Meet Sidney Clay, born in the month of March 1942; he’s 68 years old and lived in New Orleans, Louisiana, for the better part of his life. Five years ago, early in the morning, Sidney was asleep in his apartment on St. Charles Avenue west of the French Quarter, surrounded by the floods brought on by Hurricane Katrina, when he awoke to the sound of helicopters. Stepping outside, he thought fresh drinking water was being delivered, but he was wrong. That helicopter crew “rescued” Sidney. Carrying not much more than the clothes on his back, he found himself airborne for the first time in his life. The next stop was New Orleans airport, where he found out they were evacuating him to Corpus Christi, Texas. Once in Corpus Christi, it was discovered that Sidney had family in Phoenix, Arizona, and off he was whisked to the middle of the desert.
He left with nothing and arrived with nothing. But this would turn out to be less than nothing. This man left school in Lafayette, Louisiana during the 7th grade, left home at age 17, and went right to work for Pendleton Security as a security guard in New Orleans. For nearly 40 years, Sidney held this one job. He kept to himself for the most part and lived quietly.
Sidney is not a drinking man, never was. He’s been to the hospital twice, once for high blood pressure and the last time for food poisoning caused by pork; he hasn’t eaten pork since. Jail has never been offered the opportunity to host Sidney; as a matter of fact, he has only had one traffic ticket and will likely never have another, seeing he hasn’t driven a car in more than 25 years. Sidney is not a well-traveled man; early in his life, he made two bus trips to Atlanta and one to California. He reminisced that seeing Underground Atlanta was one of the most amazing events in his life.
Besides missing his home, he longs for a return to Pat O’Briens for one more dinner, his favorite. What he misses the most, though, is the music of New Orleans. Here in Phoenix, we have no buskers, also known as street musicians, and where music is performed, it is done so for money, of which Sidney has very little.
You see, on that day, Sidney was uprooted and left with nothing; through a glitch in the bureaucratic system, Sidney’s social security payments were interrupted. It has taken him five years to resolve the issues that stopped the checks. It is supposed to be next month when the money begins to flow again. Almost exactly five years ago today, Sidney tried staying with his daughter, but life alone and a house full of grandchildren left Sidney uncomfortable, and one day, he walked out.
Turns out that while Sidney was staying with his daughter and walking up and down Bell Road here in Phoenix, he ran into a homeless man with the name Floyd. I have seen Floyd many times over the years; even have a photo of him here on my blog, taken in May 2004. Floyd helped Sidney understand living on the street, which eased his transition from self-sufficiency in New Orleans to dependency on his daughter to ultimately being homeless himself. For the next three years, Sidney lived outdoors.
But Sidney is not your average homeless guy. At roughly 4:00 am he signs up at a Temporary Labor office to get a high spot on the list of people looking for any type of manual labor on offer. He normally knows by 6:00 if he’ll have work, but he might have to hang out until 11:00 am, too. From the efforts of his labor, he earns about $35 for the day. On good weeks, he might get three to five days of work.
On the days he can scrounge the money, he has found someone with a small apartment who lets him have a room for $10 a night, no money, no bed. The last time Sidney slept street side was about three months ago. His typical day, when not waiting on work or working, he walks Bell Road from Cave Creek Road to 40th Street and rarely wanders from this path. Along the way, he picks up aluminum cans and, from the generosity of some folks, picks up a few dollars that, if not required for a room, he’ll spend either at Denny’s or Whataburger.
If and when the social security mess is finally cleared up, he’ll take an apartment and try to return to a simple and quiet life. What is remarkable about this man, who was first homeless at age 64, is his gracious and friendly manner and his positive and grateful outlook. When I asked him if he had anything to be happy about, he told me the best thing in life was God waking him up every morning. I then asked him what the most important event, date, person, or historical occurrence he had seen since he was born was; his answer was, “The greatest thing I have come to see and know is that America is the greatest place on earth.” Sure is wonderful running into someone who is just happy being alive.
