It is approximately 1 A.M. on my birthday and I am enroute to the dumpster behind the nightclub to regurgitate some of the night’s alcoholic beverages. But my usual spot is now occupied by what seems to be a cycle with long hollow cardboard tubes strapped to it and a large duffel bag. There is also a man wearing a baseball cap, grey jeans, sneakers and several shirts loitering near these objects. As I approach, he asks me what I’m doing. I don’t reply, instead asking him what he’s doing parking his bike near this dumpster. He launches into a sales spiel describing how the cardboard tubes contain movie posters, the latest movie posters. Would I care to have a look, he enquires? I tell him I’m not interested in new movies, especially Hollywood ones, since they are mostly pap.
So he asks me which movies I like and I admit to a certain fondness for movies made in the aftermath of World War II, by heavyweights like Lean or Kurosawa. He says one word to me, “Ike”. Surprised that a homeless man knows about Ike, I ask him if he knows about the G.I. Bill. He replies in the affirmative and we chatter about it for a bit. Then he informs me that Ike was his buddy and they worked on “it all” together. This is a bit much to take in, especially given my current state. But he is a harmless, educated, homeless man who is happy to be spoken to.
The night devolves into the usual scenario of cabbing home from downtown Vancouver in the wee hours of the morning. But it has been worth it, every minute of it.