W hat separates us from the saints is reason. All the saints I've met are profoundly unreasonable.

And then there is Gavin.

He is 74 years old. He wears a cardigan and a tie and his manners are courtly and his posture is perfect, and he reads as widely as any man can who is blind, and interested only in the Bible.

He is so poor he makes the regular poor look rich as Croesus. He is a lily of the field. He is unable to sow and unwilling to reap.

He has no home and no job although he once had turf, and income – he used to sleep on a grate, and he begged downtown.

No. He will tell you that he did not beg. He will say he stood on the street and if people chose to give him money, it was up to them.

That, in a way, is the story of his life.

I went to see Gavin recently. He was staying in a room, courtesy of friends. The weather was cold. The room is temporary.

Someone had just given him a white cane. He was not yet comfortable with it. I asked him why he did not get help from the CNIB.

Gavin said, with the stoicism of a martyr, "God created me to begin with. The power to create implies the power to maintain." The hell it does.

I bit my tongue.

He added, "If I'm to be put through the wringer ..."

So be it.

What did he do when he worked? "I was a business manager." How did he become homeless? "My eyesight; once I couldn't earn my living ... " He might have found help, but he would not ask for any.

"I disposed of my goods. I gave things to the March of Dimes, Easter Seals, Value Village. It is more blessed to give than to receive."

That point is moot in my books.

And so he does not bother to have an OHIP card, which might get him some help. He said, "I have no need of it." I did not understand.

He said, "I'm on a sine curve. You go in and you come out." You do, or you do not. He said, "This is just a hiatus. I'm struggling. I can see myself coming up."

Then I guess I am the one who is blind.

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I asked about his old age pension; if he is 74 and has yet to collect, there must be a fair sum waiting. "God has given me my daily bread for 50 years. The taxes I paid are revenue of the Crown. There is no entitlement."

The hell there isn't.

Would he object if a friend had power of attorney, someone he trusted, someone who would do right by him?

He sniffed. "I'm not a legal moron. I've been following the Lord for 50 years." Well, that's all there is to it, then.

As if to clarify he said, "I don't buy or sell in the sandbox. If you offer something to me and I accept, I'm party to the act."

I suggested that his refusal to take what is his due means there is less charity available for others. He had an answer, but it was circular and dizzied me.

Gavin has friends. One of these is David Walsh, the real estate man who helped arrange housing for the refugees of Tent City; a man of means and persuasion.

He doesn't know how to help.

Who does?





Joe Fiorito usually appears Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Email: jfiorito@thestar.ca