How Jack Became Wealthy

Jack had reached a point where suicide increasingly appeared an alternative to his miserable life. He had nothing: no assets, no freedom, and even a liability of some sort would have been something that said he was still in the game, but he had none. The clothes and shoes on his body were his remaining possessions; If the adage clothes make the man is true, then Jack was a bum.

The clothes long ago had given up on being laundered or mended for they were reclaimed from a scarecrow-like bum, who had lain deceased and abandoned in a darkened alley, urinated upon, and pecked and nibbled upon by vermin, mites and ticks; the shoes were an odd couple, one being an unwell sneaker and the other one an old scuffed brown leather loafer minus the sole, both were lefties, found in close proximity of each other as a result of a careless garbage man. All of the above misfits advertised abject poverty.

No one liked him, ignored him, no one was aware of his name, and the universe was indifferent to him; in short, he was a no-one. When children saw him tramping along, they burst out in hysterical screaming and ran crying for safety. He was strange, unwanted, woman seemed wicked, sneering at him, and snarls shaped themselves on pretty painted lips as a warning, just in case he might have a thought to approach them. Protectors of possessions, wealth and property, dogs barked and growled at him when they sensed a foul smell approaching. When his name did come up in conversation, his family thought he might be dead: Jack was just unlucky was the sentiment expressed most often.

As a last hope, God, the Redeemer, if called upon, never disappointed. When you called Him, He’d answer you, for he was taught that, it was in the Bible; God was with those in trouble, always available to save and honor those down on their luck. So he went to a church to see if he could change his luck, but he no sooner had entered the House of God, when he was stealthily guided by a firm hand locked on his forearm, it was the sort of grip law enforcement officers utilize on persons of interest to convey control, out the side door, and kindly told he was scaring the congregation, but not to worry, pushing him away from the open door and slamming it shut God had a plan for him, just not here. However, rats and cats accepted his presence, by ignoring him.

He wanted a dog as a companion and protector, for he was lonely, but feeding the animal became his first concern, then when just feeding himself was a struggle, he surrendered that idea along with the idea of meeting another bum like himself, as a friend, a companion. In the world of bums, in order to survive, it’s best to be a loner; two men struggling together is like men clinging on to the other, as they drown.

When things were looking bleak, and his overwhelming thought was food, he had promised himself he would never eat out of garbage cans; he would never go that low, only true bums, he believed, did that and he wasn't really a bum, a little down on his luck; because he still had some pride left, some hope; he had a future, and it wasn't living on the streets. This could not be his fate; he refused to believe that.

He abandoned that rule quickly out of shear hunger. Now that was his principle source of nutrition; garbage cans drew his attention, and they were a stimulus like Pavlov's lab coat, when he saw one, a garbage can, he started to drool. But he had to be careful of competition and angry workers when they saw him bent into garbage cans, littering the area when searching for anything that might sustain him for the night. During the day he slept, for sleeping at night meant being at the mercy of gangs of youths, for whom a sleeping bum was a golden opportunity to pulverize with bats and chains, worse, one bum was set on fire. At nights, he walked about in well lit areas; always keeping on the move, always looking over his shoulder, and always his senses and ears alert for danger.

It hadn’t always been that way. He began life with two good hardworking parents who provided for him and his brothers and sisters all the support to be successful in life, going so far has to give their children the best education that they could afford, and even sending him to college, although money was tight, where he made them proud by graduating with a degree. He had a job, friends, a girlfriend, who later on became his wife, and after a while he had his own family. Things went well there for a while, he was happy, content, then something happened. His wife suddenly left him for another man, that was a big surprise; he was in love, she wasn't; shortly afterward he started to drink, he lost his job, and his friends never returned his calls when he needed them; on the phone, his father told him stop calling, basically he inferred the job of a parent was complete, there was nothing he could do for his son, he was on his own. Bit by bit, he sold his assets to survive while he looked for employment. When he no longer could pay his mortgage, he was escorted off the property by law enforcement and moved into an apartment; before long he received an eviction notice, and he started sleeping in bus stop shelters, twenty four hour Laundromats when the weather was severe. Everything of value was gone; he became unemployable. Suddenly he was a bum living on the streets.

For three years things had gone on in like this; living out of garbage cans, walking nights to secure his security and life; surviving in a world where no one cared about him. He could feel his health slipping away; in a mirror recently, he was shocked to see himself, he appeared sick and unrecognizable. Facing another fast approaching winter meant real life and death hardships; the images of bums lying dead, frozen to death as they slept in the open, scared him. He was desperate not go through another one. Thinking about robbing a bank became more appealing as the winter approached; he clearly was aware he would get caught and sent to prison, at least in prison, he reasoned, he had a roof over his head and three meals a day, clean clothes, hot showers, a place to sleep with a pillow and sheets to keep him warm, and the more he thought about it the more he realized it was the only card in the deck he had left to play, the other option was to take a chance surviving the harsh winter elements, and chance as of late was not on his side.

It didn’t really matter what bank he was going to rob, at this point in his existence, they all looked the same; one was as good as the other. Besides, during the robbery he would surrender to the first law enforcement officer that came along; reminding himself his goal was to end up in prison and off the streets, it wasn't about the money. And if by chance, he was successful, and he did get away with some money, how long would a little cash hold out? Yes, prison was the only logical conclusion that would save his life.

When he entered the bank, and this was early in the morning when the bank opened for business at nine, and it was now a little after nine, it was empty of customers. He looked about for a bank security officer, a bank officer sitting behind a desk, anyone he might approach and give himself up to, but the big open space of the bank was void of any activity at all. The only person it seems in the big bank was a bank clerk, a college aged female, dressed professional as a banker, busy getting her work area ready for the days business ahead and oblivious to the man walking towards her teller; now standing before her, but she went about her duties without looking up. Another ten seconds of being ignored, he was going to leave and just when he had this thought she looked up and smiled:
“Good morning, sir, how can I help you,” she said.

“Listen lady," he said, leaning in, and on his tip toes, "I’m desperate; I’ve never hurt no one, and I don’t even know how to, so you just hand over the money, you understand?” His voice was shaky like when he first asked a stranger for money to buy a cup of coffee, but it seemed firm and determined after the first few words.

She nodded her head in a cooperative gesture, and her big eyes told him she was scared and he felt sorry for her. She didn't mean to stare at him, but he appeared odd, a caricature of a beaten man she had seen in a movie. The first thing she noticed about him was an offensive odor; his shirt was very dirty and stained and was peppered with leaves and twigs; a rope held up his pants; he had long oily hair that needed a comb; a bushy beard that was uneven at the ends; but it was his eyes that she noticed more than anything, they were, she thought, the most sad eyes that she had ever seen. She felt sorry for him.

“Come on, lady!” he heard himself bark, and he thought she was going to cry, for she started to shake. He didn’t mean to be angry with her, but he really was frightened, not knowing if a police officer was behind him with his gun aimed at his back. Opening her drawer, she saw it was empty; she had forgot to fill it with bills for the days transactions.

Turning her head to her left, on the floor she saw a currency satchel, with brass locks affixed to keep its contents secure: it appeared important. It was suppose be placed in the safe when it arrived yesterday by courier, just before the bank had closed for business, why it sat in her work area was unknown to her, except to speculate a bank officer had made a mistake in not securing it in the steel vault. She picked it up by the leather straps from the ground, it was heavy.

“Oh, my: my drawer is empty, but here is a bag full of money, I'm sure it's a lot, please take it and don’t hurt me. She heaved the big bag before him and he took it, surprised he needed all his strength to take possession of it. “Don’t you make a move, you hear?” he said. She told him she wouldn’t and got on the floor and crawled into a fetal position. He turned about, expecting to see guns drawn, aimed at him, but he saw the bank was utterly empty. Fixed in place, sweat pouring into his face, he stood for a moment, waiting for someone to take notice a bank robbery was in progress and summon the police, and he cocked his ear to hear sirens heading this way; however, after a minute or so of seeing no one and not hearing police activity, he grew impatient and felt his plan falling apart, and he casually walked out and disappeared.



The End

W/c 2000