Last week, I was sprinting toward the inbound T at St. Mary’s Street and barely made it. Flustered, I tried to look for a seat so I could comfortably finish one of my math problems.
I saw a man with a carriage filled with all of his belongings — a pillow, groceries, books, some clothes and a blanket. Distracted by my phone ringing, I tripped over the elderly man’s foot. I sat down next to him and transformed into a broken record spewing, “I’m sorry” repeatedly.
“I bet you did that on purpose,” the man looked at me and smiled.
I laughed and apologized again. I proceeded to take out my calculus homework and looked at the problem. Implicit differentiation: otherwise known as death by calculus. Of course, this was the simplest of problems for someone who knows calculus, but I had just learned what implicit differentiation was this morning, and I was beyond confused.
I scribbled away, crossing out my answers continuously. I began to get frustrated with the problem and decided that I’d put it away and play Pokémon instead.
“You’re doing it wrong,” I heard the elderly man say. I looked at him, puzzled. Was he talking to me? I looked at my surroundings and saw him staring intently at my homework.
He moved his carriage out of the way and took a good look at the problem. To my surprise, he began to explain step-by-step how to solve the problem. I was flabbergasted to say the least.
“How are you so good at calculus? You really have a knack for explaining concepts,” I said with my mouth still gaping in shock.
Once I’m completed with this calculus class, I’m sure that it will all be repressed from my memory, but this man must have enjoyed the content enough to keep it engraved in his mind. I was truly captivated by his boldness.
“Dear, I didn’t always used to be a bum. I have a great passion for mathematics and programming, but if you ask me, programming in Java is absolutely the worst.”
He stuck out his tongue.
“You look like a student. Tell me about yourself.”
I told him that I was studying environmental analysis and policy and expressed my worries about finding a job after I graduate.
“I hope that you can find a job one day,” he continued. “I could never hold a job.”
“What did you do?” I sheepishly inquired.
“I had a career in mathematics,” he said. “I even got my master’s in mathematics from Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Now, I’m 72 and a bum. Look at what I’m doing with that master’s degree.”
He began to look saddened.
“You went to MIT!” I said, very impressed.
“I can’t tell if you’re surprised that I’m smart enough to go to MIT, or if you’re surprised because I’m a homeless MIT graduate,” he said.
“Neither,” I said. I was just thinking that my implicit differentiation problem must’ve been a piece of cake for you.”
“Dear, that’s the easy stuff,” he replied.
I asked him numerous questions about his experience with programming in R and languages such as Python and C++. He knew it all. He even had little anecdotes about each topic.
“Well, here it is. Park Street, time for me to get off. I’m looking for a fine lady to spend my Halloween with, so wish me luck. I hope to see you again. My name is Rocky, by the way,” he said as he gathered his belongings and walked off the T.
On that Halloween night, I gained a different perspective about the world. People don’t always get the future that they thought they would. This man had everything going for him, but somewhere in his life, he lost his way. Despite all his hardship, I would like to think that it was comforting for him to know that there is someone there to listen, even if it’s a complete stranger.
Not only does Rocky teach a valuable lesson about stereotypes and judgmental attitudes toward homeless people, but also he demonstrates the importance of treating all humans as equals. The introduction of ‘Portraits of Boston’ (and in many other cities) on social media really captivates the importance of learning the story behind a face. People are people, regardless of the way that they live their lives because being homeless doesn’t make someone any less educated than the rest of society.
I walked away from that experience enlightened and particularly dismayed. It was so sad to see such a talented individual’s skills go undetected. I imagined Rocky teaching a calculus class or doing research with various codes, but society has turned him away. Everything happens for a reason, and I’m still trying to figure out why I was fortunate enough to experience this edifying event. I used to hate my approachable, naïve presence, but I’ve learned that you need to take things as they come and just enjoy the moment for what it is.
So if you are doing your calculus homework on the T and a friendly individual with a southern accent dressed like Steve Irwin approaches you, listen to what he has to say. Sometimes the best lessons are those that you learn outside of the classroom.
Jennifer Ruth is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences studying environmental analysis and policy. She can be reached atjenruth@bu.edu.
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