I recently took this picture as I was walking by with my Instax Wide 210 instant film camera because I thought the natural light on it was nice. It’s a detail from a collective graffiti mural on a plywood fence around a big hole where an old building used to be in the Centretown area of Ottawa, Canada. It was painted on a replacement fence after the original one was destroyed by the high wind “derecho” that hit Ottawa in May 2022. It’s a picture I wouldn’t normally take because it’s just a straight photo of somebody else’s artwork, but I made an exception this time because there’s a backstory to it.
The human figure depicted is the longtime panhandler who had in recent years sat almost every day on his folding chair at this corner. I don’t know how long ago he started doing this, but until moving to that spot, he had been on the corner of Bank and Queen streets a few blocks north since I moved to Centretown 20 years ago. At first he always stood at Queen and Bank, but in later years, he had started to bring a chair. The large continuous mural was already there when some artist unknown to me decided to paint him into the picture.
I can’t say I ever had a conversation with this gentleman, but we always exchanged pleasantries as I walked by. It was hard not to, because he always said something to the effect that it was a nice day, no matter what the weather was… although he seemed to stay home in bad weather. I have no idea where home was, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t homeless nor involved in drugs. He seemed to like just being there saying hello to passersby and asking if they could spare any change. He didn’t even look like he really needed any. I frequently saw him eating at Bramasole Diner further south on Bank Street, so maybe that’s how he funded his restaurant meals, who knows?
Now, I’m still here walking by that spot since my massive heart attack near the end of the so-called “Trucker Convoy” protest that paralyzed downtown Ottawa and parts of Centretown in early 2022, including under my balcony. But at some point during that year the panhandler stopped going there, and I haven’t seen him since. Last summer, his spot started being occupied by another panhandler, also wearing a baseball cap and sitting on a similar chair.
Now, I always wonder what happened to him when I walk by there. Did COVID take him? I wish I had stopped to chat long enough sometime to learn his name and his circumstances. I did however catch him in a street photo I took in the early 2010’s when he poked his head out of that diner’s doorway as I walked by with Duke the dachshund. Poor Duke. He passed away in 2013 at the ripe old age of 18. I still miss him.
Time never stops passing.
