Joe. Part I of our roadtrip.

Background story:

It has always been a dream of mine to be a photojournalist, to travel to different places, impoverished areas and document everyday lifestyles, ones different than my own but also similar. I've dreamt of having real conversations with people on the streets of whom most are afraid to encounter. I want to KNOW them. What is their name? Where are they from? Do they have brothers, sisters, children? They are PEOPLE, just as I am. They are nothing to be ignored.

I try to give whenever possible. I rarely carry cash in this modern age but when I do I give it. I don't care what it's used for. It is not my place to judge. I just really enjoy giving. There is no better use for my money than to give it to someone.

One of my goals for our trip was to do this very thing, talk to someone I didn't know, find out their name, get to know who they really are not just the label "hobo" or "beggar" or "homeless" they carry around. I was feeling overwhelmed and discouraged. We were about to leave Atlanta and we had only walked the streets for an hour or so. The amount of people living in poverty vs. the amount living in excess was astonishing. It seemed almost like a 50/50 ratio. If I had the guts to photograph this image to share with you, I would have, but it is something that will remain in my mind. I was walking the streets along with the rest of us "living in excess" people, they were on their way to work or school and as we walked we passed a park with a stone wall on which just as many people were sitting, worried and broken...

The contrast was frustrating and...I really just don't have words to describe it. On my left were busy-bodies and on my right were people just surviving. But really when you think about it, the ones who are "just surviving" are probably living life more than the busy-bodies. The busy-bodies have the opportunity to just LIVE, but they're too busy.

I so wish I had a photo of this image for you. As I said, I don't have the guts. This was the very thing I was discussing with Brian. I want to talk to these people, to make their portraits, to tell a story, but who am I to do so? There's a superiority complex in all of this no matter how you play it out. For me to approach someone and engage them in a conversation about how they got where they are, for me to make art of their misery -- it just doesn't seem "right." It reminds me of a dialogue in RENT:

Homeless woman to Mark who is filming her:

"Who do you think you are?! I don't need any GD help from some bleeding heart cameraman! My life's not for you to make a name for yourself...just tryin' to use me to kill his guilt! It's not that kind of movie, honey. This place is full of artists. Hey Artist, you got a dollar? Yeah, didn't think so."

I was feeling discouraged not knowing what to do. It was only a few minutes, a couple blocks after I had this conversation with Brian, that he entered our lives forever.

It was a simple act of kindness. We were lost and bewildered and probably would not have found our way to MLK's church and memorial if he hadn't approached us, and I had many things to learn from that memorial.

He went out of his way to show us how to get there. He and his mother marched these streets with MLK. He pointed out where "colored" people weren't allowed to go. He asked us if we were afraid of black people and we said certainly not. He asked if we knew people who were afraid of black people and unfortunately we had to answer yes. He went on to say how we are all God's children. We are all the same.

I asked him "what is your name?" He replied "Joe." I said "nice to meet you. I'm Roxy," and stuck out my hand. He wiped his hand on his pants before he would shake mine. I asked him, "Joe, will you do me the honor of getting a photo with you since you've been our tour guide today?" He clasped his own hands in front of him while I put my arm around him.

When we ended our tour Brian already had his hand in his pocket and as he was reaching Joe reluctantly told us how he and his wife wanted some chicken wings and they were $6.99, could we spare to give him anything?

He said "I believe God gives back to you. It will come back to you." Joe, I hope the kindness and wisdom you shared with us that day comes back to you. I hope God gives back to you in a big, BIG way.

I complain about not having $10,000 for IVF treatment, but I have money for food. I complain about not knowing what to do when it comes to helping others, but I have opportunities given to me and it is up to me to shape those moments. We could have easily brushed him off in fear or walked away or said unkind words to him or assumed he wanted something from us when he was asking us what we were trying to find, instead we took the opportunity to get to know Joe. The Joe who is 64 years old and lived in Atlanta all his life. The Joe who walked with MLK. The Joe who wasn't afraid to help a couple of undeserving white people out even though those same people had oppressed him. The Joe who wore purple, like I did. The Joe who put God first. The Joe who wore "Jesus" around his neck.

If I ever saw God in someone, it's Joe. I love him more than any stranger. I love all strangers, all people. I can honestly say that. I even love the person who killed my best friend. I love the God that allowed for my best friend to die so horrifically. But Joe has a special place in my heart. He gave us a day we'll never forget.

I hope to see you again, Joe, whether it be in Atlanta or in the next life.

And this, well this is one of the most beautiful photos I've ever taken.

Thank you, stranger for your therapeutic smile.