
Click here to read about the impressive new initiative by our Brattleboro
Food Co-op to help homeless people access food and social services.
Note: as usual, all the names (except Melvin’s) are pseudonyms.
If you live in a relatively small town, you’re probably aware of the places where there are often people holding cardboard signs asking for money. For me, they’re on two particular corners on Main Street; at both the Main Street bridge and the nearby footbridge across the brook leading to the coop; as well as at the pay-for-display parking stations in the busiest parking lot. There are also often people at the exits of shopping plazas.
Melissa and I disagree about whether it’s better to have a regular location or move around. She says people get used to ignoring people in the same place. Last winter, she, Isaiah, and Jupiter often set up shop on one specific corner, occasionally crossing the street to the opposite side. On rare days, they could make $100 or more. But $10 to $25 was more common. She said having a dog really helps. [I guess the fact it’s easier for a dog to raise money than a human is another bit of cognitive dissonance on the street.] Usually, Isaiah would stay on the corner and she would come and go. I think it was more because she was too restless to stay in one place than a sophisticated marketing strategy. She’s also kind of agoraphobic which isn’t the best character trait for someone asking for money. For her a cardboard sign isn’t so much a marketing tool as a shield. So is Jupiter.
Since I like getting to know the people I give money to, I usually don’t hand money out my car window when I leave a shopping plaza—especially if the light’s green. But a couple of times I’ve pulled off somewhere and walked over to ask the person my 20 questions (OK, it’s more like 3). After talking to one guy—I don’t remember his name or what his sign said—I asked him if he ever got downtown and, when he said he did occasionally, I gave him a couple of Co-op gift cards. Next time I saw him, I stopped and walked over to see if he’d been able to use them (as opposed to selling them at a discount, which often happens). He smiled enthusiastically and started rattling off a grocery list of all the things he’d bought. I even kinda believed him.
Talking to him, I realized there was a whole different culture on the “strip.” Some people—especially families—are living in the motels there as part of the State of Vermont’s (slowly ending) program to deal with the lack of space in the shelter. Others camp down by the river, in a fairly invisible area behind all the stores. For better or worse, I don’t get the same sense of community there that I see downtown.
So I was surprised to see Raymond—definitely a downtown guy—standing at the exit of the MacDonald’s when I drove past the other day. Curious, I pulled into the parking lot of the fast-food place next door and walked back to see him. Raymond always seems half-hearted about using a cardboard sign, often holding it by his side the way you’d carry a book when you don’t want people to see the title. I figured the exit from Macdonald’s would be an ideal place to raise money, but Raymond told me the two singles I gave him doubled his morning take. When I asked him why he was so far uptown, he said he just had to get away to clear his head ‘cause some guy had beat him up for stealing from the guy’s tent. Raymond said he hadn’t stolen anything. He’d just gone in to get out of the rain ‘cause he knew the guy wasn’t staying there. “Did you get hurt?” “No. Not really,” he said, “I didn’t fight back.” He shrugged. I shrugged. Raymond is so depressed I can feel the ache.
Some people never use cardboard signs. They ask you for a few bucks as you walk by. Melvin was the impresario of this technique, but others do it.
Bruce used to sit on a stoop and his “ask” was usually mumbled. He always thanked you if you gave him money and said no problem if you didn’t. Which made him the kind of person you can walk by without feeling like you’re accruing a lot of karma. He told me it’s totally fine if people don’t give him money, he just doesn’t like it when they give him attitude. I haven’t seen Bruce recently. I hope it’s because he got a rent subsidy which maybe, combined with his SSI and part time job, has kept him from having to panhandle. Plus, by now, he should be almost a year into his methadone treatment. One of my least trustworthy friends (a title for which there is much competition), however, told me he’s not doing well. Which could mean many things, several of which aren’t very good.
Larry tends to stand with his cardboard sign on the sidewalk next to the traffic light where drivers coming into Brattleboro from New Hampshire have to stop. The most he ever made in a day was around $80. Usually, it’s more like $10…or less, which he uses for prescription co-pays, cat food (don’t ask) and pot. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t do dope although he readily admits to being a stoner.
Larry is kind of goofy. When he starts talking you expect to hear a lot of “shucks” and “gosh-es” and head-scratching in response to fairly straightforward questions. He’s a breath of innocence in a world of trickery and deceit. Unless, of course, he’s faking it. I take nothing for granted.
The other day I was chatting with him when a little girl walked by. Clearly she was a few steps ahead of her family and, seeing us, wasn’t sure whether that was such a good idea. Larry didn’t look too threatening, but I was wearing a bright bike shirt and a helmet that had flashers on the front and back like I was some kind of extra-terrestrial—not the first time I’ve been accused of that.
I tried to put the little girl at ease by saying, “Hey, how you doing?”
I smiled. Larry smiled. The little girl smiled. I asked her name. She told me and I said I’m David and this is Larry. That made her smile more confidently and keep going. Her dad, coming behind her, reached in his pocket and pulled out a couple of singles and said to Larry, as the little girl looked back, “I’d like to give you this,” as if it were an object lesson for her. The whole thing was kind of sweet. Although he didn’t give me any money—it could have been the helmet—and I’m not sure he would have given Larry any if I hadn’t been there.
But, like they say, “beggars” [the word is troubling but that’s the expression] really can’t be choosers.
There’s a lot of controversy about panhandling in my town and others. I waded briefly into policy in my last post but I’m trying to stick with the personal. I don’t know the best way to deal with the social issues involved. But I do believe that the more we know about the people we’re talking about, the better our policies will prove to be.
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I’m so glad the co-op is doing what it’s doing now (thanks for the link to that article.) I really appreciate your insights and descriptions of the human beings that live unhoused in our town. Too many people don’t try to understand, they just write angry screeds on Facebook about the junkies and druggies ruining Brattleboro, which “used to be so nice.” Thank you for doing something different!