 FollowNext Post  THIS IS ABOUT FRED. If you take Highway 1 south from San Francisco and drive for about 8 miles, you’ll find yourself in a little town called Pacifica. If you look off to your right, you’ll see a pier. And if it’s midday, and you turn off the highway, and the weather’s nice, you’re likely to find a man sitting on a bench feeding the birds. His name is Fred and he’s been feeding the birds almost every day for the past 35 years. When I first saw Fred, I wondered if he was the same man I took a photo of two years ago– he was sitting in the same spot and looked about the same. I looked for the photo on my phone and when I confirmed that, yes, he’s the same guy, I said hello and showed him the photo:
“Oh, I’m sure it’s me,” he said without really looking. “Lots of people ask to take pictures of me. Mostly women. I tell them, ‘I don’t care. Take whatever pictures you want.’” He then took out his wallet and showed me a tiny, worn newspaper clipping:
“The funny thing is, when I saw that they wrote about me in the paper, they didn’t include my picture. But there was a huge photo of a dog right next to me! No picture of me but a big picture of a dog!” Fred laughed. I asked if I could sit down and was careful not to sit in the fresh droppings in the middle of the bench. I asked, “Are you ever afraid the birds will poop on you?” He laughed and said, “Oh no. Once or twice they’ve gotten me on my pants but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t happen often.”
We continued to talk. Well, he continued, as he threw pieces of bread to the pigeons and the crow above his shoulder. He told me that he came every day from San Francisco because it was nicer here. It was easy to park and you never have to worry about parking tickets or getting your car towed. He told me about his medical woes. How a doctor once gave him a walker that was too heavy for him to lift. How he’d been charged thousands upon thousands of dollars, just to take an ambulance to the hospital and for the doctor to tell him nothing was wrong. How it took four years for his social security checks to get a raise of 48 cents. How he now has to take the bus to come feed the birds because his optometrist never sent his paperwork to the DMV so the DMV denied his license renewal. How he always goes to 7-11 for stale bread before coming to the pier to feed the birds. And I just sat listened, nodding and chirping in words of sympathy whenever he took a breath. He said a lot. Probably more than I can make myself remember. But the thing I always want to remember from that day is that he said this: “In the morning, as long as I put one foot down on the floor and put the other down and can stand up– it’s a good day.” x Celeste Prev PostNext Post Thoughts | ||
Top Comments