This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2010, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

Working on 25th street in Ogden leads to meeting some pretty colorful people. It is common knowledge that a gal should not walk in the lower west part of the street in the evening without some decent self-defense.

Years ago my Grandpa was part of the history that shaped this rough street. Now, it is filled with cool shops, restaurants and some of the finest brick walls in all of Utah. One of my favorite associations with this historic street are the ... ahem ... homeless people I affectionately call bums. Here is what I have learned from the bums:

1. Words of affirmation make everyone feel better. If ever I am having a slightly low day working in corporate America, I just step outside and say, "Hello bums, talk to me." Depending on where I walk, I can get a few, to several, nice compliments. I have yet to be offended.

When I was pregnant with my third child last summer, a slender bearded man ran across the street to catch up with me and then said, "Lady ... I just wanted to tell you that you look very pretty today. That's all. That's all I wanted to say." And, after that, all day long, I did feel effortlessly pretty.

2. Money isn't everything. The bums always smile. They have lots of friends. I had a frizzy-red-haired lady come and sit next to me while I ate my lunch outside a popular sandwich shop last fall. She said she was waiting for the bus, but really I think she just wanted to sit next to someone and fill the time. Fine by me.

3. Eventually fashion circles back around. Today I saw a bum wearing overalls. I'll be danged if I didn't wear overalls in high school, so I am forecasting a trend here. Give it a few years and they will be all the rage.

4. They are business savvy. The bums always share the sidewalk, always say hello and always ask for money. Usually in that order.

5. Many of us are just a bad experience away from losing it all. At the end of the day these people all had mothers who fussed over them when they were babies. They all had a moment when they stopped living in a home and started living on the street.

I met a lady just today sitting with her back against the metal post marked with a "bus stop" sign, where, ironically, no bus stops anymore. She held onto her two protective dogs and told me she did not have a home. When I asked her, "What is your biggest trial in life?" a noticeable pause followed the question. Several seconds passed, until, when I thought she might not have any trials after all, her friend spoke up and said, "Her biggest trial is taking care of me."

Funny. I would have thought her answer would come a little easier.

5. Believing in yourself still matters. I saw a man who had a face painted with tattoos, two long dreadlocks framing either side of his face, spiked collars around his neck, and a hammer hanging from his oversize baggy pants, and I asked him, "What is the key to success?" His answer came swiftly, "Believe in yourself! Work hard. Just do it."

6. Protect your friends. While I was talking to these nice people, without homes and without jobs, I realized that they like to protect one another. I don't know how suspicious I looked in my black business suit, red lipstick, smart-looking heels and a bodyguard I will call Joe, but it took no time at all for several homeless people to swarm the scene and make sure I was not a threat.

Unlikely lessons from an unlikely source? Possibly. However, I think this coming season I will carry extra George Washingtons, and even a few Andrew Jacksons with me to pass out to my friends on 25th street. Because, like the words and lessons we have read through the years from the fine men on those bills, there are lessons to be learned from men and women who are waiting for the southbound train to take them to sunnier days.

Amy Wilde lives in Brigham City and is a writer. She can be reached at wilde.amy@gmail.com