Now & Then: Not your typical homeless person

In light of the current situation with the homeless in our state and nation, I found this column from Jan. 10, 2007, to be timely. -LP

He spoke as a scholar — which he was.

He looked like a homeless person — which he was.

I met James Albert at a gas station on I-26 in South Carolina. He was offering to pay anyone who would give him a ride to Walterboro, a distance of about 35 miles.

A slightly-built man, Albert looked older than his 55 years, perhaps because of whiskers that had a few days head start on the razor and clothes soiled by outdoor living.

Albert had left Orangeburg, 20 miles to the west, after several months because the locale of his itinerant bicycle repair business was unfavorable. He decided to try Walterboro because someone said it was a nice town.

“I just need to get to Walterboro,” he said. “I’ll pay you $20.”

I explained that I was waiting there to pick up a couple of grandkids to return them back to North Carolina. During my wait, I listened to Albert’s tale of high hopes dashed by misfortune and bad decisions.

A Missourian, he attended the University of Louisville. Advisers convinced him to major in sociology, which eventually led him into teaching junior high.

In order to remain in teaching, he was told, he’d have to go back to college for his master’s degree in education, which he did. After a few years of teaching, which he described as filled with headaches, he was diagnosed with a debilitating condition that took him out of the classroom and onto the disability rolls.

Albert tried a number of part-time positions, mostly as a laborer, to supplement his government checks. At one point, he was in limbo for five months awaiting a governmental decision concerning his continued support.

“Bureaucrats don’t ever get in a hurry,” he said. 

“Finally, I told the supervisor to make a decision one way or the other.”

With that, Albert was out on the street and looking for other means of support.

Two failed marriages, which he described as “mistakes from the start,” and substance abuse problems contributed to his downfall.

“I admit I’m an alcoholic,” Albert said. “I’m not proud of it, but it’s true.”

He asked a man crossing the parking lot if he could get a ride to Walterboro. The man said he wasn’t going that way, that he was traveling north from Savannah.

“Savannah’s nice,” Albert said. “I lived there for a while near the Amtrak station.”

He said he preferred to arrive at a new town after dark when he isn’t as likely to be picked up as a vagrant. In the meantime, he just wanted to find a ride to Walterboro. He packed up his meager possessions to try another gas station across the cloverleaf.

My grandkids arrived, we transferred their luggage to my trunk and headed north.

Pulling out onto the road toward the interstate, we passed James Albert on the shoulder, pulling on his coat and adjusting his bags.

Then it started to rain.

■ Larry Penkava is a writer for Randolph Hub. 

Contact: 336-302-2189, larrypenkava@gmail.com.