The Collegian

Issue date: 11/29/07 Section: News

Go it alone: Bruce Francis says he doesn't want to be poor, so he collects cans for deposit. {Andrew Dodson/Collegian}

When Bruce Francis hunts cans, so does his keychain Snoopy. And two pins, one angel and one butterfly, make a divot in the center of his sagging gray and white checkered hat. It ties in back with white rope.

Some call it the hat of a train conductor.

Even more call Francis, 55, the "Can Man."

"He eats us out of house and home," says friend Kathy Curry, 50, sitting at the Drop-In Center, 49 West Carleton Road.

She rarely flinches despite the off-and-on sound of a drill and the thud of workers mending a leaky roof which brown-stained the ceiling.

"Yep, he's a good egg," she says.

Francis frequents the center most days for a coffee lunch before returning to the streets. He's been collecting and returning cans for the 10-cent deposit for 14 years, "since my wife died," he said.

"Damn," Curry says, following a workers' wallop which brings white flakes sparkling down to a newspaper-strewn table around which local folks gather.

The Drop-In Center, operated by Linda Miller, began as a daytime shelter for people with mental and emotional disorders. Miller and other volunteers still serve dinner twice a week and free coffee and sandwich fixings on weekdays.

It's one place where Francis cannot collect bottles or cans.

"No bottles from here," Curry says, explaining that although Francis totes his bags into the foyer each day, "just in time for chow," he's not allowed to raid the Drop-In Center stash.

"I have coffee and get back out," Francis says.

"I never stop. I keep going. I'm like a donkey, man," he says, curling his arms to mime carrying two bags over his shoulders.

Francis wears a red flannel shirt, brown flannel jacket and black fleece. All are open - unbuttoned, unbuttoned and unzipped, gray chest hair beneath.

"Sometimes I don't think he dresses as well as he should," says Donna Kolar, 59, recounting a time when Francis trekked five miles to Jonesville. "He sure is walkin' all over creation," Curry says. "He walked to Jonesville once...that's five miles. [But] he could stop at Wal-Mart and cash 'em in. That'll make him prance home a little faster."

"My hands don't get cold," Francis says, showing his "good hands." "Can't take heat. I gotta be outdoors, man. God makes me walk and warms my hands… I'm walking, making my money."

Francis said he averages $25 per hunting day. But it's less when he isn't vigilant.

"I never stop. I keep going. I have to make money," he said. "Every day, every day…I'm going to keep going until I pass out."

If he did, he might be alone.

"I'm the Can Man and I've got to do it myself," he said. "I got to be the Can Man on my own."

He refuses to hunt with others because, he said, he has the hunting secret. Part of it, at least, is rising as early as 4 a.m. Market House employees said Francis is often waiting to cash in his cans when the doors open at 6 a.m.

He knows, too, which students throw parties. And they know him.

"I've handed him a bag of cans two or three times," senior Steve Shocke said. "He'd always ask…there'd be a knock at the window."





Nancy Armstrong, Community Action Agency housing specialist, met Francis nearly a decade ago. She said Francis taught some of the people she helps with housing issues to make money by recycling cans as well.

But Francis has the secret and his turf.

"I beat 'em. I be the first person up there," Francis said of the college.

"He gets the mostest around here," Curry said. "This is just a guesstimation - I'd go with $20 a bag."

On one afternoon, Curry chides Francis from the Drop-In Center recliner, calling to him about the "20 girlfriends" who save cans for him. Police help him too, he said, because they like how he clears potential tire-poppers.

He said he has no reason to stop.

Although Armstrong said can hunting is more common than one might guess - and that living standards for some poor residents haven't improved - she finds Francis happy and in a safe home.

"I got more money than I want," Francis said. "I keep that money in my pocket. I don't want to be poor, do you?"

Hillsdale College Collegian 2007

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