In the homeless world, sometimes you just need to be lucky

He had a look and style of his own. You saw the long grayish white hair and mustache, and immediately knew who it was.

Joseph Kromelis was known as the “Walking Man.” He had that name because you would always see him walking the streets of Chicago. When you saw him, you would never guess that he was homeless. He didn't the homeless look. So many of us in that world don't.

There are many layers in the homeless lifestyle. Some live in shelters, others feel more comfortable being on the street. In 2013, I went the shelter route. I did contemplate sleeping on the Blue Line train, but deep down I knew I would never be able to make that work for me. I didn’t fit who I am. I never would have felt safe.

As it turned out, moving into a shelter was one of the best choices I’ve ever made. I was lucky enough to find selfless people who were strangers to me, that cared enough about my situation to get me the help that I needed. They put me in touch with doctors, therapists, housing experts and helped me navigate the government bureaucracy. I lived in that shelter for almost two years. I went in broken and came out repaired. Honestly, a lot of it was luck. I was lucky to pick the right place with the right people. My story could have easily had a different ending. I’m forever grateful.

The “Walking Man” made a different choice. He slept on the streets of Lower Wacker Drive. It’s dangerous down there. It scares me to drive on that street; I can’t imagine sleeping there.

Six years ago, he was brutally attacked by someone with a baseball bat. He recovered and continued his life on the streets. Last May, a man senselessly poured gasoline over him and set him on fire. Kromelis suffered third-degree burns over sixty-five percent of his body.

Yesterday, Joseph Kromelis, the “Walking Man” died at age seventy-five. It didn’t have to happen. I’m sorry he wasn’t able to get all the help he needed. I sorry he wasn’t as lucky as I was.