Old John

Along the city roads Old John would wander. I'd be
talking to a bunch of friends outside the local
record shop, crowds of people would be rushing
about their business, the traffic filling the air
with fumes, but there he would be, aimlessly
passing by...you could set your watch by him, for
it was always noon when he ambled on past our local
record store, with a vacant look in his eyes.

I must have been about thirteen, when I first set
eyes on this drifter. I wondered where he came from
and where he was going. I felt very fortunate to
come from a loving home and also grateful that I
never had to walk the streets of the city alone.

He was quite large and stocky, which surprised me,
although I felt sure he wore many layers of
clothes. His main outward appearance, was a big
old overcoat, that he wore even in high summmer,
with some rope tied around the waist, due to the
buttons having fallen off. The soles of his boots
were half on and half off, I was amazed at how he
ever walked in them. His beard was long and the
growth of hair on his head was thick, dark and
long, hanging in greasy strands around his broad
shoulders. He wore a hat upon his head, with a
feather in the brim, reminding me of a scarecrow.

When the rain comes down across the city, the
crowds of people rush to get to their destination,
dashing for buses, traffic jams - nose to tail,
desperate to get home, but not Old John, he just
saunters along, imitating the sound of the cuckoo,
it's such a distinct sound coming from this hobo.

We called him Old John, because to a thirteen year
old, anyone over the age of twenty, was old. 'What
were his dreams?' I wondered, 'did he have a home,
or a family?' so many questions puzzling me. Once
a year around July, he would get a haircut and a
beard trim, he would also buy himself a new pair
of boots, then you would hardly recognize him,
apart from the old overcoat and the hat.

Only once did I ever converse with him, I think I
was about ninteen, it was a Saturday night, there
was me and a couple of friends raving it up,at the
local BierKeller, drinking our Steiners...when who
should walk in? yes you guessed Old John, he was
strolling around with a monkey on his shoulder.
He eventually got around to us. 'Would you like a
photo with the monkey?' he enquired. 'Okay!' we
replied, then proceeded to say, that we had never
seen him with a monkey before. He just shrugged and
said that the world was his oyster, rich for the
pickings. I never did quite understand what he
meant then, but looking back, I think he was trying
to tell us that, if opportunities came his way,
then he would do what he had to do.

This man was such a mystery to me, I suppose that's
why I'm writing about him now. It was only much
later on, when I was in my late twenties, that I
was reading the local paper, it read that this man
we called Old John, had died of a heart attack, it
also said, he never drank...or smoked and lived
out of bins, sometimes he slept at the local
shelter, where he could also get a decent meal.

But the most amazing part about this story, was
that the police discovered that he had a three
storey Victorian Mansion in a very posh part of
the city, that was left him by his late parents,
but he never lived there, preferring to walk the
streets and breathe in the city air that he so
loved.

In his house, under the floorboards in what was
his bedroom, the police discovered a lot of money
in notes, he was the owner of a fortune, which he
never banked. I often wondered back then, who got
the money, or if he had a will at all.

It proves one thing to me, here was a man who had
loads of money, yet none of it did he squander, he
was just happy going along his way, being who he
wanted to be, proving that loads of money doesn't always make us happy, or better people. I bet he's
in another life somewhere, still wandering around,
calling out that sound of the cuckoo!