Wearing several layers of clothes, a three day beard on his face and alcohol on his breath he entered the Bank of America building on Johnson Square in downtown Savannah. Immediately after walking through the doors, he took a left upstairs to the second floor where the Executive offices are located. There is a Bullpen of large oak secretary desks with pretty secretaries sitting at them.
"May I help you Sir," one suspiciously asked.
In truth she was familiar with suspicious looking men entering the Trust Department to meet with Joe Daniel, her boss, so that he could manage their money.
The homeless looking man said nothing. He took another left in front of the second office and walked inside.
Joe was sitting at his desk, chewing tobacco, spitting into a silver chalice with his initials engraved on it.
Startled, because he was used to keeping people waiting until he was ready for them, Joe looked up from what he was doing, spit in cup and said in a shaky voice, "May I help you?"
The man just stood their staring at him.
"Can I help you?" he heard the secretary ask outside.
Then another man wearing several layers walked inside and stood beside the first one. He stank and had stains of dried mud in his hair. He said nothing.
"Can I help you?" Joe asked repeating what the secretary had just asked.
Then a third walked in ... a fourth ... a fifth ... a sixth
The exasperated secretary looked over her shoulder. Everyone who worked in the Trust Department of the Bank of America were huddled in a corner preparing themselves for the robbery ... or the murder that was about to happen. She called Security.
A seventh homeless man entered the room. Most menacing of all, he wore a dirty black Trench coat and carried a wooden club. The Secretary stared at him and before she could ask, he held a finger to his lips ordering her to stay quiet.
She left her desk and hugged the huddle of co-workers in the corner.
Strolling into Joe's office, the seven were complete. Joe was gripping the arms of his chair, staring wondering what was going to happen.
Then it did.
"Happy Birthday," the seven sang in unison. "Happy Birthday. Gloom and Doom your life is done. Happy Birthday."
Wide eyed Joe sat there staring.
When they'd finished the birthday greeting, they filed out one at a time. Silent. Never speaking another word other than the macabre singing of "Happy Birthday."
When the seventh one left. I entered.
"Hey Joe!" I said with glee.
He was sitting there sweating and looking like a ghost.
"Gotcha!"
He called me a Son-of-a-Bitch as I left.
He was the President of the Union Mission Board of Directors at the time. I was the CEO. We played jokes on each other. It was my turn to get him ... and I did.
And that's the way it used to be.
It's not that way anymore ... and that is sad.
Joe called me recently and we told all of the old stories. We laughed a lot. He asked about the assholes who run things now. I told him that they are meaningless people. We made promises to get together which we may or may not keep. Life has moved on.
But before it did ... it was something. We built a lot. More were helped. We cared about each other more than we cared about ourselves. We laughed a lot. We played jokes and broke rules ... and changed a city.
Not like it is now.
