jerry, was that they never included any details of our lives. We both knew, of course, that our lives were completely different, and in a way, I think both he and I were a bit ashamed to divulge things to each other. As a result, our discussions centered around Bear.
I learned that Bear's favorite food was chicken, that he snored when he slept and that he liked to swim in the lake when there was no one on the beach. When he got scared, which, as Jerry claimed, was only during the 4th of July, Bear would bury his face underneath all of Jerry's blankets and whimper until the fireworks were over. During our talks, I also began to understand that Bear was Jerry's reason for existence.
One day, several years after first having met them, I noticed that Jerry had developed quite a severe cough. When I asked him if he had gone to the clinic to get it checked out, Jerry said that he didn't want to waste his time, and he'd be feeling better in a few days. The cough never did seem to get better and one day at the end of the summer I offered to drive Jerry to a clinic and take care of Bear for him. I was actually surprised when Jerry accepted my offer, and I wondered whether him not having gone to the doctor before may have had more to do with the reluctance of leaving Bear alone than with not wanting to "waste his time."
I brought Jerry to a free clinic only a couple of miles from my house and gave him my cell phone. I told him to call me as soon as he was done. I brought Bear home with me, and he and I spent the afternoon sitting on the porch waiting for Jerry's phone call. I had to smile as neighbors walked by and checked out Bear. With his scraggly fur, crimped ear and bulging eyes, he bore no resemblance to any of the designer dogs that were regularly paraded past my house.
It had been four hours since I had dropped Jerry off, and I was just beginning to worry that I had inherited a dog when the phone rang. It was Jerry. He apologized for having taken so long and said that there were a lot of people in the waiting room. Bear and I got in the car to pick him up.
"So what did the doctor say?"
"He said it ain't nothin'. He gave me these pills and said I should take 'em every day until they're gone."
I looked at the sample prescription bottle and saw that it was a type of antibiotic. "Well that's good news. So does he want to see you again?"
"No," replied Jerry. "Doctor said that I should come back only if it got real bad."
"OK, then. Where do you want me to drop you?" I wondered for a minute whether the doctor would have said something else to a patient who had insurance, but stopped myself from being cynical.
"You can drop us at the Pier. That would be good."
I saw Jerry and Bear for a few more weeks that summer, and in the fall, I was called out of town on a temporary job assignment. I was gone for a couple of months, and when I returned, the weather had already turned cold and I assumed the two were back to staking out the commuters at the train station.
It was quite a cold winter that year, and as it finally came to an end, I was anxiously looking forward to seeing my old friends again. By now, the beginning of summer was synonymous with Jerry and Bear. The first warm day I got on my bike and pedaled down to Navy Pier, but I did not run into them anywhere. I immediately became concerned and when over the next two days I didn't see them, I began to panic.
I took a cab to the Loop and looked around the street corners where I believed they stationed themselves during the winter. I saw several homeless men and women, but no Jerry and no dog. I began asking commuters whether they had seen them, and it seemed that no one even knew them. I went over to a policewoman to ask if she had seen them, and she said she had not. I then realized that I should probably be talking to some of the other homeless people. It took me only two tries until I found someone who knew Jerry and Bear and who could give me some useful information.
"Yeah, honey. They found Jerry on the street a few weeks ago and took him away."
I was thrilled to hear that someone had intervened. "Do you know where they took him? Was he sick?"
The woman, who herself looked like she could use some medical attention, said, "Yeah, I think he was real sick."
"Did they take him to the hospital?" I asked.
"More like the morgue, I'd say."
My heart stopped. I don't know why I hadn't seen the signs or why I had chosen to ignore them. I also didn't know if I felt guilt or anger or some other emotion that I couldn't define.
The woman was now holding out her hand. I fumbled in my purse to pull out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to her.
I walked back over to the policewoman, who seemed irritated by me disturbing her again.
"Excuse me. What hospital would they bring a homeless person to?" I asked.
"From here? That would be County."
"What if they had a dog with them?" I continued.
"A dog can't go to the hospital. It would go to Animal Control."
At this point, I began feeling ill. I grabbed the first cab I could find and asked the driver to bring me to Cook County Hospital. When I arrived, I ran inside and inquired at the desk about how I could find out whether a man had been treated there in the last several weeks.
They asked me the man's name and all I could say was "Jerry."
"Jerry who?" they asked.
"I don't know. It was a man living on the streets, and all I know is that his first name was Jerry."
"You'll have to check with the unknown persons area. Take the elevator down this hall to the third floor."
I got in the elevator and pushed 3. The doors opened, and I wandered down a long, desolate hallway. At the end was a lone desk with a large woman with bright orange hair. She seemed to be napping in between reading pages of the National Enquirer. I walked up to her and explained my situation. She began typing information into the computer. After a few minutes she said that a man who had been found dead on the street and only identified as "Jerry" by individuals at the scene had been brought in six weeks ago.
I was overcome with an overwhelming sadness. I asked her what would have happened to the body, and she explained that it is retained in the morgue for one month and if no one claims it, it is released by the state.
I didn't go on to ask what it meant to be "released by the state." I didn't think I would be able to handle the reality of what happens to human beings that are not "claimed" by a family, so I asked her instead, "What about the dog?"
She replied as I would have expected, "What dog?"
When I heard these words, I realized that Jerry was truly gone and any hope I had of making things right was to find that dog. I went to the city pound. They had several dogs that looked as forlorn as the animal I was looking for, but they were not Bear. I searched the Humane Society, The Anti-Cruelty Society and every possible animal shelter I could find listed. I printed up posters and put ads in the papers and after several weeks, there was still no Bear.
My friends thought I had completely lost my mind. No matter what I did to try and occupy my time, all I could think about was that damn dog. Finally, I decided that I needed to let go. I went to church for the first time in several weeks and asked God for forgiveness for not having done everything I could to save a man's life.
No matter what I attempted, though, I could not get over this feeling of desperation and anxiety. I decided a change of scenery might cure me. I booked a flight to the Bahamas for the end of the month.
About three days prior to my departure, I was on my way home, and as I was walking up the steps of my house, I saw him there. Bear was lying on the porch as he had that day that Jerry was at the clinic. He looked at me and for only a minute I felt like I saw fear in his eyes. Immediately thereafter I let out a shriek and ran to him. He leapt up and licked me from head to toe. I opened the front door and Bear walked in as if he had been waiting for an invitation his whole life.
That was three years ago. Now as I am telling this story and looking at Bear sleeping on the foot of my bed, I realize how much of an impact Jerry and Bear have had on my life. I don't know exactly what happened to Bear the moment Jerry passed away, and I have no idea how he managed to find my house, but I do know that there are certain things in life that are not explainable. There are people who will devote their lives to coming up with plausible explanations rooted in logic and science; however, it is enough for me to say that I experienced an unusual phenomenon—one that may beg for explanations but one that I find better not solved.
I'm writing this story on the 4th of July, and Bear is sleeping on the end of my bed. I am watching him closely. He is ignoring all the fireworks and firecrackers that are going on outside our window, and I believe he is actually snoring. I am filled with a sense of wonder. I look at my furry friend and seeing him sleeping through all the noise, I can only imagine what he has been through in his short, hard life. As I continue to watch him, I swear that the look on his face has changed to a smile, and I am more convinced than ever that there is more than just an old dog in that old dog.
