Back in the day, when my cat Clancy and I lived in a rented room on the back side of Beacon Hill in Boston, we were very poor. On days when I could find no employment from the temp agency, I wandered over to Charles Street. One of the coffeehouses opened at noon for light lunch, coffee, and excellent fellowship.

While I couldn’t afford the lunch, Josette offered free coffee refills for the regulars. The regulars formed what was properly a tertulia, a regular discussion group, of off-key philosophers, a retired journalist, an aspiring composer, an out-of-work retired Pius Itinerant (me), and the chef in the kitchen ( the best guitarist in Boston! My friend Paul) The lunchtime discussion was often set off by an article in the daily Boston Globe newspaper or generated by something seen casually on the street.

One day, Richard, the retired journalist, had had a comical interaction with one of Charles Street’s regular panhandlers, a man known only as Rory. Rory was always nattily attired in Salvation Army aquired three piece suits, and looked a bit like a banker who’d been on a bender. His once copper-hued hair was now salt and peppered, but his carriage and deportment actually seemed to reflect the top-floor offices of the Bank of Boston or Essex Bank, and not the Fleabag Beacon Chambers Hotel.

Cash in Hand

Rory accosted Richard for spare change as he rushed to get to the drug store; he brushed by Rory. But Rory kept on attempting to impede him and claiming that for a fiver, he’d offer a hot tip on the stock market. Now, Rory always carried with him today’s fresh copy of the Wall Street Journal, and maybe had actually been someone. Richard dug in, found a dollar, and handed it to Rory, then he rushed off. Rory called to him, “Amalgamated Copper’s going to hit big today!” Richard was just a bit of a dabbler in stock, and on a whim, he called his broker from the payphone near the drugstore. “Harry, pick me up some Amalgamated Cooper. I’ve got a tip.” There was a howl of laughter at the other end of the line, “Rich, Amalgamated hasn’t done anything in ten years. But Ok, let’s play. I’ll throw a couple of hundred at it for shits and giggles…it’s your money.”

Later at home, the call came from the broker. Amagamated Copper was up, and Richard had made a small but significant gain on his investment. The next day, Richard hurried to give Rory the four dollars on the fiver from the previous day. As he rushed away, Rory called out a tip. As he had the day prior there was a call to the broker, followed by a return call the next day; that five hundred was now earning well at the Simpson and Halliday.

An Experiment

Richard grew curious, and he took his curiosity to his friends. The question was who Rory was and how good a predictor he was. Being that I was available, in need, and interested, Richard and Josette suggested that I take a few dollars and see if Rory offered me a tip. Josette primed me with lunch on the house.

That’s how I found myself on Charles Street at two in the afternoon looking for Rory. I found him not far from the Seven’s Bar. Walking up to him I offered him two dollars. He looked me up and down and said, ” Your needs are basic, but your goals are high. Cross the street and visit Thomas at the bookstore. He needs a clerk, and you’ll do well!” With only small prospects, I decided to go see Thomas. I spent what small spare income I had at his store anyway. So I had nothing to lose.

A week later, I got away from the store for lunch at Joestte’s. It was payday, and I could now afford to eat. The group was interested in my experience and decided to further experiment. Paul got a tip on a manager who could get him better gigs, and Josette was close-mouthed, but smiling broadly at the results of her conversation with Rory. Soon, Rory was invited to join the tertulia as a sort of idiot savant member in the corner.

Lunch with Rory

Lunchtime traffic grew. Rory became an attraction at lunch. At Josettes prompting, his state of cleanliness improved, and a coterie grew around him with note pads. Periodically, several ran outside to the nearest pay phones to call in tips to bookies, investment offices, or shady people in the North End.

On his last day, Rory had some sage advice for me. He advised me to visit a prep school in the Back Bay. I was to mention that I was a veteran, needing an education, and please drop his name as a reference. Being at liberty that day, I did it. Two hours later, I was enrolled. It turned out that there was a VA program for veterans needing to finish high school. It was free and would not count against other VA benefits I might receive.

The Limo

The next day, I arrived at the coffeehouse for lunch in time to see the Rolls-Royce limo pulling away with Rory. Inside, my friends were subdued. A coterie had rushed in, huddled in quiet consultation with Rory, and then accompanied him to the limo. In passing, Rory deposited his copy of the Wall Street Journal on the table, uttered a heartfelt “Thank you all for your friendship!” and was whisked to the limo.

Later, we combed the marked-up pages of the Journal. Richard did well from the tips, Jossete sold the coffeehouse, Paul opened his own restaurant, and I made enough to help support me through my first two years of college.

Was Richard some sort of idiot savant, or a cagy businessman on a sort of madcap holiday from a blase existence? Was he supremely lucky, confident, or all of the above?

My cat Clancy just accepted the improvement in living conditions as his due. And rather than ask questions with no good answers that’s what I do as well.