Concrete Pillows
In New York City
by Herb Bardavid
This is Kenny
It was a cold day in mid-March, with a stiff wind blowing. Walking down 65th street near Broadway, I noticed Kenny sitting on the cold concrete, with a thin blanket under him. Before I got close, he smiled at me and said, "How are you, bro?" I stopped and returned the greeting. How are you? He was very cheerful, saying that he was great. And his good spirits were not confined to just me. As we talked, he called out a cheerful "Good morning" to almost every passerby. Many people returned his greeting, and some seemed to know him. They called out his name when they returned his greeting.
Kenny is 60 and was born in the Iron Bound section of Newark, New Jersey. He has no siblings and was raised by a single mother. He described himself as a kid of the streets who hung out in the neighborhood more than attending school.
Leaving high school at 17, living with friends and working in construction.
Kenny has been homeless on and off over the years. Sometimes, he can afford an apartment independently, and sometimes, he lives with a girlfriend. He had lived with his girlfriend for two years, but the relationship was rocky. He left a few weeks ago. He said he would rather live on the streets than continue with that relationship.
Other than that relationship, Kenny has no friends or family. He has never been married and has no children.
Six years ago, Kenny was standing on the subway platform at the 79th Street station, waiting for the number 1 train, when two men attacked him. One grabbed his bag and belongings, and the other pushed him onto the tracks of the oncoming train. He remembers that his foot got stuck in the track, and the next thing he remembered is waking up in the hospital, and his left foot had been amputated.
During our entire conversation, Kenny had a remarkably happy and uplifting attitude as he talked about his life on the streets. He has not experienced hostility from the police or the public. He can use public restrooms. Sometimes, he goes to McDonald's or Starbucks and gives the workers a few bucks; then, they let him use the bathrooms.
Kenny had not eaten anything since last night. I got him some lunch at a nearby food truck on Amsterdam Avenue. He strapped on his prosthetic leg, stood up, and displayed his joy in having something to eat.
I asked Kenny his thoughts about his future. He doesn't see anything changing and seems okay with how things are. He is content sleeping on the concrete pillows of New York City.