The Bag Lady

THE BAG LADY
Wichita, Kansas
Winter 1978
This was my first time in Wichita; it was, and still is, a beautiful city to me, with areas of cobbled streets, a lovely, clean river, and gorgeous churches. The city had more snow than I was used to when I arrived, but I was delighted, since I was traveling with friends and we had a place to stay. Until they discovered that I was sixteen years old.
The phrase is ‘harboring a runaway’. It did not matter that I was a throw-away, and not a runaway; anyone caught giving me shelter could actually be arrested and get significant jail time. So it is hard to say that I was mad at them when they kicked me out. But they kicked me out in the middle of winter.
Outside I almost froze to death a few times, and I did once end up in an emergency room for frostbite on my hands, which still bothers me when the temps get below freezing. I did as I usually do when I’m homeless and afraid, I searched out churches to sleep near. The Pastors and Priests rarely called the police if they discovered me, and often they would let me stay the night. But Wichita had an incredible homeless population then. Soup kitchens often ran out of food before the line was gone, and I was too scared to stand around for any length of time while the men looked me over. I was losing weight at an alarming rate.
Then, late one night as I was walking to keep warm, exhausted from lack of sleep and food, not familiar with this town, I stumbled behind a large Catholic hospital. It was then that I noticed the hospital’s chapel. It was located inside a side entrance, with a little foyer just before the open chapel area with about a dozen pews. In the foyer was a sweet life-sized statue of the Mother Mary, surrounded by fake plants. These plants were huge, and the entire area was full of them, covering Mary’s legs up to the knees. I stepped in the building and was met with what I wanted more than anything one thing at that moment; warmth. It felt so good, that I knew, Knew, immediately what I had to do. I climbed behind the statue and nestling under those magnificent fake plants, I wrapped my body around Mary’s feet, and I slept.
Even at sixteen I had already learned the hard way how to keep myself secret. As soon as I heard a noise, any noise, I got myself out of there, and made sure to stay out of the area until it was well past midnight. I had found a place…a wonderful place.
But I was still starving. I had to avoid all forms of authority. I knew that I was would be arrested immediately, and never released until I turned 18 and I could not let that happen. But the faster I lost weight, the more I couldn’t think straight, or walk the miles to the various soup kitchens for hope of a meal. So, finally, at one point I was doing nothing but hiding outside of my hospital in the cold dark by the big trash dumpsters, waiting for it to get dark enough to go to the Mary statue. That was when I met the Bag Lady.
I call her that, but she had a shopping cart. We just don’t have a name for a homeless woman who pushes her belongs around in a shopping cart, so I refer to her as a bag lady. Back in those days all shopping carts were metal, and especially loud outside over dirt and asphalt, but she didn’t seem to notice; she rolled up to a dumpster like it was perfectly normal and without hesitating she bent right into the large, filth covered metal trash can. Within moments she straighten again, now holding a crushed fast-food bag. This she fiddled with until she tore it opened to reveal various pieces of trash…the wrappers and discarded ketchup packages. She tossed the bunch back into the dumpster and reached in again. This time she had one of those triangle sandwich containers, ripped wide open, but with one half of one sandwich still remaining. Without pausing the woman stuffed the sandwich in her mouth – the entire thing. Munching loudly, she turned and reached in again, taking a moment as she moved things around. Swallowing, she came out this time with another fast food bag, but clearly this one had weight. She looked right at me and nodded, her face serious. Her face was always serious.
This package held half a carton of french fries and about one-quarter of a cheese burger, and I expected the Bag Lady to inhale them as she had the sandwich, but to my surprise she sat on the curb next to me and handed me the hamburger. Astounded by all I had seen, I automatically took the offering and stared as she ate the french fries.
She looked at me, then the burger frozen in my hand, and she exclaimed loudly, “Hell, are you scared?!” and ripping the food from my hand she carefully removed the chewed edge of the burger, then replaced it to my palm. “There!” she told me, “No germs!”
Only a person who has been truly starving knows how good food really tastes, I am convinced of that. That cheeseburger was the world to me. I immediately felt my strength returning, and I didn’t feel the cold winter so badly. I think the woman knew how bad off I was; she ate her fries as quickly as I ate that partial burger, and we rushed back to the dumpster, both of us, looking for more treasures. I ate more that night than I had eaten in weeks.
Still munching the woman told me “Now you know, you can come here anytime to get food. Don’t go downtown to the soup kitchens anymore. They are too dangerous.”
I asked, “Do you get your food here?”
She frowned and exclaimed “Hell no! I’m not telling anyone where I get my food, and don’t you go telling anyone where you get yours!”
I felt as wonderful as any person on earth in those moments. I had a warm place to sleep and food when I needed it. I wouldn’t die this winter after all. Then I watched as the Bag Lady went over to one of the hospital’s doors, with lots of ashtrays, and to my continuing surprise, she took a half smoked cigarette and lit it, clearing enjoying it just as much as if it were brand new. She went to hand it to me, filter first, covered in the red lipstick of the original owner. I hesitated.
“Oh hell!” she exclaimed again, and with an impatient grunt, she tore the filter from the smoking cigarette, and discarding it, she re-offered it to me saying, “The germs are gone now, ok?”
I had just started to ask, in my clueless sixteen year old way, “Do you get your cigarettes here…” when,
“Hell no! I’m not going to tell you where I get my cigarettes, and don’t you go telling anyone where you get yours!”
I nodded, and she said, more tenderly than at any moment since I had met her, yet still with no hint of smile or friendship, “Time for bed.” and with her shopping cart she rattled into the night. I never saw her again, and I looked. I wanted to thank her, I have always wanted to thank her.
She saved my life. I hope to meet her in Heaven, so that I can thank her; it is a special request of mine.