An unexpected encounter on a sidewalk in DC
We spoke for just a few minutes
With an iPhone pointed toward the top of a tall building, I was trying to capture a picture of its brightly lit logo — The Washington Post — beneath one of the towers that seemed to brush up against a clear sky on Saturday night.
The 12-story-structure at 1301 K Street NW houses many of the nation’s most skilled reporters, men and women who have set a gold standard for public service. I could hear myself whispering the name of the historic newspaper.
And the moment felt like a scene out of a movie.
To my right sat Franklin Square, just five blocks from the White House. I was walking back to my hotel after a show at the National Theatre on Pennsylvania Avenue.
By 10:20 p.m., the street wasn’t very busy.
Being lost in the moment quickly passed when a man walked toward me and paused.
“Are you local, by chance?” he asked.
No, I said.
He wondered if I might recommend a place where a guy could sit and talk to nice people and maybe order a beer. He said that folks seem uncomfortable when approached by a stranger these days. He had moved to the nation’s capital recently.
He said he didn’t seem to be having much luck meeting nice people.
The man said he was 31, from Arkansas, and working for the U.S. Navy. He had served overseas in different places, including Syria. He looked away and then looked back at me. Syria made him sad. He didn’t like seeing people hungry, buildings demolished. He said softly, “They shouldn’t have to live like that.”
The U.S. Defense Department has said troops were committed to Syria to defeat ISIS and prevent global terrorist attacks. The ongoing mission follows the overthrow of Syrian President Bashar al-Assad's regime, which cracked down on pro-democracy protests. Russia’s loss of operations at its bases in Syria “could deliver a gut punch to the Kremlin’s ambitions in the Middle East and Africa while offering the U.S. and its allies opportunities to extend their influence,” Stars and Stripes reported in December.
I asked what inspired this man to serve our country. He said he went into the military because, well, what else was he going to do? It seemed like the best life choice.
Now stateside, he was having trouble adjusting to the hum of everyday life, he said.
The soft-spoken man told me he was taking college classes, hoping to be a biochemist one day. His eyes teared up when he talked. He said he can’t find friendly people anywhere he goes, especially Washington, D.C.
We didn’t talk politics. He said he didn’t care about the political views of people he met. He cared about people being safe. He cared about his country and others.
We exchanged words on the sidewalk as temperatures dipped.
Then he said he wonders where the nice people are, and thanked me — and my husband — for being nice to him and not just walking by.
I felt uncertain about this man, just a few years older than my daughter. He mentioned again that trying to make his way in Washington is hard.
“People don’t really understand,” he said.
I thanked him for his service and the man said, “No, don’t do that.”
It startled me.
Recognizing men and women in uniform has always been about appreciation.
My grandfather Robert G. Wall, a painter from Detroit, served in the U.S. Navy during World War I on the SS Don Juan de Austria gunboat. He spent four years in active service, from 1917 to 1921. Later, my father served overseas in the U.S. Army. My uncles served in the U.S. Air Force.
The young sailor looked me in the eyes and chose his words carefully. He asked why people seem uncomfortable meeting strangers. Or maybe it’s just him.
I asked if he feels he is getting support that he needs and mentioned the V.A.
He explained that he works a lot and finds it hard to schedule the time.
I took his hand in mine to say goodbye. My husband did the same.
Then the serviceman continued down the sidewalk into the darkness.
We went the other way, wondering aloud if everything was going to be OK.
I hope the sailor found nice people.
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He had found nice people,the two of you, and that is huge. Thank you for being the glue that holds us together, however tenuously.
Thanks for sharing your encounter. Reminded me of John Prine’s “Hello in There”. We need to do better at seeing people.