GUEST COLUMN: A guardian angel living on the streets

Of course, we all love every moment of our 20 hours of volunteerism a week. We adore being able to help our fellow man. But with every "service organization" we add to our resume, we forget that service, more than anything else, does not need to be organized. Often true service has less pronounced opportunities. Lisa, for example, lives on my street. She's not a student or a faculty member. She doesn't work here. She doesn't have a home. Lisa lives on the street and is an abused member of the Penn community. Every day countless people walk past her, most ignoring her pleas for help. The sympathetic give her the little money they have, the cruel laugh at her. I've done all three. While the situation never ceases to bother me, I was told I would become "accustomed" to the homeless, and I admit I often nonchalantly step around the man who sleeps in the path to my 9 a.m. class. At other times, I have given away a pitiful amount of change from my bookbag, knowing it was never enough. And also, sadly, while I have never laughed at a person directly, I have been known to laugh at an "Ivy-League-of-the-Ghetto" joke or two, trivializing the plight of those who live here. But one night, Lisa caught me walking home from the library at three in the morning. A "Hey you!" rang out as she ran across the street. I was frozen, terrified, mentally practicing every self-defense movement I've ever been taught. But the hand that came towards me didn't knock me down, and didn't try to steal my bookbag. Instead, Lisa's hand waited to shake mine. Even through my gloves I could feel her hands were freezing. "What do you think you're doing walking home by yourself at this time of night," she demanded. What could I answer? I'd only been in the library. Lisa introduced herself, and told me not to be frightened. "I'm not going to hurt you," she promised, "but there are plenty of people out here who will." She demanded to know why I didn't leave earlier to walk home with someone else, or wait a little longer for Penn Shuttle. With a lecture on common sense and taking care of myself, she walked with me back to the dorm she saw me enter and leave every day, and watched to make sure I got inside safely. Lisa might have saved my life that night. I gave her a dollar. She was dirty. Her clothes were shabby and she wasn't carrying a possession in the world. But I may have met my guardian angel unaware. Or maybe she was simply a woman with more of a mind toward service than anybody I've ever met. By living at Penn, each of us encounters a person like Lisa almost every day. Most of us, however, do nothing. Yes, maybe we give the spare change in our pockets at first, but eventually most of us put on an apologetic face and learn the "Sorry, I don't have any money" shrug. We join organizations to better our world, but do little for the individuals we meet in it. Lisa doesn't need us to join a group that will eliminate homelessness. She needs food, a blanket and a pair of gloves. As we rush from one group to another, from class to class, we rarely take the time to notice those who need us. Lisa is not alone. It is hypocritical and wrong for us to profess a love for our broader community while we ignore the homeless person who lives on our own street. I once read a quotation in an Ann Landers column explaining that "character is defined by what you are willing to do when the spotlight has been turned off, the applause has died down, and no one is around to give you credit." We may pass judgment on Lisa because she is dirty or uneducated, but her true character became obvious when it was cold and dark, and she had no reason in the world to help me. As Penn students we are seen differently by the world, but in the moments when it matters, our character may not be as admirable as Lisa's. Service organizations are noble and worthwhile. But if we are truly dedicated to service, we must also serve those who will not be on our resumes, those who don't know our names and those who may never be able to repay us.