He's one of the many nameless faces that we see standing near the intersections with cardboard signs.

Most of the signs are short and sweet "Need Food. Please Help. God Bless", "Homeless Vet. Please Help" or "I won't lie, I just want enough $ for one beer."

They come in all shapes and sizes, but the one thing they have in common is that they are someone's daughter or son and never thought that it would turn out this way.

I've driven by many of them on the street and wondered where they came from, what happened that landed them on the street, if they had family and where do they stay at night?

I've repeatedly seen this one older fellow, on the same corner, so I stopped and invited him to walk over to the closest hamburger joint and told him that I'd buy him dinner.

I drove to the parking lot and watched as he folded up his sign, loaded up his basket and made his way across the street. As he was walking towards me, I thought, "They're probably going to find my body in the trunk of my car," but then I remembered something that my grandmother once said, when I was a young kid.

She and I were walking to the store and someone that was disfigured and unkempt walked past us. I made some stupid kid comment to my grandmother. In kind voice she said, "It's only by the grace of God that that isn't you." I had my first taste of deserved shame.

I said, "Well, I suppose I should know your name" and he said, "You can call me Carl."

He was surprisingly shy about having someone buy his dinner. I suppose it's harder to really relate to someone that's helping you, rather than just catch a few coins coming from an open car window.

The clerks at the counter were looking him up and down, and then the manager was about to ask him to leave, when I said, "Order whatever you'd like."

We have the perception that homeless people might be a bit like animals, when they eat - ravenous and wildly stuffing their face. However, that's a misperception. He ate with quiet dignity and wiped his mouth, often.

I asked him if he'd talk with me and would it be okay if I wrote an article about him. His eyes widened and he said, "Well, uh, as long as you don't use my last name. I don't want to embarrass my kid."

Carl was born in Michigan in 1939. His father was a banker and his mother was a dancer. He said, "She danced with one of them ballet groups and she was the prettiest one of 'em all, until some drunk bas--rd hit her with his car. It put a scar on her face and bummed her leg, so she couldn't dance no more. That's just the way it is, isn't it? Everything is fine one minute and the next - bam, it ain't!"

Carl's parents had plans for him to go to law school, because he was such a bright kid and loved to be in the school plays. They also figured he'd be good at presenting cases, because he was always one who would stick up for the underdog.

"I guess they was wrong, because I met my true love the first year in high school and that was it, for me - we took off and got married. We was only 16 and 15. I mostly worked odd jobs to keep food in the fridge, but when my wife was due with a baby, I had to get a real job. We moved out to Washington; because she had a brother that thought he could get me work. We moved, but there wasn't a job for me."

I asked him how he found it so easy to talk to a stranger. He said, "Ain't no strangers, out there, just folks that haven't met, yet. You learn to make friends real fast, when you're on the street."

I asked, "What happened, then?" He paused a long time, wiped his face, put his hands on the table and said, "Well, I did somethin' real stupid. When I didn't have no money to pay the bills, I panicked and ran off. I figured she and the baby would be better without me, until I found some work."

I asked how long it had been, since he saw them. He stared at me, then smiled and said, "My wife has moved, but I see my daughter, when I can. She's as pretty as my mother was. She just don't know it's me. I watch from a distance. Besides, I don't smell too good close up!", then he snorted and laughed.

Carl wouldn't tell me where he slept at night, because they get asked to move, if they're found out. So I asked if there was anything I could do. He said, "Just tell folks that we're not all drunks and that some of us are just regular people, if you get to know us."

I hadn't noticed while we were talking, but Carl had kindly tucked some of the hamburger away, which I saw him sharing with another homeless fellow, as I drove by on my way home.