Begging: the question

By Jim

A bunch of us TriMet vets have been noticing Statue Man for a few months now. With his right hand out, he stands perfectly still and perfectly silent, facing the 7-Eleven at the corner of Broadway and Market downtown, just across the street from a stop for the southbound #8 and #19. We hike past him every night at 10:32 p.m. to catch our buses.

He's got great peripheral vision -- sometimes his hand will be at his side, but as you approach him, the hand rises to the begging position, like an animatronic robot at a dystopian Disneyland staffed by the down-and-out. Or maybe he senses motion, like a security light. Or maybe he senses emotion.

On Saturday, as I arrived for work at 2:25 p.m. -- on a near-90-degree day -- he was at his station, already working it. I broke the No. 1 rule: Never talk to people who might be crazy. My inner journalist got the better of me. "You're out kind of early today, aren't you?" I said.

"Yeah, I just woke up," he mumbled.

When I saw him that night at 10:32, same corner, same position, I said, "Wow. You're still here. How much did you make?"

"A little over eight dollars," Statue Man said.

I don't want to do the math on his hourly wage; it's too depressing, too sad. Because I think he might work harder than I do. And I have health benefits.