Memories of Seventh Street

Years ago I was walking on Seventh Street near downtown Los Angeles as my mind reeled and my soul churned. Aggressive, ominpresent drug dealers and severely drug-addicted prostitutes lined this block near Witmer. They eyed all the passersby. The only people returning their gazes were those seeking heroin or sex. All the rest of us looked into the grey distance or down at the sidewalk. Gazing at the ground connotes a sense of discomfort, possibly trepidation, but it had always worked well enough for me. It conveyed my disinterest in purchasing drugs. I aimed my scrutiny, though not my awareness, at the concrete beneath my feet as I headed for the Mayfair Hotel (see above pic). All at once it seemed that someone was looking up at me. Everyone on the sidewalk seemed to stop. The world seemed to stop. I looked back at the man who in actuality was standing at least 20 feet ahead of me. He was leaning on crutches and he was hunched over like a horseshoe. That condition seems to occur in very elderly people although I do not know the name of it. The gentleman was gesturing animatedly at me and seemed to have something of an encouraging - perhaps pleading - smile on his face. People hurried past him on either side, eager to get off Seventh Street and arrive at their destinations. A drug dealer and some blank-faced young teenagers lingered near the man, but this gentleman was staring straight into my face. I began rushing towards him and realized that he had dropped some magazines that he had been carrying. He was too crippled to pick them up. It seemed that an odd yellow light surrounded him. I bent to pick up his magazines and he seemed very pleased by my behavior. He said something to me, but I don’t think he was speaking English. Exultation filled me as I handed him his magazines and I felt so happy to have the opportunity to help someone out. It made me feel human. I did not have to block out the world during those moments when I came to his aid.

It was as if he had been waiting for me or had seen me coming. He knew I’d do it. Did he think no one else would? No one else had. Something about the whole incident seemed surreal at the time and does even now. Seventh Street is not so desperate and decayed a place anymore, but I remember it well. I left there long ago although sometimes I used to wonder if I ever would or could. Back then I spent horrible, self-doubting moments surrounded by squalor. During those times I would reflect on the hunched-over man and wonder if his presence on that blighted street might have been some type of sign. It gave me tremendous hope for reasons that I cannot entirely explain.

The episode still seems otherworldly.





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