The little house was 1000 square feet on a good day. A small, red brick, three bedroom, one bath home in a neighborhood built after WWII. Oak Forest. We had been won over by the tall, sheltering oaks, beautiful hardwood floors and tall, sashed windows. No dishwasher. No designated laundry room. Attic fan. Floor furnaces. No central. One window unit in the living room.
On this blistering July day, the window unit and a ceiling fan were struggling to keep the room cool despite the canopy of trees. I was barefoot and wearing my slip, holding my seven week old daughter close to the dining room window. The window unit was possibly original to the house.
I went to the front door and looked out the window. Even with the sheer curtain I could see it was a white hot day. The street was bright and quiet. And then I saw a man walking down the middle of the street. The small, black man was dressed in white from head to toe, from his hat to his buttoned suit to white dress shoes. I watched him walking down the street in the middle of this heat. He came to my sidewalk and started up the walk. I put the baby down and put my robe on, wondering if he would ring the bell.
The doorbell rang. I peeked out the window. It was the man in white. I opened the door and put my head out. "Hi, my name is Willie. Would you like to buy a color t.v.?" I was in shock. There was no car in sight. I told him, "No, I already have one." I shut the door. He turned and walked down the walk. I watched this man dressed all in white, walk down the middle of the street. He did not go to any other house.
At the time, we just thought it was an odd story. But it was not the first time people had come to our front door asking for money or food. We later decided we must have had a hobo's mark on our curb. One day a lady came to the door asking for food. I wasn't going to turn her away. I put together a small sack of food and handed it to her. She was very grateful. A couple of months later, the same woman returned asking for food. But this time, she had a trade in hand, a few simple trinkets she had made. My husband would be in the garage late at night working on a project. More than once, a man would walk down the driveway, asking for money or food. He would go to the freezer and hand them packaged meat.
My cell phone just announced an excessive heat warning. When it gets this hot, mid July, I always remember Willie walking down the street. I hope he's found a nice, cool place.
