Minneapolis folks are a little confused today, weatherwise,
and it’s easy to understand why. Within the space of 10 days we’ve had a major
12-inch winter storm snow, then some warm days culminated by a two delicious
weekend days of 80 degrees. The citizens of the 4F bus into downtown
Minneapolis this morning reflected that confusion, with garb ranging from
cutoff shorts, tanktop T-shirts and open sandals (the kids heading for
DeLaSalle high school on Nicollet island), to gloves and scarves (some of the
older professionals heading for the downtown offices).
Danny seems confused in a slightly different way. Probably
in his early 60s, he doesn’t fit into any of the standard downtown stereotypes. On the surface, he projects a kind of western cowboy appearance, with a Stetson hat
and rust-colored canvas barn coat. It’s not quite consistent, though, as he
also wears what appears to be older negative heel shoes (we used to call them Earth shoes, in my day), aviator-style wire-rimmed glasses, and newer JC Penny
denim jeans (not Wranglers, not even Levis). His sand-colored hair is longish
under the stetson, and his short beard is a mixture of white and buff, like the
remnants of a small wood fire that leaves its white ashes mixed among the coarse sands on a beach.
Most unusual is the plastic covering for his
Stetson, which fits like some kind of shower-cap, with an elastic band the
snugs it up under the brim. Real cowboys, I'm told, will wear such a raincoat for their treasured stetsons on stormy days. But it's bright sun in Minneapolis today, and this covering looks like it is worn permanently on Danny's hat. On the top surface of the hat’s brim, the plastic fits
tight and smooth, almost like it’s been glued in place, but on the upper dome of the
hat, there is too much plastic and it bunches loosely around the dome of
the Stetson: I can’t help but think of the image of an extra-large Trojan
condom being worn by a man who really needs the standard size.
It’s very hard to gauge Danny’s story, though he projects
the energy of someone a little down on his luck. I find myself wondering if the entire outfit is simply what he was able to find at some second-hand store recently. When the seat next to him gets
taken as the bus fills up, Danny looks steadfastly out the window in embarrassed shyness, away from his
seat companion, for the rest of the trip. And my hunch that he doesn’t fit the
downtown society is right; he gets off the bus on Franklin Avenue well before
downtown, a street dominated on this stretch by bars, soup kitchens, day labor
offices, check-cashing shops and other
businesses serving the edges of society.
It’s too far from my own office and would cause me to be
late for work to do so, but I’m tempted to follow Danny to obtain clues to a little bit
more of his story. But I think somehow that he has troubles enough, without
adding a strange middle-aged guy stalking him on Franklin Avenue at 7:00 am in a monday morning.
As I watch
him walk up the street, Danny hobbles just a little, but his steps are quick and he's making good time. As he reaches a gap between two building, full daylight fall upon him, and a beam of sunlight gleams off the plastic covering of his Stetson. Not a real cowboy maybe, but Danny has every right to the same springtime sunshine that favors us all.
