What I’ll Say When I Call My Wife

I haven’t called my wife yet, but when I do, I’ll say something like, “You know that old homeless guy in our neighborhood? The one with the beard who’s always sitting on the bench listening to a handheld radio or reading the newspaper? I think I just saw him die.”

“You saw him die,” she will ask.

“Well,” I’ll say, “he may have already been gone by the time I got there. The paramedics were in the middle of resuscitating him, but it wasn’t working. I even heard one EMT say on the phone (to a boss or somebody) that they had been working on him for over fifteen minutes.” I might also add: “It’s very sad. He was a sweet guy. Always kept to himself…”

But then I’ll put a positive spin on what I witnessed by telling her the exact same thing I told a surly female police officer at the scene: “I’m glad we live in a society that makes such a noble effort to save a man’s life. Doesn’t matter that he’s homeless or rich or whatever.” Surly Officer agreed with me. She even added with a profound lack of emotion, “And we’re lucky to have the resources that we do. One minute this guy’s on a bench reading the paper, the next he’s in a state of the art medical facility.” We were less than a mile from Cedars-Sinai, and I guess she was optimistic about his chances, or she was trying to make me more optimistic.

Truth is – and I will tell this to my wife when I call her – that he was not declared dead at the scene. As I said, they were trying to revive him on the sidewalk for more than fifteen minutes, and they kept trying as they loaded him into the ambulance. A few minutes later, when the ambulance sped away, its sirens were blaring, so who knows, maybe there’s a chance that he’ll make it. “If he was already dead,” I’ll ask Sarah (that’s my wife), “would they still put on the sirens?” Although it’s also possible that the EMTs just didn’t want to sit in the back of an ambulance with a dead homeless guy for any longer than they had to. Are EMTs like that? Even the ones who try for more than fifteen minutes to save a man’s life? My wife won’t know the answer to that, but I’ll ask her anyway.

I don’t know if I’ll need to add this next bit when I talk to my wife because she will be busy at work, but in future conversations with her about the incident, probably over dinner, I’ll say, “It made me think of Painter Bob.”

Painter Bob is another homeless friend of mine who I talk to all the time. Truly one of the most upbeat people I have ever encountered. Whenever I offer him food or money, or a guitar or what have you, he says, “miracles, miracles!” I often think of Bob when I’m lying in my comfortable bed at night, especially when it rains, or when I cook a meal in my kitchen... I’ll tell my wife that I want to say to Painter Bob, “I don’t want to see you go like that, man… Let’s get you off the streets and into an apartment.” But I don’t know what we/I can really do for Bob, who’s 77, from Chicago, and painted the homes of many celebrities back in the day. But at least I’ll tell my wife that I’m always thinking of ways to help him… But I digress.

I thanked the EMTs for their heroic efforts, and I also thanked Surly Officer, although she wasn’t doing much except keeping looky-loos like me from getting too close. And I’m not proud of this fact, but I also took a few photos, discreetly, of course, in case I ended up writing a blog entry about this episode later. When my wife gets home, I’ll ask her if she thinks it’s in poor taste. And later, I will ask her if she thought it was a good blog post. Too weird with all the mixed tenses? Perhaps. But alas, I will ask...