Personal Story

Personal Story written by Theodore M. Buckwald

As a child, I would often a visit a local grocery store located at the Gateway-Shopping plaza in Woodland Hills, California. While entering and exiting the store, I often saw a large, bearded seemingly homeless man playing the flute. I would walk past and request a song. He would look at me and scratch the top of his head in a comedic manner, as if he was unable to play. After a brief moment of encouragement, the musician would begin to play the song flawlessly from note to note.

However, as my mother held my hand and directed me back to the car, I would often wonder who that homeless musician was. Did he have a family? Does anybody love him? Twelve years later, with the help of a driver's license, a late curfew, a Canon 60D, and a lot of Red Bull, I found some answers to my questions.

Initially, I did not know what I was getting into. I just decided one day that I wanted to use my summer to document the life of this homeless man. I approached other homeless inhabitants of the shopping center and asked for his whereabouts. "Oh! You're looking for Edmund Richards. He lives nearby. If you want to talk to him, you have to go to the Starbucks next to the Right Aide. He's always there."

I followed the advice and sure enough Edmund Richards showed up.

He often sat in the outside patio, drinking a tall coffee while browsing the internet on his old Dell Laptop. I approached him very politely and asked if I could have an interview. "Let me ask you this. What could you possibly want to talk about with me?" asked Edmund in a jovial manner. As I explained my ongoing interest with his persona, Edmund agreed to be the subject of my documentary.

Every night around 11:00 PM, we would meet on the exact same patio where we first met. I started with some simple questions to break the ice. But to my surprise Edmund often elaborated on his responses. He revealed that he was not homeless, and that he lived in an apartment nearby. Edmund told me

that after graduating college, he enlisted in the army; however, while serving during the Afghanistan War, he was shot twice in the head, resulting in permanent brain damage.

"I'm not homeless. I live on welfare. I'm sick. I'm lost. It's different."

After several weeks of interviewing, I found that I had developed a friendship with Edmund. Our conversations became more personal. However, throughout the entire summer, Edmund would often bring up one subject that he would leave open-ended. "Hardest job I've ever had? Being a father." Edmund looked down to his feet. "Yeah, I really screwed that one up."

As the end of summer approached, I bid my farewell to Edmund. I had over 15 hours of useful footage that I could later skim through and arrange into a documentary. However, to Edmund's request, he suggested that I hold off on completing the movie until the winter months come around. "This place has a very different feel when it's cold. I'm not a huge fan of sequels, so you should just make this movie a long one."

I could not argue with that. I packed up my camera into my car and gave Edmund one last handshake goodbye. As I made a right exiting the shopping center, I saw a large shadowy figure descend into the darkness right through my rear view mirror.

Every person has a million stories to tell. My documentary exposed me to the complex, hierarchical world of the homeless that I never knew existed. Taking the time to listen and document these stories through film broadened my horizons and changed the way I look at the average human being. Even the ones we ignore while carrying our groceries.

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