It’s really a wonder I didn’t drive straight into a tree. 

I was cruising down College Street in Lewiston, just ahead of the ridiculously early dark, when I saw him. There, striding up the sidewalk in his usual man-on-a-mission way, was Punk Icee, a true legend of the Twin Cities streets. 

I noted the blue bandanna pulled tight around his skull. I noted the bag full of returnable bottles hanging from one hand and I noted the inevitable scowl upon that weathered face. 

Yup, I thought, with some satisfaction. It’s good to get a sighting of ol’ Punk Icee as autumn winds down toward winter. 

And then reality roused me out of my reverie like a knuckle to the ribs. 

Punk Icee? Charging like a bull through the Lewiston gloom? Not likely. 

Punk, as most of my readers will know, died a year ago, almost to the date. After years of mystifying the locals with his ceaseless wanderings, the peripatetic Punk had died quietly at a group home at the age of 64. 

And remembering all of this, I turned wistful, reacquainted with the idea that I’d never see that grizzle-faced enigma again on the local streets. 

It was at this point that I might have driven into a tree had I let my mind wander a bit longer. 

Punk Icee was dead, sure enough. Dead and buried. 

So, who was it that I had just seen stomping up College Street like a man on a mission that never ends? 

I did what any sensible man would do. I wheeled my truck into the parking lot at Dave’s Place, circled the block and retraced my steps in an effort to find the ghost of Punk Icee. 

I found him, too, only it wasn’t Punk Icee I’d seen, or even a credible doppelganger. 

It wasn’t a bandanna that topped the fellow’s head, after all, but a blue baseball cap turned backward. It wasn’t a ragged sack of bottles hanging from his hands, but more of a duffel bag. 

And now that I looked more closely, did the man’s face really appear grizzled and inscrutable as Punk’s had? No, this face was rather smooth and uneventful. It lacked that chiseled-from-granite hardness; the hardness of a life lived hard. Furthermore, this chap wasn’t so much stomping down the College Street sidewalk, it was more of a self-satisfied strut. 

So why then, for those dreamy few seconds, had I been so convinced that I had seen the iconic Punk Icee himself, returned to his old stomping grounds at last? 

It happens more often than I probably should admit. 

Not long ago, I saw a rather withered old man on Park Street and I thought: Hey, it’s that deaf fellow with the American flags. Why, any second now, he’s going to pump his fist and point almost rapturously at the sky to express his enduring gratitude the way he used to. 

But of course, that old man had been dead for decades and maybe longer. 

Once in a while, I’ll convince myself that I spotted that beautiful old woman who used to ride her ancient bicycle down the downtown streets, cigarette extended from her shriveled lips like some kind of navigation device, but nope. She’s gone, too. 

The Lady who Twirls as she ambles down the Park Street sidewalks? Sometimes I see her, too. I’ll actually pull to the side of the road, if I have to, to await one of those dramatic twirls. But that lady hasn’t been around for many years. The person I’ve spotted is just some other woman shuffling from Ash Street toward Pine, and this lady has no interest in spinning in a circle for no apparent reason. 

All of those fantastic street phantoms are gone now and yet my eyes will lie to me out of pure yearning for the olden days. Riding down Spruce Street, I’ll see that little stump of a man who looks so much like Peter Lorre coming out of Speaker’s Variety with a hot ham and cheese sandwich gripped in his pudgy hands. 

But Peter Lorre is long gone, and for that matter so is Speaker’s. My eyes will try to peer into that more colorful past from time to time, but the delusions never last for very long. So many characters who once inhabited this city are gone now and because of that, the character of the city itself is changed. 

I look for new phantoms all the time. There’s the older lady who occasionally stands down near the Longley Bridge, singing at the top of her lungs and dancing in a most provocative way. 

How about you, Miss Dirty Dancer? Will you be my new street phantom? 

There’s Jess, the bespectacled panhandler who is always animated and always has something interesting to say as she works her corners. Was Jess sent to console me after so many others have departed? 

So, the rest of my drive that day was a morose one. I indulged myself in glum memories of all those phantoms of the street who had delighted us for so long and who then vanished forever. 

People like Jesse Kontoes, I thought, that colorful and affectionate fellow you’d often see downtown flinging warm wishes or compliments at passing strangers. Sometimes Jesse would be just an average Joe in sneakers, pants and a windbreaker. Other times, he’d be wearing a lavish gown and stylish shoes. 

One never knew how Jesse was going to appear next, but you always knew that he’d be friendly and affectionate and charming. 

Poor Jesse, I thought, in that lingering daydream. Mowed down by a car on Court Street in Auburn on a cold and slushy day six years ago. A colorful life cut too short … 

But once again, I snapped out of the daze. This time it wasn’t my eyes lying to me, but my memory — Jesse Kontoes was not dead at all, I remembered at once. He had survived the crash and is in fact said to be doing quite well. And remembering that at least one of these colorful characters from the old days is still around, my mood brightened at once. 

I might never see Punk Icee or the old man with the flags ever again, but I might see ol’ Jesse out there doing his thing if I drive the right streets at the right time of day, and man, that’s not nothing. 

In spite of his hauntings, Mark LaFlamme covers the crime beat for the Sun Journal and can be reached at mlaflamme@sunjournal.com.