Newsie

Here in Memphis, our local paper The Commercial Appeal is available for sale on the side of the road. By newsies, if you will. Each morning as I pass the intersection of East Parkway and Sam Cooper, the two main corners of the intersection are occupied by a man or woman with a stack of papers and a lawn chair. Their styles vary. Some walk between lanes of traffic, actively strutting their wares for all to see. Some chill in their chairs, depending on paper-needy drivers to flag them down. Rain, shine, snow, or fog, the newsies are there.

Since moving to Memphis nine months ago, the corner that I pass each morning has been staffed by the same man. Though you might be surprised that I even notice my newsie each and every day, this man is hard to miss.

Standing tall at at least 6'6'', he puts new meaning to the phrase "bean pole." He might weigh 170 pounds. Tall, tall tall, and thin, thin thin. He is older, with dark black wrinkled skin. He wears a cowboy hat and overalls, with a parka over it all when the wind is cold. He stands, legs apart, one hand in his pocket, one hand clutching a stack of fresh papers at his side. And, my favorite part, he wears large, dark, thick-rimmed glasses on his smallish face, and when he talks to his customers you can see he is missing a few teeth.

But he hardly ever smiles. For nine months I have driven by and hoped to get a smile. Each morning I give the little half wave that you do when you're trying to hold on to your steering wheel with one hand and your coffee with the other. I hope for a smile. But all I get is a nod. Every day, a nod.

Thus my Newsie has become a part of my morning routine. Slide into the turn lane; ease the breaks to a stop; look at my Newsie; smile inside at his hat, his glasses, his frame, his stance; lift the fingers in a wave and a smile; accept his nod in my direction; wait for green; go on my way.

Until two weeks ago. My Newsie was not there. In his place, a teenager. A teenager with a pony tail. Who walks between lanes of traffic. Not my Newsie.

I waved. He smiled. My window was down. He said hello.

And all I wanted was a nod.

My Newsie is on vacation. I'm sure all newsies get paid time off. No worry. He'll be back.

But he is not back. And I miss those nods.

Funny how someone whose name you have never learned, whose smile you have never seen, can be missed. But I missed my Newsie today.