Mike Peterson Profile edit

Sitting on the corner of Christopher and Waverly Place in the West Village, Mike Peterson is reading First Love by Ivan Turgenev. His mix bred dog Georgia sits at his feet and he is eating an apple. “Could you spare some change, I really want to feed my dog today” he says as I walk past him. Most people would continue walking and ignore him, but I begin digging through my bag, gathering any loose change. He looks down and says, “thank you so much, god bless.” I smile at him and say, “I hope you have a good day ” keeping on my way to school.

The next day he was there again. I went to the bakery next door and bought him a bagel and Georgia some water. I noticed he was reading a different book: this time it was a Mark Twain book, although I could not figure out which one. I decided to ask him. It was Huckleberry Finn. I gave him the food and smiled. He thanked me, and I continued to school.

This exchange continued for the over a week, maybe even two, and I began to get very curious. Where is he from? What is his name? Why is he sitting on the corner? Where is all of his stuff?

On a Monday morning I went to bring him leftovers and he stopped me, “You are too kind you don’t have to bring me food everyday, he said just a smile and a hello would do. Most people don’t even acknowledge me because I have to live here now.” “I’m Anna” I said to him and extended my hand.

“I’m Mike, this is Georgia” he replied with a smile and the return of the handshake.

I sat down. We talked about the weather, the books he had been reading, and then he began to tell me about his life.

Peterson was an architect. He was fired from his job at an Upper East Side company when the recession hit. With no family left and little money saved his rent was overdue and he was in debt. Peterson refused to go to a community housing facility because he didn’t want to admit that his life was crashing before his eyes.

“The Upper East Side was full of people who would stare at me and make comments. Peterson told me, “they would try and take dog from me because they didn’t think I could take care of her,” he looks lovingly at her, a medium sized dog with brownish fur and very humane eyes. “I used all the money people gave me to get her food and water, ” he explained to me as he was petting Georgia. “I didn’t choose to have this life, I wish I was still working, still making money, but now who is going to hire me?”

Although this is something I have never thought about happening to me, Peterson didn’t ever think it would be him either. “I use to see homeless people on the streets and I would walk right past them” he said “Wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t give them money. I was such an asshole. Now I am one of them.”

Policemen patrol the area stop to ask Peterson if he is all right but they don’t hassle him to get up or move. This I find strange. Normally I see police hassling people and giving them a hard time, they will get upset or aggressive with homeless people, making them move, dragging them into cop cars, and taking them to the station. But these cops just stop and ask Peterson if he is okay. They pet his dog.

I went up to one of the patrolmen (who would not tell me his first name but his last name is Luntz) and asked him why he didn’t take Peterson to the station like they do with many homeless people. “Is this man bothering anyone? Is he begging people for money?" Luntz said," Getting in their way? No. He is not drunk he is reading. He is not upsetting anyone he is just trying to survive.” With a sympathetic look of sadness he got back into his car and kept on his way.

The last time I saw Peterson was on Friday morning, I brought him a bagel, orange juice, an apple, and some leftover chicken and water for Georgia. He was reading. He asked me how I was, how school is going.

He then told me that he has been offered a job in New Jersey working for a new and very small building company. When I asked him how he got the job he said that he ran into a very old friend and that he is starting a company and is looking for employees. Peterson looked truly happy.

Peterson’s friend has an extra room in his house and he could stay there until he got on his feet and that Georgia could too. I said goodbye to him and Georgia. As I was walking away he called out, “It was really good to know you.”