10,000 Steps - A Tribute to a Friend

This Week's Song - Midnight by The Black Lillies. Check it out. It was written about a good man with a big heart who slept beneath the Knoxville sky. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LU0Aj3M2QSI

Long before I met him, I would see him carrying flowers and doing card tricks downtown. One evening, he yelled out the name “Donnie!” It took me awhile to realize he was yelling out to me, running me down from behind. I told him my name was Robbie, and kept on moving, not wanting to be hit up for money. As I walked away, he said, “I’m truly sorry, friend. I swear there’s someone out there that looks just like you. His name is Donnie.” He smiled, his neglected teeth shining in the Gay Street lamps, his piercing eyes revealing he understood my initial measure of him. He was accustomed to the response. He didn’t ask for anything. I ducked into my building, knowing I’d met someone who would come back around. I was fascinated. 

Rodney Fuson

Three or four weeks into my downtown residency, I set out one night for the office, primarily because I needed to hit my step goal on my Fitbit - Yes, I’ve become “That Guy.” As I approached my building I saw him near the entrance and prepared myself to meet the card man. My watch suddenly erupted with vibration and a showering of lights indicating that I’d crossed over 10,000 steps for the day. I pushed in all my chips and thrust myself into the interaction. “Hey, man! I need a card trick!” I said. He was a bit startled. He’d put his cards up and was heading to wherever he put his head down at night. He might not have been use to someone running him down, but he clicked to the “On” position in the blink of an eye. “I called you Donnie one day, didn’t I?” Again, the smile. “But your name’s Robbie, isn’t it?” he said. I was amazed he remembered.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Rodney,” he said, then he turned to a script he’d repeated a million times. “Here you go, Robbie. I’m gonna lay one on you, cause I know you’re gonna lay something nice on me.” 

Rodney

His voice was distinctive - something like Ernest T. Bass from Andy Griffith, true southern and tinged with a lisp. He was diminutive, flat-faced, a beggar who didn’t beg. He was a showman. He pulled the cards from his pocket. They were weathered and bent. He shuffled and the trick was on. It came with hand gestures, voice inflections, challenges and a touch of magic. I got my money’s worth. Rodney was my friend. Instantly. I asked him where he learned his card tricks, and he regaled me with stories from his youth and how some were learned from others and some he taught himself. In his performance he had a vaudevillian flair and made you to feel as though you might have stumbled into a carnival, but his act came with something special - he was interested in the audience. He looked me in the eye, moving in close, and told me he liked me. He said “you don’t judge or look down on people,” and went on to suggest that showing respect to one another is the most important thing we can do. I agreed. I gave him a ten and walked inside, ashamed I’d ever tried to avoid him. With my first show I signaled to Rodney that I was happy to talk to him anytime, but that it wasn’t my intention to pay him every time. Otherwise, I’d be broke. He processed the message. It never stopped him from talking to me. I’ve seen him at least twice a week since. He never asked for money. He would simply ask if he could show me a card trick.

I ran into him before the Florida game this year and told him my daughter was coming to visit. I told him I wanted him to do a card trick for her while she was here, and the pride was palpable. He remembered, and when I saw him after she’d returned to Washington, he asked me about her and expressed sorrow that he hadn’t met her. Every time thereafter he asked me about her. When I saw him two weeks ago, I was with my wife. I introduced her to Rodney, and told him that since he’d missed Shelby I wanted him to do a card trick for Nancy. I asked him to do his big one, the one he loved the most, the one that was the centerpiece to a story of disrespect a man had shown him one night in front of Suttree’s.  “There’s one in every group,” he said. “They run you down, call you a bum, and shoo you away like you was nothing but trash.” He did the trick and enjoyed telling how he’d won a bunch of money off the man who had disrespected him. He was proud. He walked on after the trick, promising he would save a new one for my birthday that was approaching. It was the last time I saw him. 

Rodney died Monday. When I heard the news, I was stunned and heartbroken, knowing that a little bright spot in my downtown life was gone. I felt I’d discovered a downtown treat, and that it had been stolen. I searched for an obituary, knowing full well that I’d probably never discover the man’s full name, much less his obituary. I put a note in my elevator in an attempt to gather information about him. To my delight, when I pushed “enter” to my google search, my screen lit up. Facebook was full of tributes and stories. He’d been featured in numerous youtube videos. The Black Lillies and their lead singer, Cruz Contreras, had written a song about him. An article on Knoxnews - a fine tribute - ran as the result of the author’s relationship and the social media attention. The love and “Rodney stories” poured in. I was astonished. He hadn't been just my friend. He was a friend to many, a celebrity. I learned so many saw Rodney in the same light. There were many stories, including one where he wrote a letter to Judge Phillips, Federal District Court Judge, in support of Scott West, the key developer of Market Square, who was to be sentenced on federal drug charges. He asked for the Judge’s leniency given that Mr. West had always treated him, a homeless man, with respect.

A candle-light vigil is being planned for Rodney Fuson. I’ll be there. In these strange times it brings me great hope, and tremendous pride in my fellow Knoxvillians, that there are so many people who recognize the beauty and goodness in the homeless man with a deck of cards. I mourn with those who befriended him, regret he never met my Shelby, and embrace the warm feelings that will surely visit me every time my silly watch tells me I’ve traveled 10,000 steps on these city streets. Rest in peace my friend.

Credit Leslie Berez for the photos