Pigeon Man

There are eccentric characters in every neighborhood of Chicago. Lincoln Square, the neighborhood I called home for over a year, had Joe, the Pigeon Man. He sat on the fire hydrant at the corner of Lawrence and Western and pigeons would flock to him. They sat on him, he fed them, he talked to them. There is a burned-out abandoned building there, next to the Walgreens, and when he wasn't around, the pigeons would line up in the windows and on the roof. When he came, they would swoop down to him.
I never saw him sitting there; maybe I'm always in too much of a hurry. I didn't use that intersection a whole lot, as I work south of the Square and he would sit on the north end. I have seen him the past two weekends though, waiting with me for the #49 Western bus. I have noticed him at the bus stop in the past; I noticed him because he was bent forward, had a walking stick, and wore all blue, like a janitor. He wore his watch stretched over his shirt sleeve.
Last Sunday, I was waiting for the bus after work. He was waiting there with me. Another man came up, and started talking to Joe. He seemed distant, like he didn't want to talk. But the man was asking him if he'd read the paper, and what he was going to do about the article. I was intrigued, but got no more information, even during the bus ride. Joe got off at Lawrence and Western, where I assume now he went to sit on that hydrant, as usual, and feed the pigeons. On the bus though, the man who had asked Joe about the article chastised him for not wearing a coat or hat. He said, "Joe's a wonderful person and I don't want him to get pneumonia or somethin'." I'm a whore for people watching, and the whole exchange was very interesting to watch.
So today, I do my usual read of the Chicago Tribune online and as I'm scanning the local headlines, I see "Lincoln Square Pigeon Man Hit by Van." I began reading it, because I lived in Lincoln Square for a while, still work there, and had no idea we had a Pigeon Man. When I saw the man's photo and read about him, I realized the man I had seen on the bus was this Pigeon Man and that he had been killed Tuesday when he was struck by a van.
I just remembered the other man on the bus worrying about Joe not having a hat or coat. Two days later, he gets hit by a van. It was just..strange. It reminded me that you never know, do you? I see this man on Sunday... I don't know anything about him. Then I read today that he is dead, and that he was this local legend. The article the other man was informing him about was discussing some local politicians trying to pass an ordinance that would fine people $1,000 for feeding pigeons. This mysterious bus ride I had Sunday...article, what are you going to do about, man dressed in blue janitor garb, the other man called him Joe, he had a bag of bread with him... it all comes together in this article about his death.
It makes me sad, I guess, because this man had this love for these creatures that the city is trying so hard to exterminate. It makes me sad that he died. It makes me sad that I just saw him, two days before his death, and I didn't know, he didn't know, none of us knew he was going to get hit by a van 48 hours later and die. That's the mystery, the eeriness, the unsettling thing about life. We don't know.
Tonight, there are candles at this fire hydrant. There are lonely birds on the Square. There is a girl at home, up too late, wondering about life and death and, to quote on of her favorite monologues, "...how amazing it all is." The characters of this city, like the Rastafarian who sits under the Berwyn red line station and sells incense. Like the Finger Lady on the Blue Line. Every neighborhood has one. I wonder who will take the place in Lincoln Square.