ee161bep@sdcc3.UUCP (Paul Van de Graaf) (09/07/85)
From the San Diego Reader. Reprinted without permission (The rag's free anyway). Big Can Man by Neil Matthews On the streets that were his home, they knew him simply as "Tank." He was big, strong, and epileptic. He was still fighting the Vietnam War, according to the guys he used to hang out with near Fifth Avenue and Market Street downtown. "The onliest name he used on the street was Tank," said one down-and-outer. They didn't know his given name and haven't seen him for a couple of weeks now, and that's odd; he was always on the street at the beginning of the month, because that's when he received his disability checks. "He'd get paid on the first and be broke on the fifth," explained a fellow vagabond. He was like a lot of guys on the street that way, and yet he was different. Tank left his mark on the world. His mark is on most of the Gaslamp Quarter's brand-new garbage cans. Fifty-eight of the concrete-and-stone recep- tacles were placed on the streets of the historic district (part of the 190 bins, each costing $285, placed throughout downtown) in late July. Cranes had to maneuver onto the sidewalks the 500-pound, bullet-proof, theft-proof, scavenger-proof, and generally bum-proof trash holders. But they weren't Tank-proof. The first day they were on the street, he pushed five of them over into the gutter, accord- ing to Harold Larcome, the park and recreation departmen worker changed with overseeing them in the Gaslamp Quarter. "Maybe the shape of these things reminds him of pill boxes over in Vietnam or something," says Larcome. Throughout the month of August, Tank made a sport out of dumping over the new cans. He'd gotten into this habit earlier when the cans were lightweight aluminum, and drifters used them for chairs and even beds. (They would take off the tops, push two together at the open end, and have a cozy little sleeping chamber.) The old cans become so unsightly, in part because of Tank's predilection for smash- ing them, that the city spent $54,150 to buy new ones in anticipation of the opening of the Horton Plaza shopping center. City workers believed Tank would be foiled by the sheer weight and indestuctibility of the new receptacles. Evidently the new trash containers represented just another challenge to Tank, who last February survived being buried by a ton of bricks when a wall at Columbo's restau- rant on Fourth Avenue and G streets collapsed on top of him. He had also recently survived knifings and muggings. "The last time I saw him," explained Roger Brown, who pushes a shopping cart containing all his worldly possessions along the Gaslamp streets, "he was all beat up. His lips swollen, and eyes puffy, he was messed up bad. About a week ago." Throughout the month of August, merchants, cops, down- town workers, shoppers, and other street people became accustomed to seeing the heavy containers toppled over into the street. Twelve of them cracked, and two were completely destroyed. The sity manager's office and the police received numerous complaints. Two days after the owner of the Gaslamp Market and Deli on Fifth Avenue complained to the city, Tank disappeared. People on the street didn't know what happened to him. He'd been picked up by the cops numerous times but was never charged with bashing the trash cans. Some street people think he was taken to jail, but a check of jail records doesn't confirm that. Others think the police dropped outside of town. Central Division Lieu- tenant Claude Gray won't say whether or not Tank was picked up. But ever since he disappeared, the trash cans have all been left upright. Beware, he may be coming to your town! The article includes a picture of a badly mangled trash can. This guy must be BIG! I don't think I could have done as much damage to that can, even with a sledgehammer. The cans are made of steel-reinforced concrete. I bet the cops have him hidden in some super- secure cell. Forget Mandella... FREE TANK!!! er-uuum... just wait for Tank to free himself! Paul van de Graaf sdcsvax!sdcc3!ee161bep U. C. San Diego