When in Anchorage, we stayed in a pricy hotel that was adequate, but tired. The neighborhood was so-so. A few blocks away, train tracks were along the water (Cook Inlet), so by definition we were on the other side of the tracks. Or so it seemed. An adjacent city bus terminal with benches appeared to be a haven for folks who were settled in, looked like the homeless in Florida. Being homeless in Alaska would REALLY seem to be tough. We twice ate breakfast in the Snow City Grill, which says it all.
While walking on the adjacent block, I saw a rugged-looking, hirsute man on the opposite side of the street. I quickly crossed the street and walked toward him. I stopped him and asked my favor, explaining that I photograph strangers as a hobby. His name was Chuck. His eyes narrowed and he stared for a few seconds and said “naw, I don’t think so. People often ask me for a photograph”. I said, “I’ll bet they do. You have a character face. I can just tell that those eyes have seen a lot”. I then asked if he lived in Anchorage, expecting some comment about being homeless. But he shrugged and said that he was from “around”. Then he stared again for a couple of seconds and said, “aww, go ahead” (with the photograph). I pressed my luck and asked him to remove his glasses, which he did.
(click to enlarge)
After a couple of minutes developing rapport, Chuck confided that “Chuck” was only a nickname. His real name was Don’t Give a F**k Chuck. Oh. He repeated is rapidly a few times, with an ever broadening smile. Clearly he enjoyed the sound of the Rhyme coming from his own lips. The rhyme made me think “Up Chuck”. He once met his namesake in North Carolina, but doubts that there are any other Don’t Give a F**k Chucks west of the Mississippi. Certainly not in Anchorage.
What’s in a name?
Bob (my real name)