Some years ago as I was driving down Jeffery Ave. in my South Shore community, I observed an older woman in distress. She had tripped, gotten herself entangled in a wire fence around a patch of grass and was having difficulty in her attempt to get up. I immediately pulled my car over, parked and ran about a half block back to where she was. Upon closer observation I realized that she was quite inebriated. One of her shoes had come off; her purse and two plastic Aldi bags were lying nearby; her hosiery had multiple runs in them; her clothes were torn, tattered and dirty; and she smelled to the high heavens!
As unpleasant a task it was, I tried to help her up and back over the wire fence onto the sidewalk. And in doing so, her other shoe came off. Well, it took a few minutes, but I managed to get her up without the assistance – I might add – of several persons who walked past us while deliberately looking the other way.
I asked her what was her name and where she lived. She told me her name and her age but refused to give me her address. I assumed she was homeless. Once she was up on her feet, another lady crossed over from the other side of the street and asked if everything was all right.
My homeless “friend” sort of steadied herself and reached toward me to retrieve her purse and Aldi bags. She pointed to me and whispered to the other lady, “I think the b---h is trying to steal my purse,” and then she stumbled off down the street in a huff, still mumbling about her purse and her money. Well, my initial reaction was that of absolute anger, and it took all I had in me not to call her out of her name preceded by an expletive, but then I knew that it was not the right thing to do and she was not at all in control.
The other lady and I both chuckled and shook our heads.
“Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to try to help,” she said. And we both went our separate ways.
I have told this story often over the years, and each time I smile, never regretting that I did what I did. But I do wonder if maybe under different circumstances, other onlookers might have believed that I was trying to take advantage of this less fortunate woman by relieving her of her money and other “valuables” and think of me as a opportunist. Oh well, there’s nothing I can do about that now, I guess.
But about a month or so ago, I had an opportunity to come to the aid of another older lady, but this time (a number of years later), the circumstances were quite different. I am now the same age of the “homeless” woman I had encountered on Jeffery Ave.
It was 10 p.m. late one night and I was en route home from downtown on the No. 14 Jeffery Express. I had been to three events that evening and was a wee bit weary. I boarded the bus at Jackson. When we arrived at Balbo to travel south on the Outer Drive to 67th and Jeffery, an older lady walked to the front to get off. The driver told her to go back and be seated and he’d let her know where and when she was to get off.
She returned to her seat and sat between another lady and myself. We began to talk and found out that she was 99 years old and lived alone in Good Shepherd Manor at 67th and Cornell Ave. She said she left home about 7 p.m. that evening to get a prescription filled at Walgreens at 71st and Jeffery. She took the No. 15 Jeffrey Local, which is a direct route from her home. Returning, she inadvertently boarded the No. 14 Jeffrey Express (not the No. 15 Jeffrey Local) that took her directly downtown via the Outer Drive. She was well aware of her mistake and said she knew exactly how to get home. And I believed her!
But since I planned to get off at 67th and Jeffrey and take the No. 6 east to South Shore Dr., I told her I would get her on the No. 6 going west and would ask the bus driver to see that she got off at Cornell. That was the plan, and all three of us agreed to it. But when we arrived at 67th St., I thought perhaps I should actually get on the bus with her and ride to Cornell. On second thought, I called 311 on my cell and asked for police assistance to see that she arrived home safely. As we walked across 67th St., she asked me to carry her purse and prescription. Remembering the accusation from years ago, I suggested that she hold her own purse and I would hold onto her.
An unmarked squad car arrived in minutes to advise me that a police car was en route. As we waited in the seated shelter at the bus stop, we talked. She told me her name (I will call her “Miss Iola”), since she reminded me of my aunt who was 99 years old when she passed on in 1999. Miss Iola was really looking forward to turning 100 years old, she said, on Aug. 7. She told me about a niece who lives on W. Jackson Blvd. who calls her about 9 p.m. every night. Miss Iola was concerned that when her niece called and she didn’t answer, her niece would be worried. I offered to call her niece on my cell, but she did not know the number by heart.
A major concern, however, was that her niece might put her in a home when she found out that she had gotten lost. Maybe she would feel that she shouldn’t live by herself without supervision. She became very teary-eyed when she talked about the consequences of getting lost. While we waited on the police car, several No. 6 westbound buses came and went. Miss Iola became very anxious and feisty, and told me in no uncertain terms that she was going to take the next No. 6 westbound that came whether I agreed to it or not. I called 311 again and was told a car was only seconds away.
I gave the police all the information I knew about Miss Iola and gave her a goodbye hug.
She looked at me and said, “That’s it? You’re just going to let them take me off?”
I asked the police if I could ride with them to take her home, and just in case her niece was there, I could share with her what had happened.
When we arrived at Good Shepherd Manor, Miss Iola took her keys from her purse and walked toward the door. A female security guard met us. The policeman asked if the guard knew “Miss Iola” and if she normally was out that time of night by herself. The guard said there were no restrictions on her comings and goings. Another emotional goodbye hug and I was off.
I walked toward the bus stop to head home. One of the officers offered to take me to my destination. As we drove off, the officer reached for his intercom and reported to someone on the other end: “We’re taking the Good Samaritan home. Over and out!”
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