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SUPERBOWL XXI was only a few days away; the New York Giants were facing off with the Denver Broncos and there were still too many homeless people on the streets—vacant warehouses were made available–for people.  The American Red Cross stepped up to the plate and furnished more blankets and cots. I stopped catching the Metro bus to the coast and began to wander the downtown area.  A tall Black Man was a recurring sighting and appeared to be a leader.   “That’s Black Moses,” I was told.   Shuttle busses cruising the streets stopped at predetermined stops to pick up and deliver people to the warehouses. 

 I tried to avoid the shelters until the latest possible moment though the breakfast on the square was a natural starter since my money was down to a few bills and change.  I even stopped handing out change to a few of the people on the street that didn’t recognize me from the shelter.  I did become popular at breakfast rolling cigarettes.  Everyone had a story and many had the where withal to tell bits and pieces while rolling a cigarette or waiting for one to be rolled.

There was a blood bank within walking distance of City Hall where a pint of plasma could be sold for eight dollars.  People were living in cardboard boxes across from the blood bank.  I had my driver’s license with me so there was no problem being accepted as a paid donor.  A young man called my attention after my donation and told me of the blood bank circuit where you could bypass the time limit restrictions on donations. 

            On SUPERBOWL XXI SUNDAY we weren’t hustled out of the warehouse to hit the streets at the usual hour and were asked to stand in line and sign up for one thing or another.  When I reached the front of the line Black Moses asked my name and my city of origin.

            “Sullivan Duda,” I said, “from Baltimore.”

            He lit up and smiled.  “B’More!  I’m from Aberdeen.   Man, you fell down.  B’More careful.”