October 23, 2006
There but for the grace of God
10/24/06 update: It seems that both polls disappeared from the face of the earth. Too bad! There were about 300 surprising results last I looked.
The Cached version:
You stop your shiny car at a Freeway ramp. A disheveled, sickly-looking old man in a broken wheelchair holds a piece of cardboard in his lap and sadly looks you straight in the eye. Do you?
- Turn your gaze to the other side and wait for the light to change, as you discretely lock the car doors
- Mumble thru the rolled-up window that you are sorry
- Search for some coins inside the cup holder
- Give him a few dollars
- Say a little prayer as you drive away
- Curse a cruel God
- Swear at a heartless system that allows its weakest members to go hungry
- Hope that you will not end up on the same spot when you are his age
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I would not think anything other than this guy is most likely making more money than me. Panhandlers usually make pretty good money begging and use props to make you feel sorry for them.
Just my thought
Posted by: Maggie at Oct 23, 2006 5:57:05 AM
This quote should read "There BUT for the grace of God."
Posted by: Joanne at Oct 23, 2006 8:23:52 AM
As in :
Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921.
V. The Town Down the River
“There, but for the grace of God, goes…”
THERE is a question that I ask,
And ask again:
What hunger was half-hidden by the mask
That he wore then?
There was a word for me to say 5
That I said not;
And in the past there was another day
That I forgot:
A dreary, cold, unwholesome day,
Racked overhead,— 10
As if the world were turning the wrong way,
And the sun dead:
A day that comes back well enough
Now he is gone.
What then? Has memory no other stuff 15
To seize upon?
Wherever he may wander now
In his despair,
Would he be more contented in the slough
If all were there? 20
And yet he brought a kind of light
Into the room;
And when he left, a tinge of something bright
Survived the gloom.
Why will he not be where he is, 25
And not with me?
The hours that are my life are mine, not his,—
Or used to be.
What numerous imps invisible
Has he at hand, 30
Far-flying and forlorn as what they tell
At his command?
What hold of weirdness or of worth
Can he possess,
That he may speak from anywhere on earth 35
Shall I be caught and held again
In the old net?—
He brought a sorry sunbeam with him then,
But it beams yet.
Posted by: Joanne at Oct 23, 2006 8:31:17 AM
If it was Spain I'd call SOCIAL SAMUR (or Unit of Emergencies for Social Care). Being United States, I'd buy him a bell and send him to sing alongwith the Salvation Army :-))
Posted by: Peccata Minuta at Oct 23, 2006 2:04:37 PM