John the Greek

When I was younger I used to like going out, drinking in pubs or watching live bands. One place where I used to visit frequently was Brunswick St in Fitzroy, Melbourne.

On Brunswick St, there was a resident homeless man who had been nicknamed “John the Greek” by the locals. I’m not sure if anyone knew his real name, I assume it was John, but he was from a Greek background and so the name fit.

It was hard to pick John the Greek’s age but I assume he was approximately 55 years of age. He’d had a tough life and this showed. He had well-weathered skin, grey hair and beard and old raggedy clothing. Given that he lived on the street, John the Greek didn’t get the opportunity to bathe on a regular basis or wash his clothes. Due to this, he had a unique smell that probably put a lot of people off going near him.

John the Greek more often than not had a beer in his hand and would always rant and rave in English and Greek as you walked by, hurling abuse and obscenities. This didn’t further endear him to many people who would simply stay right away from him. Not me however.

On many occasions I would sit with him on his bench and have half hour talks with him. He would tell stories of how he once had a good family, job and a life that was different to now. He claimed to have spent some time in prison and he would tell me stories about what would go on in there.

Whenever I walked past him he would threaten to kill me. For me that was an invitation to sit down with him for a good long discussion. He was still a smart man and knew that he couldn’t get thrown into prison for petty crimes such as shop lifting or urinating in a public place. The only way John the Greek claimed he could get thrown in prison was to “Kill a Man”.

In prison he had friends (or at least company), he had regular food, had a good bed and shelter, had clean clothes and could shower on a regular basis. He only wished that he could go back to the good life of prison and the only way he saw that he could do this was to kill a person.

When I’d sit to chat with him he would tell me that I was his ticket back to the “good life”. Outside in the real world his family had abandoned him and he had no friends and no one to care if he was dead or alive, but prison was like heaven for him.

Unfortunately for John the Greek, killing someone was never going to be a realistic option as he was a gentle man and could not really harm anyone. He just hurled abuse at unsuspecting pedestrians in the hope that someone would stop for a chat so he could tell them stories from his past.

John the Greek was killed one day while crossing the road drunk. He was struck accidentally by a taxi driver. It was announced on local community radio the day after it happened and people were genuinely shocked and upset. This poor man, who had nothing in this world, who wanted to kill a man to go back to prison was suddenly gone. He gave so much to the community around him and will never be forgotten (at least by me he won’t).

John the Greek was a wise man and a man of great experience. He had nothing in this world and it appeared that he had lost all hope in this world. But John still had hope for the good life. He knew the only way he could achieve this “good life” was to commit murder, but he also knew he didn’t have the courage to actually do that. So the good life would always be out of his reach, even though he had tasted it in the past. This is true “Hope” and this is infinite “Wisdom”, all taught by a homeless man with no surname, no family, no friends, no job and no money. He only had himself, his stories and his life experience.

You will Never be Forgotten. Rest in Peace John the Greek

Oil and Water

I was always an inquisitive child.

My family lived in an industrial town whose main industry was a steel works factory. To manufacture steel you require two main items, iron ore and a blast furnace. The iron ore was iron in its natural rock-state and the blast furnace was just an extremely hot melting pot. The blast furnace was usually coal powered and required lots of coal to be brought in from coal mines. This coal and iron ore were brought in on kilometre long trains with fully loaded containers. The containers had no tops on them and the iron ore and coal fell out of the containers, onto the train line, on a regular basis. I would collect them and do experiments with them.

I remember trying to get the coal to dissolve into a jar of water, I am not sure why I was doing this and what I was trying to achieve, but I was a stubborn child and was determined to succeed.

At first I tried dissolving a whole lump of coal in the water and it didn’t work. I thought to myself that all I needed to do was to grind the coal up into smaller bits and then it would dissolve (but this didn’t work either). My older brother was watching me perform these experiments and kept telling me to give up as it was impossible and could not be done. I didn’t believe him and kept on trying to dissolve the coal in the water.

I decided that all I had to do was grind the coal into a fine enough powder and then it would dissolve into the water without a problem. I then proceeded to grind the coal into a fine powder and all the while my brother kept telling me that it could not be done (but I wouldn’t listen). I was finally satisfied that the coal was ground into a fine powder and added it to the jar of water. I shook the jar vigorously and the coal appeared to dissolve in the water. I put the jar down, proud of myself, but moments later the coal powder began to settle at the bottom of the jar. All that was left was a jar of clean water with black coal powder at the bottom.

My brother was right all along, but I had to find out the truth for myself.

I am also like that jar of water and coal. I am pure in nature but mixed with a few impurities.