The Panhandler Paradox. Panhandlers are a bit of a paradox for a suburban liberal roaming around in the big city. On the one hand, a bit of personal charity is a good thing. On the other, maybe the conservatives have a grain of truth when they say that too much kindness encourages sloth and abuse. Cruel to be kind, then, as they’ll mostly likely use your handout for drugs or alcohol. And yes, after a while panhandlers are a pain in the neck. In some sections of Manhattan, you can hardly walk a block without a shake-down or two. Compassion fatigue sets in rather quickly. Once in a while, they seem truly dangerous.

My comment, as one who has been panhandled quite frequently, is that panhandling is a variable situation and no one rule applies to all situations. You’ve just got to play it by ear. I’ve had some really beat looking men and women come up to me and ask for a dollar, and I’ve gladly given it to them. Often they give you something in return, perhaps a hearty “hey buddy, God bless”. On the opposite extreme is the young guy who seems perfectly healthy and capable, and he confronts you curtly in a somewhat threatening manner. If I give him something, and I usually do, it’s more out of fear than sympathy.

And then there are thousands of variations in between. There are young guys who mumble something about being hungry — doubtful, perhaps, but at least they’re trying to play the sympathy angle and not just assuming that you owe them. Then there are the con men, the guys who come on with a big greeting, talk to you a bit, want to know if they can help you with something. And you know it’s gonna take some green to get rid of them without things getting ugly.

Then there are the stupid ones, e.g., the lone young guy or woman who goes around asking for money on a crowded subway car or train station platform. Such a panhandler doesn’t quite read the psychology of the situation. Unless they’re posing an immediate threat (e.g., two or three of them and you’re alone on one end of a nearly empty subway car, the Bernie Getz scenario), a sudden sense of crowd loyalty develops. E.g, everyone in the crowd silently agrees that we’ve got this one outnumbered, so just keep saying no to him and he’ll go away. In such cases, reaching into your pocket and giving out something would be an act of disloyalty to the crowd; you might easily get some disapproving looks from your fellow riders. I’ve been on New York Subways where even disheveled women holding wrapped-up babies have received the crowd veto when asking for sympathy and change. New York subway riders are a tough bunch.

Many years ago, back in the mid-80s, I was standing outside of Union Station in Washington DC waiting for a friend to pick me up after a train ride from Jersey. A middle aged women asked me for money for diapers or something, so I gave her a quarter or two. She then walked off, but didn’t go too far. My friend was delayed by something or other, so I had the chance to observe this woman at work. She was definitely picking out her customers; she let several people pass by before approaching a target. (Thus I found out that I’m the type that panhandlers look for). I watched her make about 10 approaches over a 15 minute period, and about 50% of them were successful. I saw some dollar bills and some quarters, so I’d guess her average take was about 65 cents. She thus gained about $3.25 after a quarter hour. If she kept that pace up, she’d be making $13 an hour. Of course, she probably couldn’t maintain that pace. She’d have to stop for coffee and the bathroom now and then, and would have to change spots to avoid the police. Still, you might guess that she was making about $7 an hour overall. It doesn’t sound like much, but remember that this was tax-free. Was this a living wage? Well, combined with some other benefits (e.g. AFDC, Food Stamps, or even cheap-o city welfare), it would probably keep a person alive.

Bottom line is, sometimes I give something and sometimes I don’t. I remember when I was commuting to Manhattan, I’d often pass an old guy who panhandled from the same spot on 31st Street. He wasn’t aggressive; all he did was stand against the wall and call out in a grizzly voice, “spare a little change and your luck just might change”. About every 20 seconds. And actually, I liked his angle. Once in a blue moon I stopped to give him something. He graciously received any and all contributions, offering his personal thanks. I fondly remember him.

Yes, I am in favor of the police enforcing the panhandling laws. But only up to a point. As with all law enforcement, there is a question of balance. There are many people with real hard luck stories out there on the streets, and those of us who have been blessed with more fortunate economic circumstances probably benefit by coming face to face with them on occasion. Thus I usually keep a folded dollar in my pocket when in the city, ready to go at all times. I call it the alms dollar. I look at it as money already spent, money that doesn’t belong to me. But don’t polish my halo quite yet. This also serves my own self-defense purposes — I don’t want to be fumbling around with my wallet out on the street when confronted by a stranger. As with the panhandlers, my own life and motives are definitely a mixed bag.