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An Invisible Thread: The True Story of an 11-Year-Old Panhandler, a Busy Sales Executive, and an Unlikely Meeting with Destiny

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An Invisible Thread: The True Story of an 11-Year-Old Panhandler, a Busy Sales Executive, and an Unlikely Meeting with Destiny Cover

ISBN13: 9781451648973
ISBN10: 1451648979
Condition: Standard
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An Invisible Thread andlt;link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../styles/9781451642926.css"andgt; andlt;link rel="stylesheet" type="application/vnd.adobe-page-template+xml" href="../styles/page-template.xpgt"andgt; andlt;h2 andgt;andlt;a id="page_1"andgt;andlt;/aandgt;andlt;a id="ch01"andgt;andlt;/aandgt;andlt;img src="../images/ch01.jpg" width="500" height="285" alt="images"andgt;andlt;/h2andgt; andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Excuse me, lady, do you have any spare change?and#8221;andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;This was the first thing he said to me, on 56th Street in New York City, right around the corner from Broadway, on a sunny September day.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;And when I heard him, I didnand#8217;t really hear him. His words were part of the clatter, like a car horn or someone yelling for a cab. They were, you could say, just noiseand#8212;the kind of nuisance New Yorkers learn to tune out. So I walked right by him, as if he wasnand#8217;t there.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;But then, just a few yards past him, I stopped.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;And thenand#8212;and Iand#8217;m still not sure why I did thisand#8212;I came back.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;I came back and I looked at him, and I realized he was just a boy. Earlier, out of the corner of my eye, I had noticed he was young. But now, looking at him, I saw that he was a childand#8212;tiny andlt;a id="page_2"andgt;andlt;/aandgt;body, sticks for arms, big round eyes. He wore a burgundy sweatshirt that was smudged and frayed and ratty burgundy sweatpants to match. He had scuffed white sneakers with untied laces, and his fingernails were dirty. But his eyes were bright and there was a general sweetness about him. He was, I would soon learn, eleven years old.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;He stretched his palm toward me, and he asked again, and#8220;Excuse me, lady, do you have any spare change? I am hungry.and#8221;andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;What I said in response may have surprised him, but it really shocked me.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;If youand#8217;re hungry,and#8221; I said, and#8220;Iand#8217;ll take you to McDonaldand#8217;s and buy you lunch.and#8221;andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Can I have a cheeseburger?and#8221; he asked.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Yes,and#8221; I said.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;How about a Big Mac?and#8221;andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Thatand#8217;s okay, too.and#8221;andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;How about a Diet Coke?and#8221;andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Yes, thatand#8217;s okay.and#8221;andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Well, how about a thick chocolate shake and French fries?and#8221;andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;I told him he could have anything he wanted. And then I asked him if I could join him for lunch.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;He thought about it for a second.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Sure,and#8221; he finally said.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;We had lunch together that day, at McDonaldand#8217;s.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;And after that, we got together every Monday.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;For the next 150 Mondays.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;His name is Maurice, and he changed my life.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;andlt;a id="page_3"andgt;andlt;/aandgt;Why did I stop and go back to Maurice? It is easier for me to tell you why I ignored him in the first place. I ignored him, very simply, because he wasnand#8217;t in my schedule.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;You see, I am a woman whose life runs on schedules. I make appointments, I fill slots, I micromanage the clock. I bounce around from meeting to meeting, ticking things off a list. I am not merely punctual; I am fifteen minutes early for any and every engagement. This is how I live; it is who I amand#8212;but some things in life do not fit neatly into a schedule.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;Rain, for example. On the day I met Mauriceand#8212;September 1, 1986and#8212;a huge storm swept over the city, and I awoke to darkness and hammering rain. It was Labor Day weekend and the summer was slipping away, but I had tickets to the U.S. Open tennis tournament that afternoonand#8212;box seats, three rows from center court. I wasnand#8217;t a big tennis fan, but I loved having such great seats; to me, the tickets were tangible evidence of how successful Iand#8217;d become. In 1986 I was thirty-five years old and an advertising sales executive for USA Today, and I was very good at what I did, which was building relationships through sheer force of personality. Maybe I wasnand#8217;t exactly where I wanted to be in my lifeand#8212;after all, I was still single, and another summer had come and gone without me finding that someone specialand#8212;but by any standard I was doing pretty well. Taking clients to the Open and sitting courtside for free was just another measure of how far this girl from a working-class Long Island town had come.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;But then the rains washed out the day, and by noon the Open had been postponed. I puttered around my apartment, tidied up a bit, made some calls, and read the paper until the rain finally let up andlt;a id="page_4"andgt;andlt;/aandgt;in mid-afternoon. I grabbed a sweater and dashed out for a walk. I may not have had a destination, but I had a definite purposeand#8212;to enjoy the fall chill in the air and the peeking sun on my face, to get a little exercise, to say good-bye to summer. Stopping was never part of the plan.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;And so, when Maurice spoke to me, I just kept going. Another thing to remember is that this was New York in the 1980s, a time when vagrants and panhandlers were as common a sight in the city as kids on bikes or moms with strollers. The nation was enjoying an economic boom, and on Wall Street new millionaires were minted every day. But the flip side was a widening gap between the rich and the poor, and nowhere was this more evident than on the streets of New York City. Whatever wealth was supposed to trickle down to the middle class did not come close to reaching the cityand#8217;s poorest, most desperate people, and for many of them the only recourse was living on the streets. After a while you got used to the sight of themand#8212;hard, gaunt men and sad, haunted women, wearing rags, camped on corners, sleeping on grates, asking for change. It is tough to imagine anyone could see them and not feel deeply moved by their plight. Yet they were just so prevalent that most people made an almost subconscious decision to simply look the other wayand#8212;to, basically, ignore them. The problem seemed so vast, so endemic, that stopping to help a single panhandler could feel all but pointless. And so we swept past them every day, great waves of us going on with our lives and accepting that there was nothing we could really do to help.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;There had been one homeless man I briefly came to know the winter before I met Maurice. His name was Stan, and he lived on the andlt;a id="page_5"andgt;andlt;/aandgt;street off Sixth Avenue, not far from my apartment. Stan was a stocky guy in his midforties who owned a pair of wool gloves, a navy blue skullcap, old work shoes, and a few other things stuffed into plastic shopping bags, certainly not any of the simple creature comforts we take for grantedand#8212;a warm blanket, for instance, or a winter coat. He slept on a subway grate, and the steam from the trains kept him alive.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;One day I asked if heand#8217;d like a cup of coffee, and he answered that he would, with milk and four sugars, please. And it became part of my routine to bring him a cup of coffee on the way to work. Iand#8217;d ask Stan how he was doing and Iand#8217;d wish him good luck, until one morning he was gone and the grate was just a grate again, not Stanand#8217;s spot. And just like that he vanished from my life, without a hint of what happened to him. I felt sad that he was no longer there and I often wondered what became of him, but I went on with my life and over time I stopped thinking about Stan. I hate to believe my compassion for him and others like him was a casual thing, but if Iand#8217;m really honest with myself, Iand#8217;d have to say that it was. I cared, but I didnand#8217;t care enough to make a real change in my life to help. I was not some heroic do-gooder. I learned, like most New Yorkers, to tune out the nuisance.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;Then came Maurice. I walked past him to the corner, onto Broadway, and, halfway to the other side in the middle of the avenue, just stopped. I stood there for a few moments, in front of cars waiting for the light to change, until a horn sounded and startled me. I turned around and hustled back to the sidewalk. I donand#8217;t remember thinking about it or even making a conscious decision to turn around. I just remember doing it.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;andlt;a id="page_6"andgt;andlt;/aandgt;Looking back all these years later, I believe there was a strong, unseen connection that pulled me back to Maurice. Itand#8217;s something I call an invisible thread. It is, as the old Chinese proverb tells us, something that connects two people who are destined to meet, regardless of time and place and circumstance. Some legends call it the red string of fate; others, the thread of destiny. It is, I believe, what brought Maurice and I to the same stretch of sidewalk in a vast, teeming cityand#8212;just two people out of eight million, somehow connected, somehow meant to be friends.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;Look, neither of us is a superhero, nor even especially virtuous. When we met we were just two people with complicated pasts and fragile dreams. But somehow we found each other, and we became friends.andlt;BRandgt; andlt;BRandgt;And that, you will see, made all the difference for us both.

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KMAC, January 30, 2013 (view all comments by KMAC)
This is one of the most inspirational books I've ever read. Really made me think about how my own actions affect others positively or negatively. Great story!!
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Product Details

ISBN:
9781451648973
Author:
Schroff, Laura
Publisher:
Howard Books
Author:
Salembier, Valerie
Author:
Tresniowski, Alex
Subject:
Self-Help : General
Subject:
school lunch; poverty; homelessness; homeless; drugs; alcoholic; brown paper bag; unlikely friendship; New York; Laura Schroff; No Kid Hungry; Share Our Strength; brown bag lunch; invisible thread; homeless boy; pay it forward; strangers; The Blind Side;
Subject:
school lunch; poverty; homelessness; homeless; drugs; alcoholic; brown paper bag; unlikely friendship; New York; Laura Schroff; No Kid Hungry; Share Our Strength; brown bag lunch; invisible thread; homeless boy; pay it forward; strangers; The Blind Side;
Subject:
school lunch; poverty; homelessness; homeless; drugs; alcoholic; brown paper bag; unlikely friendship; New York; Laura Schroff; No Kid Hungry; Share Our Strength; brown bag lunch; invisible thread; homeless boy; pay it forward; strangers; The Blind Side;
Subject:
school lunch; poverty; homelessness; homeless; drugs; alcoholic; brown paper bag; unlikely friendship; New York; Laura Schroff; No Kid Hungry; Share Our Strength; brown bag lunch; invisible thread; homeless boy; pay it forward; strangers; The Blind Side;
Subject:
school lunch; poverty; homelessness; homeless; drugs; alcoholic; brown paper bag; unlikely friendship; New York; Laura Schroff; No Kid Hungry; Share Our Strength; brown bag lunch; invisible thread; homeless boy; pay it forward; strangers; The Blind Side;
Subject:
school lunch; poverty; homelessness; homeless; drugs; alcoholic; brown paper bag; unlikely friendship; New York; Laura Schroff; No Kid Hungry; Share Our Strength; brown bag lunch; invisible thread; homeless boy; pay it forward; strangers; The Blind Side;
Subject:
school lunch; poverty; homelessness; homeless; drugs; alcoholic; brown paper bag; unlikely friendship; New York; Laura Schroff; No Kid Hungry; Share Our Strength; brown bag lunch; invisible thread; homeless boy; pay it forward; strangers; The Blind Side;
Subject:
school lunch; poverty; homelessness; homeless; drugs; alcoholic; brown paper bag; unlikely friendship; New York; Laura Schroff; No Kid Hungry; Share Our Strength; brown bag lunch; invisible thread; homeless boy; pay it forward; strangers; The Blind Side;
Edition Description:
Trade Paperback
Publication Date:
20120831
Binding:
TRADE PAPER
Language:
English
Illustrations:
8 pg b-w insert
Pages:
272
Dimensions:
8.44 x 5.5 in

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An Invisible Thread: The True Story of an 11-Year-Old Panhandler, a Busy Sales Executive, and an Unlikely Meeting with Destiny Used Trade Paper
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Product details 272 pages Howard Books - English 9781451648973 Reviews:
"Synopsis" by , Stopping was never part of the plan . . .

She was a successful ad sales rep in Manhattan. He was a homeless, eleven-year-old panhandler on the street. He asked for spare change; she kept walking. But then something stopped her in her tracks, and she went back. And she continued to go back, again and again. They met up nearly every week for years and built an unexpected, life-changing friendship that has today spanned almost three decades.

Whatever made me notice him on that street corner so many years ago is clearly something that cannot be extinguished, no matter how relentless the forces aligned against it. Some may call it spirit. Some may call it heart. It drew me to him, as if we were bound by some invisible, unbreakable thread. And whatever it is, it binds us still.

"Synopsis" by , Stopping was never part of the plan . . . andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;She was a successful ad sales rep in Manhattan. He was a homeless, eleven-year-old panhandler on the street. He asked for spare change; she kept walking. But then something stopped her in her tracks, and she went back. And she continued to go back, again and again. They met up nearly every week for years and built an unexpected, life-changing friendship that has today spanned almost three decades. andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Whatever made me notice him on that street corner so many years ago is clearly something that cannot be extinguished, no matter how relentless the forces aligned against it. Some may call it spirit. Some may call it heart. It drew me to him, as if we were bound by some invisible, unbreakable thread. And whatever it is, it binds us still.
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