by Steve Healey

Created on: April 17, 2008

Sam

Sam, Sam the garbage man, the kid's hurled cruel words at him. I peeked up from my

comic book to see what the commotion was about. I had seen this man before, a grayish

Fedora hat on a salt and pepper head of hair. The brim bent slightly to shade azure blue

eyes that seemed to twinkle. His face showed age due to a hard life. Pale white teeth in

a bony jaw that jutted outward with pride, while holding a pipe.

Yes, I remember him now. He was the gentleman caller at my parents' apartment when

I was much younger. A scent of burning tobacco with a hint of cherry tugged lightly at

My nostrils. Pipe clenched tightly in his mouth his bony thumb, middle finger grasped the

bowl as the index finger tapped the freshly added tobacco down. The other hand held a

wooden match and with a flick of a thumb nail, lit it adding the flame to the fillings.

Soon, a stronger aromatic scent of Cherries fill the air around us. Sam, turned, leaned

back in the wooden chair with a spark in his voice crackled at me, you're the spitting

image of your old man! This broke the ice and we became friends.

Yes he was Sam, Sam the garbage man! And he was dirt poor or so it seemed. It

would not do him justice to go by first impressions. He is 43 years old wearing a Grayish

Fedora hat, slightly used suit jacket, matching pants pin stripped shirt opened at the

collar. If it was Sunday, he was dressed appropriately, but it was not. Though the soles of

his shoes are worn thin, the upper part had a glassy sheen to them. He has a full head of

hair, clean shaven face sometimes sporting a thin mustache. With a handkerchief tucked

neatly in the jacket pocket he could pass as a door to door salesman of vacuum cleaners

or a preacher. A slight bulge in the side pocket canceled a harmonica that he taught

himself to play and quit well I may add.

He came from a family with musical attributes. Johnny, the eldest lived at a local

church where he work as a handy man and playing the piano at services. Herby, the

youngest and disabled was self taught on the guitar and had a flare for yodeling! When

these three brothers got together for a shin dig, belting out the old cowboy tunes, not a

sad eye could be found in the crowd.

Sam would bedevil many people! He would be approached by persons feeling pity or

Charitable offered monetary pittance. And in turn, reach into his pocket, pull out a fist

full of cash and asked if they wanted to make change? I don't believe it was pride that did

this, just the fact that whether it was brain surgery or junking, he earns a honest living

and won't hesitate to tell you!

Sam was my mentor for many things. I don't miss him in the least, because in my

mind's eye he is still here! His image, words, laughter among others, would make an

interesting reading. One I would read over many times.
Be seeing ya Sam!

Learn more about this author, Steve Healey.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.