Jan. 11: Garcia and me

He was one of the first persons I really noticed at Mississippi State.

It was Wednesday, Jan. 5, my first day of classes at MSU. I was having breakfast at the MSU Cafeteria when I saw him a few tables away.

I think it was his long, gray beard that captured my eye; Moses among a sea of young students. He was dressed in layers and the chair opposite him was occupied with a bulging backpack, with a rolled up sweater tied to the top. He looked to be in his 60s, I estimated.

Too old to be a student, too unkempt to a professor, no uniform to suggest he was staff.

I figured him for a homeless person, based on his unkempt appearance, his layered clothing and the bulging backpack, all tell-tale signs of someone who, by circumstance, must kept all of their possessions with them wherever they roam.

As I left, I walked past his table and noticed he was reading The Wall Street Journal and my immediate thought was, “wow, even homeless people on college campuses are well-read.’’

I was thinking that maybe somebody who works at MSU brought him in off the street and treated him to a meal.

But as the days passed, I kept seeing him in the cafeteria.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have two classes that meet one after the other. I start class at 11 and finish at 1:45. I went to the cafeteria for a late lunch and there he was. My curiosity got the best of me and I said something like, “Nice to see another old-timer’’ or words to that effect.

“You know, when I got here in 1965, a meal was 60 cents,’’ he said.

“What was tuition, about $400?’’ I asked.

“No! I think it was $245.’’

“I have a book that cost that much this semester.’’

I introduced myself and he told me his name was Garcia Berry.

I told him that I had a brother who was at State at roughly the same time.

“I remember one day when I was a kid, my folks went out to get the newspaper and there was a picture of my brother on the front page,’’ I told him. “There he was, wearing his wire-rimmed glasses waving a finger in the face of an MP during a Vietnam War protest. My parents were horrified.’’

Garcia laughed. “What was your brother’s name?’’

“Fred Smith,’’ I said.

“I know him,’’ he said. “He’s a friend on my Face Book page.’’

Now, I admit there have been some advances in homeless-ness, but I seriously doubt those include subscriptions to The Wall Street Journal and Face Book.

So, obviously, my first impression had been wrong. He was not homeless, after all.

Turns out, he is a photographer. Figures. I’m sure all of my photographer friends back in Arizona will chuckle at my confusing a photographer for a homeless person. Sartorial splendor is not something generally associated with “shooters,’’ after all.

What I know about Garcia is pretty limited. I asked him if he worked at MSU. He said he taught photography from 1998-2002 and still shoots some events around campus. That’s about all I know.

G.K. Chesterton wrote that there are really only two ways to go home. One way is to leave home and go completely around the world until you arrive back where you started. The other way is to never leave.

Well, Garcia Berry never left.

I left too soon.

And now I am back.

And where am I going next?

I look at Garcia. I look at myself.

I wonder if it really matters, if it ever did.

If it ever will.