I met Richard at the Saint James hotel back when I was between apartments and jobs and, as Richard Burton described it, “not broke, only temporarily out of funds.” I decided to take a chance and move into the Saint James near downtown, where I could rent a room with a bath for $250 a month, and live there until I found an apartment or a job. The patrons included many people of modest means or no means, and some who were recovering from severe emotional problems had been placed there by social agencies. One man in particular caught my attention.
Both unemployed, we soon became inseparable friends and spent most of our free time together, meeting in the lobby and reading his newspapers–always the local morning paper, and when available the Wall Street Journal and the Christian Science Monitor. “More objective reporting,” Richard would say. Then we’d go to the bank to get spending money for the day, walk to the post office to check our mail, drink coffee or beer, and search for an apartment or job for me. Late afternoons we’d pick up sandwiches at a corner deli, stroll to the beach, and eat while watching the surf. We would talk and toss food in the water for the sea gulls, who loved us.
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One day when we were buying sandwiches, I noticed some money was missing from my wallet. “I’m missing some money,” I said. “I didn’t take it,” Richard replied, and ducked into the aisle of the liquor store that held the crackers. That was my first sign that something wasn’t quite right with Richard. I thought maybe I’d forgotten to take the money with me. Then I thought I might have spent it. I decided not to worry about it.
Most street men in suits were possessive of them, as if the tattered remains of their sleeves and vests held the last fragments of an earlier life. Although Richard seemed worn and tired, he kept affirming that he would find a job one day and that that was why he kept up with the news every morning. Looking for an apartment for me, we also searched for jobs for him. However, I never actually thought Richard was seriously seeking employment. While I scanned the classifieds for jobs and apartments, he pored over the sports page or the comics. Sometimes he’d roar with indignation at the latest decisions by international politicians, and he’d clench the paper and shake a fist in the air. Then he would yawn, turn the page, and look for the comics again.
One evening Richard told me he was running low on funds and asked if he could borrow some money from me. He said he had a check coming in a week and would repay me then, and he would like to take me to Mexico. When the money didn’t arrive the following week he told me he had a VA check coming at the beginning of each month, and he could pay me with that.
Richard did continue helping me look for apartments. “We’re going to find you a nice place to live,” he would tell me. “And then I’ll come visit you and pay you what I owe when my checks come.”
One day Richard actually did receive a check from the VA and cashed it. He went out and bought groceries, cigarettes, and wine, and we celebrated the new apartment. The check seemed to have cheered him up, and he began to shave again and eat more than usual. At this time I told him that when we went out he could pay his bills and I would pay mine. He agreed.
