I was walking thru Newark on the way to the Broad St. train station after work the other day. I usually drive to work, but when the weather is nice I occasionally take the train even though it involves a one-mile walk each way. Just as I reached the stairway going up to the station platform, I could see someone about a block away, someone that I instantly recognized. No, it wasn’t anyone I knew. But I knew the type — an “odd street person”. Something a bit disheveled about this person, walking with an odd gait, hair disheveled, clothes a little funny, perhaps wearing a jacket or a thick sweater on a hot August afternoon. Usually these people are harmless, although once in a while they can make things very unpleasant when they suffer from mental dysfunctions and aren’t being properly treated. Interestingly, the person that I saw was not the only odd person I would encounter that day. More on that in a moment.<\/p>\n
“Odd street people” aren’t always subject to a formal mental health diagnosis. Many indeed are, but some are just . . . well, just odd. You might call them “misfits”. People who just never made it, never held good jobs, never married or otherwise had stable relationships. Maybe their bodies were always a bit funny or slightly misformed. Maybe they were from broken homes, weren’t socialized all that well, and dropped out of school — but weren’t strong enough to enter the world of crime. Each one probably has her or his own story.<\/p>\n
I’ve seen a lot of them over the years. When I was younger I was quite a railroad buff, and before I got my drivers license and use of an auto, I had to depend on buses, trains and walking to visit interesting railroad places (train yards, junction points, switch towers, old stations, etc.). Often these places were in less-than-desirable neighborhoods, or required me to utilize bus or train stations in run-down urban areas. So, I’ve seen and variously interacted with urban people for quite a large chunk of my life.<\/p>\n
As I said, “odd people” are usually not a threat, as they usually won’t try to rob or assault you. That is a whole other type of person to watch out for; but you can’t entirely let down your guard, the city is full of surprises — some “oddies” might use aggression on you. The odd also aren’t necessarily homeless, alcoholic drunks, or substance abusers . . . but again, there is some overlap.<\/p>\n
“Odd people” aren’t always panhandlers either . . . but in my experience, there does appear to be significant correlation between oddness and begging. Some odd people leave you alone (or even try to stay away from you), some just want to talk (coherently or incoherently) . . . and by contrast, many panhandlers don’t seem all that odd . . . but very often, the odd person you see on the street will approach you to request a donation.<\/p>\n
In fact, on the day that I referred to above, I got to the train station and had about 8 minutes to wait for my train. It was a lovely sunny day, so I found a nice uncrowded spot to stand and just enjoy the scene. Suddenly, a fellow came up from behind me and stopped. Of course, the urban survival neurons in my brain kicked in instantly. THREAT EVALUATION MODE<\/span> flashes in red letters. In a half second or so, I had my eyes on this person and my brain was assessing the circumstances. If it seemed bad, my heart would start to race and muscles tense and my lungs would expand even before I fully realized exactly what the threat was.<\/p>\n But this didn’t happen. The stranger was standing there looking at me, just starting to talk, but he didn’t seem all that bad. Maybe my pulse went up by 10 BPM, but not really to “red alert”. The plan of action was to just ride it out, listen to the guy, look at him obliquely and non-threateningly, see what he wants — probably money, of course. So he started off pleasantly enough, but soon got to the point. He wondered if I had a quarter that I could give him. Hmm, OK, just a quarter. Not very demanding. This fellow seemed “just odd enough”, just a bit “non-fashionable” (his hair was . . . odd), but not threateningly so. I nodded OK, reached into my pocket, and saw that he was keeping his place very politely. Finally I pulled out some spare change at the bottom of my pocket, maybe 60 or 70 cents, and handed it over.<\/p>\n As I did so, he said “don’t forget that the birds and squirrels are our best friends”, then invoked some divine blessings for me and resumed his walk towards the stairway down to the street. My subconscious was saying “OK, reasonable enough, he wasn’t aggressive and he did express his thanks and even offered a bit of wisdom, from his own perspective anyway”. As he was leaving, I said “hang in there”.<\/p>\n Why did I offer this guy what I felt to be a bit of encouragement about facing life’s challenges? For the most part, I act like any other suburbanite facing an odd urban person — a bit disengaged emotionally, just wanting to get this unexpected intruder away as quickly as possible. But a part of me knows that perhaps I’m myself not all that different (at least relative to one of the “nicer” odd person \/ panhandlers, like this fellow). I myself am “a bit different”. I myself have a body that isn’t terribly fashionable.<\/p>\n I had a nice jacket, shirt, tie, slacks and business shoes on at the time, but underneath it all, there’s something about me that finds it hard to settle down with other people or groups. I was married for a spell about 30 years ago, but after that I could never find “the right person” to do it again with. I don’t have a big retinue of friends; other than my brother, I really don’t have anyone to go out and share dinner or get a drink with. I’m kind of the odd-man out at work and with my Zen meditation group. Both places appreciate me and the contributions I make; but I never got into the in-crowd in either situation. I’m something of a friendly mis-fit, perhaps not all that different from the squirrel-loving panhandler I encountered at Broad Street. So, I was quite sincere in offering him some encouragement in facing the challenges of being “a bit odd”.<\/p>\n The sensei-teacher at my zendo recently talked about panhandlers in one of his lectures. He made the point that although many well-off people are willing to leave a dollar or two with someone requesting money, most look upon such people with a mixture of fear and mild disgust. Sensei told a story of a well-off suburban woman who made a “street retreat” as to experience sleeping in a homeless shelter. During the exercise (directed by none other than the redoubtable Zen impresario Bernie Glassman<\/a>), she was told to panhandle some money. And she never forgot the look of disgust and the cold wall put up by even those who handed her a dollar.<\/p>\n Let me admit — I’ve put up cold walls myself with many panhandlers. As I said, not all panhandlers are “odd people” — some are a bit more threatening, especially the healthy young men who sometimes do this. Others are more relaxing, just old or plausibly down on their luck, especially the urban women who talk about running short for the month and needing money for diapers. Interestingly, the vehicle of choice for panhandling in Newark has become the wheelchair. For a while last year, a lot of men, young and old, took to wheelchairs and stationed themselves in the road at busy traffic lights. This is actually quite dangerous, and I believe that the cops cracked down on it (although I did see a rather healthy young man with both legs intact sitting in a wheelchair in the middle of a busy intersection the other morning — I managed to get the green light and drive past him, swerving a bit as not to hit him).<\/p>\n But in my old age, I’m trying to be a little less negative with most panhandlers, and at least offer a bland “OK, take care” after being relieved of a dollar. Once in a blue moon, as with the odd bird-and-squirrel man at the Broad Street platform, I might even feel a twinge of sympathy. But once again — I’m not claiming to be a Saint Francis. There are panhandlers, even relatively odd panhandlers, who I just don’t want to help.<\/p>\n On one of my driving routes out of Newark in the evening, a grizzly-looking white guy in his 50s or so often shows up at a busy intersection on a narrow street, and he “walks the line” looking for a hand-out. I have refused thus far. I’m not sure if I could justify my negativity towards him; arguably, if he has enough strength and smarts to do this, he could clean litter baskets at a fast food restaurant for $8 an hour. Perhaps that’s just not as pleasant as running an outdoor “small business venture” at an intersection, but my job isn’t a bowl of cherries either. Still, ultimately — I just don’t like this fellow. He’s odd but not in the “right way”, not to my tastes in oddness. Perhaps he reminds me of something about myself that I don’t like.<\/p>\n And then there are the “fellowship” situations where you find yourself standing close to other respectable working citizens, perhaps at a bus stop or in a subway car. A panhandler comes along and “works the line” asking each person individually for a hand-out. Often an unspoken agreement instantly emerges amidst those on the line. No one has said a word, but you know exactly what the agreement is. I.e., “everyone ignore this person. If we stand together, no one is going to lose a nickle”.<\/p>\n Let me admit, I always comply with these unspoken group agreements, even when the panhandler seems nonthreatening and “worthy”. I would feel as though I let the others down if I broke ranks and pulled out some change. Going back to my squirrel-friend at Broad Street, he found me in a good spot, as I was about 10 feet or more from the nearest fellow commuter. Had I been standing with people around me, I might have ignored him or just shaken my head. And even when someone occasionally “betrays the group” and gives something, they usually do so with a look of quiet disgust, as if to say to the panhandler “just take it and go quickly, maybe no one will notice”. And also to say to the group “I’m still trying to discourage this”. Humane recognition for the odd and the downtrodden won’t come easily from a group of fellow better-off travelers, even though my sensei advises it.<\/p>\n So, street interactions in the poorer neighborhoods are often psychologically complex. And they can reflect one’s own psychological complexities, contradictions and limitations. Even though I myself am something of an “odd person”, I don’t always provide other “oddies” with the basic human respect that they may or may not deserve, but should be still given as just to keep the notion of civilization alive. We all have our “shadows<\/a>“, we all need to work on our subconscious dark sides. Perhaps urban panhandlers are even better at helping with shadow-work than all the LCSW and PhD therapists in the suburban neighborhoods where we, the panhandling targets, reside. (And they don’t charge as much!)<\/p>\n