The Herald in the Square

Near 34th Street, Herald Square, any New Yorker is overwhelmed. I always move as quickly as I can through the hordes and masses of tourists combined with vendors combined with teenagers skipping school combined with panhandlers combined with petitioners. It's a thick stew of humanity.
I had safely navigated through that horrible 34th St./6th Ave. junction and was walking South on 6th. The crowds were thinning with each block, so I had only to avoid getting punctured by umbrellas (who are the people who are allowed to use those huge golf umbrellas on the sidewalk, and how do I get to become one?)

I heard yelling.
Well, screaming.
A man was screaming.
"AAAAAAAGH!!!"
He was in agony.

I was trained as an Advanced First Aider in high school, and ever since, my instinct to help kicks in when I sense someone needs medical attention.

On the corner of 31st and 6th there was a man near a phone booth, doubled over, screaming. He was moving in slow motion, trying to tie his shoes, and screaming at the world. This poor, dear, mentally ill man was summoning from the deepest part of his being, all the angst of his difficult life and the desperation of his situation, a mighty roar, and in that roar was contained his whole life and world encapsulated and represented by those untied shoes.

I suppose I could have tied the shoes for him, but like other passers-by I sensed that it was more than the untied shoes making him scream, and I would be particularly vulnerable entering his "sphere". Am I a bad person?