Ricky Teagues

Ricky Teagues © Patrick T. Power

I waited at the corner of Fifth and Market Streets for the light to change when a man approached me from behind and stuck a Street Sheet newspaper in front of me and asked me for a dollar.

I told him I'd buy one if he let me take his photograph and he responded that he charged "five bucks for pictures." I chuckled and so began my conversation with Ricky Teagues, street poet.

We crossed the street and Ricky told me that he'd been living as a street poet for the past eleven years... I guess it's always difficult to know when people are giving me a line, but I went with it. He told me he'd been published in a number of papers and magazines, and then showed me a collection of his poems printed (copied, more likely) onto 8½" x 11" parchment stock and folded into quarter-sheets. Each "booklet" contained four poems and a couple of poorly rendered (printing-wise) illustrations.

As I looked at one of the booklets, Ricky began reciting one of his poems (coincidentally from the booklet I was looking at at the moment).

DWELLING WITHIN YOURSELF The center of love that you find in your mind, The peace of life that you have that leaves you to find yourself. Within to be or not To see yourself is to be in the right. From the id and to the superego To be the positive person you are and feeling is to be in the right. Delightful charm appears to open your mind full of light as the morning between the warm sun. To enter and fasten the embrace of the hair of the passing star. The smile that pleases a rainbow. © Ricky Teagues

I gave him another couple dollars for one of the booklets to give to my son, then another when I asked again to take his photograph. He asked to pose by the this light pole as, he said, he refers to it in one of his poems.

Dealing with street people is not something I'm particularly comfortable with... I don't know that there are many people who are, but as someone who tries to be compassionate toward the plight of others, it's not always easy – especially when it occurs on such a regular a basis as it did while I was in San Francisco.

On every occasion but this one, my response to panhandlers was, "I'm sorry"...

In this case, I felt more comfortable and willing giving a little cash (despite my not-so-wealthy standing) – not so much because I was getting something out of the transaction, but because Ricky seemed to me to be doing more than simply panhandling; that his life as a street poet created "value" for the world.

Perhaps that's a crass way of looking at things... perhaps it's insensitive... perhaps I'm a hypocrite. I don't know. Would it be any easier for me to give handouts if I were wealthy? That's hard to say as I've never been on that end of the spectrum either. I'd like to think I would be more generous with both my time and money as regards beggars, but there is a possibility that I'd have the tendency, still, to shy away.

A few days ago, I walked into downtown East Lansing with my son for lunch at a local deli. After withdrawing some cash from an ATM, we made our way towards our destination, and along the way, we passed a man carrying a plastic shopping bag and looking a bit haggard.

We were several paces in front of him when he called out to us, saying something about helping him find something to eat. I turned back and to my right and told him, "I'm sorry."

Zachary shot me a look that I couldn't decipher... one that I've not asked him about yet. I was overcome, however, with the feeling that I'd just let my son down, not to mention yet another human being.

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