Perry Wants Dungeness Crab!

Perry, the 70-something, tie-wearing, pony-tailed homeless man who lives in a mini, improvised Conestoga wagon, is something of a celebrity in the neighborhood because of his daily habit of picking up litter. I tip him a few bucks every time I encounter him as do many other people. Someone in the neighborhood even made a t-shirt and hoodie with SAVE OUR SELLWOOD emblazoned on the back for him.

Elmer and I were out for a late morning walk when I saw Perry sitting in a chair outside his domicile wailing away on a harmonica.

I sure wished Perry could play a blues lick because I keep feeling the blues after Dad passed away.

Elmer and I cruised over to Perry to talk. I fished out a sawbuck (Dad taught me that phrase) and gave it to Perry. He asked me how I was doing and I said I was sad, but also relieved at Dad's passing. Two weeks of hospice had been brutal.

Perry asked about my future and I said I wanted out of the big city. He asked where I wanted to go. Somewhere on the Southern Oregon Coast was my reply.

“Well, bring me back some fucking dungeness crab!” he yelled.

When a homeless man demands with profanity that you bring him back some dungeness crab, you better follow through.

“I'll get you some of that canned dungeness,” I said. “It's damn good.”

“Fuck yeah!” Perry screamed.

I'm going to miss this kind of interaction with homeless people when I finally leave Portland.

Then again, wherever I land, I'll be on walk with Elmer and we'll walk right into another unique or pedestrian scene of Oregon's crisis of homelessness. I tend to find the unique ones and have no idea why.