Someone's trash can be another's treasure.
My grandfather usually says this to justify hoarding.
But, 83-year-old New Yorker Alvin Gans is making a living off of this very motto. The Korean War Navy Vet can be found nearly every afternoon at Union Square in Manhattan, selling what he finds in dumpsters.
Wednesday, Alvin hoped to sell a canvas for $5 -- one you wouldn't always call trash, depicting gold antique keys with an intriquite background of cerulean and brick flowered patterns. Brush strokes of deep shading look like folds of silk.
That's what caught my eye, along with what Alvin calls "his bling" around his neck -- a strand of black thread, hand-tied, with two mistmatched, synthetic pendants that drop to the middle of his sunken sternum. One is silver with a jade-esque stone, the other "cubic zirconia" as he told me, that would be equivalent of about six carats.
His manner is what you would expect from an enthusiastic stock broker with a New York accent. He'll definitely open up, but as soon as he senses a subject he is not interested in, he resorts to one-word, not standoffish, but conclusive answers.
It was hot outside, but the prospect of selling his painting wasn't. So, he accepted my offer for the afternoon - to sit down and roll back to his memory lane, while my tiny camera recorded.
As it turns out, Alvin has been living in those dorms for 30 years. He began to live there while it was still a hotel. In and out. Everyday.
Although he has a room, he still carries the most dear items with him everywhere in an old tattered leather box. That's where I got to see the old Alvin.
Alvin is not a lonely person. He had a brother and sister-in-law whom he loved dearly. They passed in the early 2000s, so now he talks to the people in the park, along with some unnamed others. Alvin has kept stacks of historical pictures for years in the box, and lights up to get to pull them out. In his eyes, they were taken just yesterday.
The tenent at the dorms, Juan Gomez, said "he sometimes brings people in, his friends from lunch or whatever. But, we don't talk much."
Alvin has not worked in a while. He is 83 with no family left. He needs $5 for a painting he found. But, he says he's pretty well off.
"I made a few investments a few years back that have kept me on my feet," he said.
Perhaps the most astonishing, and upsetting part of our whole run-in was just how happy he was. There can't be a happier person in New York City at any given point than Alvin Gans. His outlook on life is probably the reason he has survived.
"I'm 83, I gotta be happy," he said with his nearly toothless smile. "If I'm not happy I'll be sad."
I've told several New Yorkers this story, and they think I'm crazy. I'm not stupid, I know it's not safe to go up to strangers that appear homeless and chat it up. Maybe I'll be eating these words someday, and I probably only believe it because I'm an outsider that tends to put too much trust in people, but the chance was completely worth it.
I'm still sorting my thoughts on the whole conversation. He kept telling me that I would have a bright future and I shouldn't worry about it. 'Worry' must have been written on my forehead. I don't think he has any idea what he did for me. I just hope buying that painting did a little for him.
