I am fascinated by this panhandler across the street from my office, mainly because he appears at his designated spot at the same exact time every day. If you’re familiar with Atlanta, his spot is the Georgia-Pacific corner of the wrought-iron-enclosed park by the Peachtree Center Marta Station. He arrives every day at 4:35 and, while he used to hang out for forty minutes, no more or less, he’s recently increased it to nearly an hour (I guess to work off some of that Christmas debt). It fascinates me that a panhandler, watchless and dependent upon public transportation, can adhere to such a strict schedule whereas I can only manage to be at work kinda sorta around about nine-ish, give or take 15. This is not because I’m a laid-back kind of person who refuses to be ruled by the clock; on the contrary, I’m a person who thrives on routine and despises any deviation from it.
I named our panhandler “Forelock” because he is constantly making this weird bobbing movement with his head. If someone gives him money, he steps up the motion to include most of his upper body. He tends to increase the speed and intensity of his bobbing for bigger contributions, but the head movement is fairly continuous. For whatever reason, it reminded me of the phrase “tugging on the forelock” that one reads in novels set in historical times. Since he’s so dependable, it is not unusual to hear the phrase “Forelock o’clock” around our office. Sheila will exclaim, “I have to get the mail! It’s already Forelock o’clock!” or after a particularly wild day, I’ll observe, “It can’t be Forelock o’clock! I haven’t even had lunch yet!”
I’m not convinced that Forelock is really crippled. He walks on crutches but instead of placing the crutches in front of him and swinging his body forward to that spot, he walks along and marches each crutch in step, left crutch with left leg, right crutch with right leg. He wears an Ace bandage on his left knee, but we’ve been watching him for about 2 years now and it’s still not healed. Of course, that could be because he wears the Ace bandage OUTSIDE his jeans. Sheila quite rightly pointed out that there is no sense in wearing the bandage on the knee itself; it needs to be outside his pants in order to elicit the appropriate sympathy.
Another thing that captivates my interest is how long people will stand and talk to Forelock. Once he hits someone up for a donation, they stand and talk to him for A REALLY LONG TIME. Fifteen minutes is about average, but twenty isn’t unheard of. I can’t imagine what there is to discuss. “Hey, can you help a brother out?” is pretty much a yes or no question, even factoring in time for a “thank you” or a nasty retort. Of course, some people just stroll right by but the ones who give him money invariably stay for a lengthy chat. And, hey, don’t they have a train to catch? If not, why are they headed for the Marta station??? Nonetheless, pedestrians evidently find much to discuss with Forelock. His supporters are mainly balding, overweight white men that (really) are almost always wearing khaki trousers and blue oxford shirts; I’m sure this means something but, hey, I’m no sociologist.
Sometimes when work has been so truly crazed that we just have to have a break, Sheila and I stand in front of my window and watch Forelock hold court with the passersby, making up dialogue to go with their gestures and body language. The conversations change tone depending on who’s playing Forelock, as Sheila believes that Forelock is an undercover cop on a dangerous mission - which does explain the long conversations with seemingly random citizens. I tend to believe he has a wife out in the ‘burbs, lots of girlfriends or maybe even babymammas around town and a thriving pyramid-style panhandling business with helpers placed strategically around Atlanta (think Fagin from Oliver Twist). Once, Sheila was getting on Marta and who should be sitting on the bus but Forelock! She spent the whole ride trying to smother her laughter as she remembered all the daring exploits we’d invented for him.
Forelock has a sidekick that we call “Tommy” because of his standard uniform of work pants, construction boots and a Tommy Hilfiger t-shirt, who slouches down on Forelock’s corner and smokes a cigarette, usually around 8 minutes to Forelock. When Forelock arrives, sometimes Tommy will make tracks but sometimes he’ll just slide further down the wall, so as not to impede Forelock’s business. Tommy’s not nearly as dependable as Forelock, though; days and sometimes weeks go by without so much as a glimpse of Tommy, and then we have to worry about whether something bad has happened to him, or if he’s gotten locked up. You’d think people would have a little more consideration.
I remember what my brother said the last time he visited my office. After I told him all about Forelock, he looked at me oddly so I added, "I know, I know: I need to get a hobby." He replied, "I think you already have one."
I named our panhandler “Forelock” because he is constantly making this weird bobbing movement with his head. If someone gives him money, he steps up the motion to include most of his upper body. He tends to increase the speed and intensity of his bobbing for bigger contributions, but the head movement is fairly continuous. For whatever reason, it reminded me of the phrase “tugging on the forelock” that one reads in novels set in historical times. Since he’s so dependable, it is not unusual to hear the phrase “Forelock o’clock” around our office. Sheila will exclaim, “I have to get the mail! It’s already Forelock o’clock!” or after a particularly wild day, I’ll observe, “It can’t be Forelock o’clock! I haven’t even had lunch yet!”
I’m not convinced that Forelock is really crippled. He walks on crutches but instead of placing the crutches in front of him and swinging his body forward to that spot, he walks along and marches each crutch in step, left crutch with left leg, right crutch with right leg. He wears an Ace bandage on his left knee, but we’ve been watching him for about 2 years now and it’s still not healed. Of course, that could be because he wears the Ace bandage OUTSIDE his jeans. Sheila quite rightly pointed out that there is no sense in wearing the bandage on the knee itself; it needs to be outside his pants in order to elicit the appropriate sympathy.
Another thing that captivates my interest is how long people will stand and talk to Forelock. Once he hits someone up for a donation, they stand and talk to him for A REALLY LONG TIME. Fifteen minutes is about average, but twenty isn’t unheard of. I can’t imagine what there is to discuss. “Hey, can you help a brother out?” is pretty much a yes or no question, even factoring in time for a “thank you” or a nasty retort. Of course, some people just stroll right by but the ones who give him money invariably stay for a lengthy chat. And, hey, don’t they have a train to catch? If not, why are they headed for the Marta station??? Nonetheless, pedestrians evidently find much to discuss with Forelock. His supporters are mainly balding, overweight white men that (really) are almost always wearing khaki trousers and blue oxford shirts; I’m sure this means something but, hey, I’m no sociologist.
Sometimes when work has been so truly crazed that we just have to have a break, Sheila and I stand in front of my window and watch Forelock hold court with the passersby, making up dialogue to go with their gestures and body language. The conversations change tone depending on who’s playing Forelock, as Sheila believes that Forelock is an undercover cop on a dangerous mission - which does explain the long conversations with seemingly random citizens. I tend to believe he has a wife out in the ‘burbs, lots of girlfriends or maybe even babymammas around town and a thriving pyramid-style panhandling business with helpers placed strategically around Atlanta (think Fagin from Oliver Twist). Once, Sheila was getting on Marta and who should be sitting on the bus but Forelock! She spent the whole ride trying to smother her laughter as she remembered all the daring exploits we’d invented for him.
Forelock has a sidekick that we call “Tommy” because of his standard uniform of work pants, construction boots and a Tommy Hilfiger t-shirt, who slouches down on Forelock’s corner and smokes a cigarette, usually around 8 minutes to Forelock. When Forelock arrives, sometimes Tommy will make tracks but sometimes he’ll just slide further down the wall, so as not to impede Forelock’s business. Tommy’s not nearly as dependable as Forelock, though; days and sometimes weeks go by without so much as a glimpse of Tommy, and then we have to worry about whether something bad has happened to him, or if he’s gotten locked up. You’d think people would have a little more consideration.
I remember what my brother said the last time he visited my office. After I told him all about Forelock, he looked at me oddly so I added, "I know, I know: I need to get a hobby." He replied, "I think you already have one."
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