It started as $20. It was instant karma, a random act of kindness, or whatever one chooses to call it. The man in the Greyhound station said he needed $20 for a bus fare; his father had died, his wallet was gone, and he needed to get to DC to make arrangements. He asked for the money with the quiet strength of a man bearing a loss squarely on his shoulders, and for a University first-year with some pocket money, he was impossible to turn down.
This was the situation in which my friend found himself last week. He had stopped at the bus station during a jog to use the bathroom, and stumbled across a distraught man who introduced himself as Eric, University graduating class of 1985, newly-orphaned. He was unbelievably polite and his pain seemed genuine, and being a more than decent kid, my friend promised the man that he would bring $20 to a prearranged meeting place, hand him the cash, and not expect anything else in return. It was to be a simple act of selflessness to help a Cavalier alumnus in need. Twenty dollars is more than pocket change, but still reasonable - my friend's willingness to run back to his dorm and then meet the guy is only one thing that separates him from most altruistic college students.
It was then, though, that altruism began attracting greed. The man now seemed to need $75 for a bus; when my friend offered to take him to an ATM and get the extra money, he needed $120, for, well, food and whatnot along the way. While showing my friend the way to the ATM, I somehow agreed to split the donation with him, and ended up giving this man, who I had met only moments before, three crisp $20 bills still hot out of the ATM. There really is no way to tell this story without sounding like an idiot, because now it's obvious we should have turned him down. But at the time, that wasn't even an option. The man promised to pay us back double when he was back in town a few days later. He was insistent, almost aggressive, with his promises, and he wouldn't take no for an answer when arranging a 100% percent interest rate. We said goodbye to the man - Eric, allegedly - wished him luck, and went back to the suite to face ridicule from our suite-mates. Why the hell did we just give a stranger $120? We couldn't answer. This could have been an uncommonly large gift to a man in need or a total scam on a few unwitting teenagers. And although we both knew the latter was more likely, our indoctrination to the honor system here dominated our decision-making. Alumni are still bound to the same values as students, especially when on Grounds, and especially in transactions with those still in the University. The system only works in an atmosphere of universal trust, which, at least to inexperienced first-years, can and should be extended to any old guy on the street.
Predictably, the man wasn't done with us. The next morning, while the rest of the suite slept, my friend responded to a phone call from Eric, went to the ATM, and brought him significantly more money - more than doubling our total losses. No one knows why he did it, but it must have been out of some innate need to trust strangers and help them that occurs in a very small percent of the population, a trait that is either admirable or na