The Day I Met My First Homeless Person

The first time I ever met a homeless person I was driving back to the University of Wyoming after spring break, 1976.
I had just turned 19, and was in the middle of my second semester of a fairly directionless college education.
During school, I drove my parents’ Chevy Vega. At the time, $5 in my pocket was enough for the 350-mile trip from my hometown in the north part of the state to Laramie in the south. That $5 was enough – $2 for gas, and $3 for lunch at McDonald’s in Casper. The trip took seven hours, no matter how fast you drove.
The town of Shoshoni marked the end of the first 100 miles of the trip. I had to turn left at the 76 station, drive past the best milk-shake shop in the world, and scoot southeastward out of town to endure the next 100 miles of nothing before reaching Casper.
Standing at a turnout just on the outskirts of Shoshoni, there was a grandfatherly man holding out a piece of cardboard with too much writing on it to read, and too faintly printed. I drove past him and it struck me to stop. I pulled around and got out to talk to him. It was windy with nips of winter still persisting in the air.
His name was Ralph.
He was, I’m guessing, 65.
I told him I was going to Laramie, and he said that would be fine with him.
Dry weeds waggled by the wind on the roadside as we drove along the chipped and weatherworn two-lane highway.
Ralph used to have a wife and some kids. He owned his own paint store somewhere in the Midwest. Now he didn’t have anyone and no place to live. I remember being confused by his story. How did one go from having to not having. How do you lose people, and how is it that a person could not have an address?
Sure, mine was 216 Hill Hall at the time, but my permanent address was the house I had lived in since age 6.
I didn’t know what I was going to do with Ralph when I got to Laramie. He couldn’t stay in the dorm with me and my upstate New York recreation major roommate. I hadn’t a clue.
First, though, was a stop for lunch at the Casper McDonald’s. Ralph had never been to one. He tried to sit down in a seat, expecting a waitress to come to the table. I explained that we ordered at the counter. I let him order first.
“Do you have any Russian tea?” he asked the girl at the counter. She pointed to the menu overhead, which he had not seen, and he stepped back to decide what to get. Coffee and three cheeseburgers. That still left me enough for a Big Mac and a Coke.
He licked the sandwich wrappers clean. Melted cheese and a few smears of catsup from the sandwiches.
“I think I’ll keep this cup,” he said, after he drank his coffee.

(Continued tomorrow)