‘Priceless Words of a Poor Man’ wins essay contest
Editor’s Note: Each year a photo/essay contest is held during International
Week. The photo on the home page is the winner, Luke Armstrong’s “Priceless
Words of a Poor Man.”
Other results included:
• 2nd place - Bruce Sundeen’s "Indian Woman"
• 3rd place - Arjun Chadha’s "Monument of Peace"
• Viewers' Choice - Luke Armstrong’s "Priceless Words of a Poor Man"
Armstrong’s essay follows:
When I first saw him, words such as despair, gloom, misery and despondency came quickly to mind.
He seemed sad and pitiful — a shadow of a man victimized by a system completely beyond his control.
What I did not realize was that my rash generalizations and quick stereotyping would be soon challenged.
It was during the summer of 2006 that I spent a week in Taxco, Mexico: a certain mountain village abounding in temperate beauty while gracefully lacking in tourists.
It’s a place where a student such as myself can practice limited Spanish on people with even more limited English.
Taxco’s parish church of Santa Prisca, with its perfectly designed twin bell towers, overlooks the picturesque city square.
Tucked off in one of the squares corners, and perhaps the only part of the square not appearing on post cards, there is an OXXO shop — Mexico’s equivalent of 7-Eleven.
During my time in Taxco, part of my morning ritual was to stop off at this shop to refuel my supply of filtered water, replace waning camera batteries and buy sandwiches that left my stomach feeling so sour that I made empty promises to never purchase them again.
It was on these pleasant summer morning excursions to the OXXO that I encountered an old man who sat in front of the shop with a tin in front of him.
It was aptly placed for those exiting the store to tithe their left over pesos.
Unlike the many eager beggars I have encountered during excursions to Central America, this one had his head always bowed and seemed to be sleeping.
He gave the impression of someone completely apathetic to the world around him — as if any donations to his little tin cup would only allow him to sustain his misery longer.
For six mornings, when I left the OXXO I would drop a few pesos into his tin and hear the resulting clink — the tune of a good deed.
On those first six mornings I don’t recall the man ever looking up to see who it was dropping coins barely worth the metal composing them into his dish.
On Sunday, my last day in Taxco, my purchases had been to the correct peso leaving me coinless. I rested that day from making the man’s tin clink.
As I walked out of the door, ready to hop into a van bound for Mexico City and gazed at the lovely city square for the last time, I heard someone calling out to me. I turned and to my surprise, saw the old man looking up, beckoning me towards him. I reached into my pockets searching for some loose pesos. Obviously, I assumed, money could be the only reason he was summoning me.
I squatted down next to the man, and greeted him with a warm hola. It was then that I saw for the first time what his bowed head and grey hat hid beneath. Looking up at me were the deepest eyes and the truest smile that I have ever seen. He warmly shook my hand and asked me what country I was from—apparently my Aryan features made me an obvious outsider anywhere beyond the West. I told him I was a college student from the United States to which he jovially nodded his smiling head. He asked me how long I was going to stay in Taxco, where I was going later, and other such small talk. I barely listened to his questions. I was too taken aback at such joy that I found in this man who according to everything American society had taught me, had no business being happy.
His happiness both intrigued and puzzled me. Because of my limited Spanish, I was not able to ask anything more compelling than a simple, “Why are you so happy? Por que estas tan alegre?” His reply to this question is one that I will spend perhaps the rest of my days contemplating. He smiled and looked deeply into my eyes. He was my elder and he seemed patiently amused that I needed to ask about something he must have thought obvious. Then, to my question he slowly and eloquently replied, “Porque el mundo es un lugar magnifico. Because the world is a magnificent place.” Then he shook my hand and wished me happy travels. I walked away, looking back at the man several times. The city square seemed different when I left it as when I entered it fifteen minutes earlier.
Yes, the world can be a magnificent place. But for the beggar on the street? For an old man who spends his days hoping that other people will have the kindness to throw a few pesos into a can so that he can eat? So that he will be clothed? Is the world a magnificent place for the man who I pitied for six mornings in front of the OXXO?
The summer of 2006 was filled with growing experiences for me; some subtle, some drastic. The student entering the fall semester was a bit older and I like to think, a bit wiser than the one leaving the previous spring semester. But the one experience that caused the most change and the most shift in perspective came from the old man who sat outside the OXXO with a tin can in front of him. In him I found a smile where I suspected a scowl. I saw hopeful eyes where I thought despair resided, and most importantly, I found pure happiness where it seemed impossible.
Aside from obvious ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ clichés, it’s really hard to judge how large of an impact that old poor man had on me. But I do know that while he may have long forgotten me, I think of him often. I know that although many of my experiences that summer will fade, I will always remember what happened to me on my last morning in Taxco, Mexico.