Omphfullas Zamboni
06-08-2009, 12:37 PM
(06-04) 21:07 PDT -- Larry Moore shined so many shoes on Thursday that he ran through two bottles of polish.
Then there were the women who walked up to give him a hug, the tourists who had their photo taken with him, and the people - more than one - who stuffed $100 bills in his shirt pocket.
"Honestly," Moore said, "it is probably the best day of my life. And not for financial reasons. It just means so much to have people come out and recognize someone working hard."
On Thursday, we reported that a city worker told the homeless shoe shiner that he had to fork over $491 for a sidewalk vendor permit. And that was roughly how much he had saved for a first month's rent that would get him off the streets. The city's inane bureaucracy put him back to square one.
Moore wasn't terribly upset. After all, he has lived under a Bay Bridge ramp for years. A few more months wouldn't kill him, he reasoned.
But San Francisco got outraged.
Workers and residents were furious at city government for making it so hard for Moore to pull himself up and out of the streets. They were also eager to lend a hand.
City officials got the message. It may have been a misunderstanding or miscommunication, but there was only one bottom line - taking almost all of Moore's money to pay for a permit was a boneheaded idea of epic proportions.
The mayor's office was deluged with e-mails. The Department of Public Works, whose field service aide was the one who told Moore to get a permit, fielded complaints all day. Aware that they had a public relations meltdown on their hands, they took some good advice from a seasoned politician.
"As soon as I read the paper I called (Public Works Director) Ed Reiskin," said Supervisor Bevan Dufty. "I said, 'Don't you need a shoeshine today? Because I think you do.' "
Reiskin dutifully trooped down to Moore's stand at the corner of Market and New Montgomery. He offered an apology and got his shoes shined. As a bonus, Moore threw in an earful.
Moore wasn't complaining, but he did launch into a lengthy monologue as he batted Reiskin's shoes with a brush.
"I want to get a permit, I want to pay taxes in this city and I want to be on this corner," Moore said. "I'm the kind of guy this city wants to encourage. That's why you need to give a guy a little latitude."
"Larry," I finally said, "are you going to let Ed talk?"
"Not yet," Moore said. "I'm telling him my story here."
Frankly, Reiskin's department was only partly to blame for the fiasco. Moore didn't get help from any city agency, including the Police Department's permit office. Reiskin surely spoke for everyone when he offered a mea culpa.
"He is such an undeserving victim of this kind of bureaucracy, and I feel bad that we caused so much trouble for someone," Reiskin said.
By the end of the day, it was no trouble at all.
When Moore stopped to count how much he'd collected, about 3 p.m., he had almost $1,000.
Attorney Loren Lopin, who has been a supporter all along, walked Moore across the street to help him open a bank account. Moore deposited the money and became the owner of an ATM card for the first time in two years.
Reiskin told him his department would help set up the permit, the Homeless Outreach Team van pulled up to see if he wanted to talk about supportive housing, and homeless coordinator Dariush Kayhan sat down in the chair as soon as Reiskin's shoes were shined.
Moore said he was honored to see them but still charged them his usual fee, $7. (It's $5 if you are unemployed.)
Moore has set aside the $491 for the permit, which he'll get as soon as his birth certificate arrives from Kansas and he can get a municipal ID card.
In retrospect, it's easy to see how this mess started. Usually when a city worker tells a street vendor to get a permit, the response is excuses and vague promises. They didn't expect Moore to take them seriously.
But Moore is a man on a mission.
"I want to be on this corner," he said. "But you know what? You need me on this corner. You got people in this city getting a free room and free medical but they aren't doing nothing with their lives. I want people to see me and say, 'There's a guy working hard.' "
If you'd like to see that, stop by his stand on Market. He starts at 9:30 in the morning, although he might sleep in a little today.
"I am going to go get a room tonight for the whole week," he said. "I deserve that. At least I think I do."
C.W. Nevius' columns appear Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. E-mail him at cwnevius@sfchronicle.com.
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/06/05/MNVJ1817N1.DTL
This article appeared on page A - 1 of the San Francisco Chronicle
Then there were the women who walked up to give him a hug, the tourists who had their photo taken with him, and the people - more than one - who stuffed $100 bills in his shirt pocket.
"Honestly," Moore said, "it is probably the best day of my life. And not for financial reasons. It just means so much to have people come out and recognize someone working hard."
On Thursday, we reported that a city worker told the homeless shoe shiner that he had to fork over $491 for a sidewalk vendor permit. And that was roughly how much he had saved for a first month's rent that would get him off the streets. The city's inane bureaucracy put him back to square one.
Moore wasn't terribly upset. After all, he has lived under a Bay Bridge ramp for years. A few more months wouldn't kill him, he reasoned.
But San Francisco got outraged.
Workers and residents were furious at city government for making it so hard for Moore to pull himself up and out of the streets. They were also eager to lend a hand.
City officials got the message. It may have been a misunderstanding or miscommunication, but there was only one bottom line - taking almost all of Moore's money to pay for a permit was a boneheaded idea of epic proportions.
The mayor's office was deluged with e-mails. The Department of Public Works, whose field service aide was the one who told Moore to get a permit, fielded complaints all day. Aware that they had a public relations meltdown on their hands, they took some good advice from a seasoned politician.
"As soon as I read the paper I called (Public Works Director) Ed Reiskin," said Supervisor Bevan Dufty. "I said, 'Don't you need a shoeshine today? Because I think you do.' "
Reiskin dutifully trooped down to Moore's stand at the corner of Market and New Montgomery. He offered an apology and got his shoes shined. As a bonus, Moore threw in an earful.
Moore wasn't complaining, but he did launch into a lengthy monologue as he batted Reiskin's shoes with a brush.
"I want to get a permit, I want to pay taxes in this city and I want to be on this corner," Moore said. "I'm the kind of guy this city wants to encourage. That's why you need to give a guy a little latitude."
"Larry," I finally said, "are you going to let Ed talk?"
"Not yet," Moore said. "I'm telling him my story here."
Frankly, Reiskin's department was only partly to blame for the fiasco. Moore didn't get help from any city agency, including the Police Department's permit office. Reiskin surely spoke for everyone when he offered a mea culpa.
"He is such an undeserving victim of this kind of bureaucracy, and I feel bad that we caused so much trouble for someone," Reiskin said.
By the end of the day, it was no trouble at all.
When Moore stopped to count how much he'd collected, about 3 p.m., he had almost $1,000.
Attorney Loren Lopin, who has been a supporter all along, walked Moore across the street to help him open a bank account. Moore deposited the money and became the owner of an ATM card for the first time in two years.
Reiskin told him his department would help set up the permit, the Homeless Outreach Team van pulled up to see if he wanted to talk about supportive housing, and homeless coordinator Dariush Kayhan sat down in the chair as soon as Reiskin's shoes were shined.
Moore said he was honored to see them but still charged them his usual fee, $7. (It's $5 if you are unemployed.)
Moore has set aside the $491 for the permit, which he'll get as soon as his birth certificate arrives from Kansas and he can get a municipal ID card.
In retrospect, it's easy to see how this mess started. Usually when a city worker tells a street vendor to get a permit, the response is excuses and vague promises. They didn't expect Moore to take them seriously.
But Moore is a man on a mission.
"I want to be on this corner," he said. "But you know what? You need me on this corner. You got people in this city getting a free room and free medical but they aren't doing nothing with their lives. I want people to see me and say, 'There's a guy working hard.' "
If you'd like to see that, stop by his stand on Market. He starts at 9:30 in the morning, although he might sleep in a little today.
"I am going to go get a room tonight for the whole week," he said. "I deserve that. At least I think I do."
C.W. Nevius' columns appear Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. E-mail him at cwnevius@sfchronicle.com.
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/06/05/MNVJ1817N1.DTL
This article appeared on page A - 1 of the San Francisco Chronicle