St. Louis can be a dangerous city. I am sure that everyone has noticed this at one point or another. In fact, it was named the “most dangerous city in the nation” in 2006 by a Morgan Quitno Press study. Detroit, however, regained that prestigious title in 2007.

Saint Louis University, despite its best efforts, is still surrounded by some shady areas.

One has to credit SLU for being such a slice of paradise in the middle of what used to be one of the worst parts of the city. I am not one to give SLU unnecessary credit, but there has been a lot done to improve the area, and work is still being done.

Unfortunately, SLU is not nearly as safe as it should be.

At most schools, crime consists of student-to-student encounters. But here, it’s different. Here at SLU, we have the added danger of crime from non-student outsiders.

I’m willing to bet that every SLU student has been accosted for money, at least once or twice, by some homeless dude, sometimes getting the bonus of a ridiculous story about how he needs to catch a train to Kansas City, Mo., to get tested for some kind of disease.

It happens on campus occasionally. When it does, one can usually just keep walking, or say “No thanks” and be on one’s way.

But as soon as you step foot off of SLU’s campus, the rules change. I regularly hear about people who have been randomly mugged or assaulted, right off of campus.

I am not necessarily an assault victim, but I have had an encounter of my own that didn’t end so well.

Just as a disclaimer, I must say that I do not hate homeless people. I do not really mind when homeless people ask passers-by for money. But there is a difference between giving charity willingly and being forced to give it away. My story involves the latter, and that is where the problem lies.

I was running a tad late to my medieval Christianity class last semester, and I parked in front of the Moolah Temple so I could run across to Xavier Hall. When I got out, I saw a shady-looking guy wearing a Rams Super Bowl 1999 hat.

I knew what I was in for and didn’t really have time to deal with him. I’d already been asked for money twice that day and still did not feel like donating to someone else’s booze fund.

I would have dashed straight across Lindell Boulevard but, fearing a $10 ticket more than a bum encounter, went to feed the meter first.

This was probably my first mistake: Putting change into a parking meter surely means I have more change for this guy-or at least that had to be his train of thought.

The bum came up to me and asked, naturally, “Hey man, can I get a dollar?”

I responded most rudely, telling him how I’d been asked for money twice already and asked if I looked as if I had money to spare (at the time, I was driving a beaten-up ’91 Chevy Corsica).

He informed me that he thought I could give him a dollar, and I lectured him on getting a job and working like any decent human being.

There was strike two: communicating with this guy like he wasa decent person.

The man then proceeded to inform me that he saw me get out of my car, and that it wouldn’t be wise to refuse to help out a guy who knew what car I drove. To this, I responded with a series of expletives.

Saying offensive things to this guy must have been my final strike.

He grabbed me, and I obviously resisted, until I realized he had a switchblade out in good position to stab my stomach.

This is a painful place to get stabbed, from what I hear, and all of a sudden, I got really cooperative. The money I didn’t have suddenly became a $5 bill, all the money I had at the time.

After I gave him the bank note, I informed him, with more naughty language, that if I ever saw him again, I’d call the cops and then told him to procreate with himself.

The best part about all this is that, when this good-for-nothing had his knife against me, some blonde girl walked by and did absolutely nothing to help me out.

If my tale, which took place right off campus, is any indication, SLU administration and its Department of Public Safety have some work to do.

A suggestion for SLU and DPS: You protect students on campus, but what if they are across the street on Lindell or Vandeventer Boulevards?

You might want to help out there, too.

Landon Burris is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences.