An old Black homeless street beggar changed my life as Christmas approached in the early 1990s.

In the 1980s and ’90s, friends and foes compared me to Alex P. Keaton — the well-groomed conservative son of two liberal parents in the sitcom “Family Ties.” Like Alex, I dressed in a suit, groomed my hair, and worshiped at the altar of President Ronald Reagan. As an intern at Newsweek in 1985, I showed up in a New York Times photo standing a foot from Reagan after a White House press briefing. I felt on top of the world.

Six years later, I returned to Washington for a full-time gig at a niche magazine. I wore an expensive suit and tie each day and fancied myself the real-life Alex.

Having incurred the expenses of travel, first-and-last payment of rent, phone hookup, various deposits and other costs of moving to the nation’s capital, I was dead broke. I could not buy lunch just days into starting my job. My first paycheck was weeks away, and I had no food.

My liberal ex-girlfriend-turned-lawyer worked at the GEICO headquarters north of Washington in a Maryland suburb. Swallowing my right-wing self-sufficient pride, I called and asked to borrow a few hundred bucks. She was gracious and agreed to a loan, but I would need to get myself to her office.

With a $5 bill to my name, I walked to Washington’s Union Station to board the D.C. Metro subway. As I neared the escalator, a Black man approached and asked for money. He was experiencing homelessness and dressed and smelled the part. I was a young, white professional dressed like a million dollars.

“Can you spare a dollar?” the man asked.

“I cannot. Good luck and have a good day,” I replied. Truth be told, I would not have given him a dime if I’d had one to spare.

Moments later, I reached the escalator and went for the $5 bill I thought was stuffed in a pocket to pay for the ride. It was gone. I frantically checked the pockets of my shirt, my glitzy blazer and my pants. I retraced my steps, looking in futility for my only hope of getting by for the next few weeks. My body language conveyed the dilemma.

Realizing my search was futile, I bent over and put my hands on my knees. I was not religious but begged God for mercy. Back then we had no cellphones, I had no credit card, and I didn’t have a quarter for a payphone.

As I slouched in surrender, a hand from behind landed on my shoulder. It was the beggar, who had witnessed my distress.

“May I help you?” the man asked. “My name is Larry.”

I stood stunned as he handed me a $20 bill and said, “Keep it.”

“God has been good to me today, so I want to share,” he said.

This full-time vagrant, whom I later saw sleeping on the ground, viewed a well-dressed professional young white man as a fellow human being.

We hugged and I made my way to Maryland, where I shared this experience with my former girlfriend.

I later tried to repay Larry, but he wouldn’t accept it. His gift to me, he explained, was worth more to him than 20 bucks.

It changed my perspective. I was no less the same old wannabe Alex P. Keaton throughout my 20s. I remain a conservative inspired by the likes of Reagan and Sen. Bob Dole. To this day, I don’t give handouts that I fear will enable dysfunction and homelessness.

Yet, because of Larry I see humanity in a better light and give in ways I hope are constructive. Larry taught me how individuals from vastly different backgrounds are more alike than different. Each might be in a state of crisis, despite appearances. Each is capable of care, compassion and kindness.

I learned something else. Everyone, in any circumstance, personally benefits by giving to others however they are able. Love and kindness. Let’s pass it on this holiday season and beyond, without concern for the way people look.

Wayne Laugesen is editor of The Gazette’s editorial pages.

Wayne Laugesen photographed Tuesday, January 22, 2013. Photo by Mark Reis, The Gazette

MARK REIS