Elmer was appropriately named. He looked just like Elmer Fudd, a round-faced keg of a little old man. He was a passenger of mine on the Chicago and North Western. He would board at Main Street in Evanston and exit at Central, where he worked at the White Hen. The cost for that two stop ride for a senior citizen was 65 cents.
One day I ripped and punched a ticket for him, shushing his attempt at payment with a hand gesture implying that I was doing so on the sly. The truth was that I was paying for it. 65 cents was a pittance given my salary. Later that evening I would pick him up at Central and take him back to Main Street.
One day soon after, he boarded at Central and shushingly handed me a paper bag. In it was a Coke and a Hostess Cupcake. We continued this thievery as long as my seniority allowed my holding of the job.
Then one night when I picked him up at Main Street, he confessed that he was a little angry. His wife had passed away a few days before, and his boss would not let him have the night off to attend the wake.
The petty larcenies continued until I bounced to other assignments and lost track of him. I wonder how much longer he lived after his wife’s passing. I’ve often thought about how my actions caused him to steal, while staying within the boundaries of legality myself. But this morning, it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, he was paying for his “thefts” too.
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