Hitchhiker

I picked up some lumber early Saturday morning and was heading out of Lowe's in Seaford, Delaware, heading south on U.S. Route 13. I saw a hitchhiker ahead and reflexively slowed to get a look at him. He wasn't walking steady and had a sickly look about him. I thought that this might be the time I get murdered picking up a hiker, but after twenty thousand miles of hitchhiking across the country I never turn anyone down. He walked up to my passenger side and he looked even worse on close inspection. He got in after I cautioned him not to bang his leg on the toolbox on the floor of his side. The following is the gist our conversation.

Me: I'm turning right up here but if it's not far I'll take you where you want to go.
Him: I'm headed to the hospital but it's a little further up than you're going.
Me: No problem. I'm in no hurry.

He spoke in an articulate manner that belied his appearance.

Him: Go up a little further to the next light and then take a right.

There was a pause.

Him: We look about the same age. Are you a veteran?
Me: No, I was headed to Canada if my draft number was low but it turned out to be pretty high. You're a veteran then?
Him: Yeah.
Me: Vietnam?
Him: Yeah.
Me: Thanks for your service. (He shook his head slowly.) I'm going to ask something that's none of my business but I'm going to ask anyway. You look like you slept in those clothes. Are you homeless?
Him: (pause) Yeah. (pause) I had a bad heart attack a week ago and I'm seeing a doctor at the hospital.
Me: I haven't had my first heart attack, just two small strokes.
Him: I've had three heart attacks and a bad stroke.
Me: What are you doing out walking and hitchhiking? Don't you know anyone who can give you a ride? (He shook his head.)
Him: This is good, right here. (There was no place to pull over. I had to stop, blocking traffic.) He got out. The passenger window was open.)
Him: Could you spare a couple of dollars so I could get a cup of coffee? I'm a little shaky this morning. (I had a twenty and a five in my wallet. I handed him the twenty.)
Me: Take better care of yourself, brother. (Cars were behind me and I had to pull away.)

At this point in writing this missive, it struck me hard that I could offer this man shelter in my home. I'm stopping this writing to work on that.

 

You did good, Dwight. Good for you, bud.

 

The Vietnam war ended in 1975. A veteran of that war would likely be 71 years old or older.

 

I'm fuming. I had no success in tracing the guy down or learning his name. I talked to so many people I lost count. I ran into every bureaucratic obstacle you can imagine. I'm out of patience for today. I'll try again Monday when I have the cool head to talk to these morons without calling them morons.

 

Well, I'm sure they have to protect the man's privacy as they would yours if the situation was reversed. You showed him kindness which was more than most would have done, Dwight. Maybe your paths will cross again.

 

I'll go in person to the hospital Monday. I'll talk to the hospital administrator, if he/she will give me five minutes, and to the doctors/nurses/receptionists in the the cardio department and emergency room. I'll explain that I understand the demands of patient confidentiality and give them each my business card with my handwritten offer of shelter and explain that, if they do know this person I describe, they can give him the card without violating any proviso of confidentiality.

Any plan is better than no plan. I feel like this guy was placed in my path for a reason. I'll pray my unbeliever's prayers for the both of us.

 

I'm 69 and was draft eligible while the war was still very much going on. I was headed to Canada if my draft number was low, with my parents in complete agreement.

So what's your point? ... that the guy is lying? There's no reason to believe that. The man's army service could be easily verified through public records if I can make contact with him again.

I remember there being support groups for men who didn't serve and somehow felt that that was a stain on their manhood. Sheer idiocy. It took more courage to refuse to kill Asian kids in that war and become a fugitive than to go along with the dutiful, obedient crowd.

I have strong opinions about the 'police action' in Vietnam. I lost friends to death and insanity. Veterans were the target of hatred or disrespect by both the Vietnamese and Americans at home. Young people in the military were called baby killers. I was in Oakland when the protesters trashed the business district and burned down homes. With my earring and hair down to the middle of my back I never joined in the protests, with one exception. I spoke at a Denver anti-war protest in support of out troops. My message was simple - protest the war but support our troops. I was booed and they cut my mike off.

 

Ask to speak to the social services person at the hospital. They are generally responsible for arranging things for patients.

 

I have a psychiatric counselor I see once a month to help me with my periodic depression. I asked for a special session with her. We discussed this and she reminded me of all the potential problems I could be setting myself up for.

Is the guy mentally stable? Will he steal from me? What are his addictions? If he establishes residency in Maryland and at my address, would I even be able to be rid of him if I wanted to? There are even more potential problems than these.

The world is a harder place than I want it to be. I have these generous impulses but following through with them is another story. I feel a little hypocritical and naive.

As a practical matter, I will still visit the hospital, not to offer the man a place in my home, but to make sure his caseworker or social worker has him connected up with veteran's groups, socials services, the VA and addiction counseling. I still have guilt over how that war destroyed people I knew while I got a pass.

 

I have a similar strategy for the same safety reasons. When I am driving by myself or a with only a male friend I pick up anyone. If I have a girlfriend or niece or nephew with me I won't pick up anyone, not even a woman.

This is the first I've heard of your hitchhiking days. I still have days when I hear a truck on the highway a ways off and want to go hitching, but it would be silly to do that when I own a comfortable truck.

 

Your tales of hitchhiking sound all too familiar. It seemed to me like something interesting happened at least every thousand miles or so - surprising, enjoyable, dangerous, whatever. The people I learned to watch out for in addition to the drivers who picked me up were other hikers.

I had a pistol put to my head outside of Sacramento by another hitcher when I wouldn't show my sheath knife to him. He says "You won't let me see your knife? Wanna see my gun?" He pulls it out and puts it right between my eyes and laughs. His partner says "Don't mind him - he's just crazy." I thought to myself "Yeah, I get that."

Somewhere in Utah a tractor trailer driver nearly ran into the ditch when he swerved to try to hit me.

I have dozens more stories. Routes 70 and 80 were my most used roads. I once hiked Route 66 just to be able to say I'd done it.

 

I forget if I said this before but I figure 6 or so cross-countries @ 3000 miles and various side trips put me in the neighborhood of 20,000 miles of hitching.