How to Handle Panhandlers (when you've already heard every story out there)

Okay, I was really planning to write up my first impressions of New Song tonight since I had a great meeting with Rev. Thurman Williams today where he showed me around Sandtown and explained a lot about the church's mission and history.  I am amazed by New Song and the work that community is doing.  I cannot believe my luck that, this early in my journey, I can already point at a church and say, "THIS IS IT!  THIS IS WHAT MINISTRY IS SUPPOSED TO LOOK LIKE!"  Something else has been weighing on my heart these past 24 hours though, so I'm going to save the New Song stuff for tomorrow after I've visited the church for worship.  In the meantime, I offer this reflection.  No goofy pictures.  No stories of indigestion.  No wild driving anecdotes.  Just an honest assessment of where we stand.  Also, this definitely will not be the last time I write on this issue this summer . . .

Brian Makes Me Feel at Home

Last night, as I was writing about all of my parents’ experiences in Baltimore and all of the various digestive dilemmas I had encountered in trying to relive them, I decided to take a break and go for a walk.  I have to admit that, with all the unexpected expenses and traffic and less-than-friendly people and digestive distress, I sort of felt like the city was beating me, and I wanted to clear my head in the comfortable evening air.  Because there are a handful of youth groups currently staying in the hotel, the elevators have been mobbed for the last 24 hours, so I’ve just gotten in the habit of using the stairs . . . all nine flights.  Yep, I’ve been getting my exercise and then some, but I digress.  I left my laptop open, descended the nine flights to the lobby, and walked out into the cool Baltimore evening.  The sun hadn’t quite set yet, and an Orioles game was just starting up in Camden Yards.  I milled around outside the stadium, scoping out a few local eateries (which I would inevitably avoid since I’m trying to watch my cash flow after the whole Lexington garage incident), and that’s when it happened.

A man in an Orioles cap and a maroon jacket stopped me and started talking to me.  He was black with light brown eyes, a thin mustache, and perpetually downward-turned lips.  He stood about three inches shorter than me and was slightly heavier set.  I introduced myself and learned that his name was Brian.  Brian explained that he was a veteran from a community about 130 miles away who had come to Baltimore seeking medical attention for knee problems, but when a friend of his (who could no longer be reached) had put him up in a hotel room for a few nights, his bag (including most of his money) had been stolen, so he was now on the streets trying to accumulate enough money for a ticket home.  In the retelling of these events, Brian produced an old, battered keycard from the hotel, showed me a veteran I.D. that I was never given a chance to examine, and pointed to his orthopedic Sketchers as evidence of his medical treatment.  Admittedly, I was already very suspicious by this point.  As someone who encounters panhandlers on a regular basis, the story sounded like virtually every story I’ve ever heard.  I asked Brian if I could drive him home, but he declined and said it was too far.  When I argued that I was driving cross-country, so the extra mileage was barely a drop in the bucket, he still refused.  He asked for money.  He had $12 already (which he quickly produced as evidence) and just needed $15 more . . . or did he have $15 and need $12 more?  In retrospect, I’m pretty sure the number got reversed at some point.

I offered to drive Brian to a bus station and pay for his ticket.  No dice.  He needed to take the bus to a train station, where he would just have to pay for another ticket.  I offered to drive him to the train station and pay for his ticket there.  No, he said it was still too far to make me drive.  I offered to call the train station and arrange for his ticket to be provided when he got there.  Still not good enough.  Money would just be the easiest solution for Brian’s problem.  I said I didn’t have any cash.  (Okay, it was a lie, but this was getting ridiculous, and I was hoping to use my debit card to buy him a meal instead.)  Brian pointed to an ATM across the street, grabbed me by the arm, and dragged me toward it directly into oncoming traffic.  I jerked him back onto the sidewalk as a handful of cars sped by and honked at him.  Okay, that settled it: Brian was definitely lying because only someone from either Baltimore or Durham would have that level of disregard for vehicular homicide.  We crossed to the ATM anyway, and my hope was to sidetrack him and pull him into one of the restaurants along the way.  Brian could not be budged from his course though, and he stood there waiting for me to pull out my debit card.

We talked for a bit, and he told me that he had been a minister of music in Arizona, and he rattled off a handful of contemporary artists whose songs he had played at a church whose target demographic was alcohol-abusing Native Americans on a reservation (his story, not mine-- don’t hate me).  None of the artists he mentioned really wrote praise choruses for churches though, and Brian was definitely relying on some cultural stereotypes, so the story was fishy at best.  He talked a little about having family he needed to get back to (which wasn’t part of the story earlier).  When I asked how he had paid for the hotel after losing touch with his friend (to see if maybe I could help by calling them and covering his bill), Brian looked at me confused for a second before remembering that aspect of his story.  That’s it.  He was busted.  This was a con.  I offered once more to have a meal with him or drive him anywhere he needed, and he declined.  “Just that $15 for the ticket . . . and maybe a little more if you can spare it.”  “How much are we talking, Brian?”  “I don’t know, maybe just like $60?”  My face must have betrayed my shock and anger, because he immediately started reducing the amount.  I was done at this point, so I cut off his one-sided haggling, “Look, Brian, I’m not exactly loaded, okay?  I’m living out of my car.  I’m only at a hotel right now through my parents’ charity.  I can’t give you that kind of money because I don’t have that kind of money to give.”  Brian was incensed, “Then why’d we come over to this ATM?!”  “Because you dragged me over here forcibly!  Now, this is your last chance to sit and have a meal or get a ride somewhere.  Money is not an option, and I am about to walk away.  What are you going to do?”

Brian said something along the lines of “Man, what’s your deal?” and walked away before thinking better of it and coming back.  “Hey man, you at least got a phone I can use?”  I pulled out my cell phone and said, “I can call someone for you.  What’s the number?”  He gave me a number, and I readied my thumb to press the call button.  “Who am I going to be talking to, Brian, and what would you like me to tell them?”  Brian was livid, “Are you kidding me?!  That’s personal!  Let me talk!”  “Brian, that’s not how this works.  This phone is my only lifeline to my family and friends in case of an emergency.  It doesn’t leave my hand for anything.  I’ll be happy to relay any message for you.  Hell, I’ll even drive you out to see whoever this is I’m calling.  But my phone doesn’t leave my hand.”  Honestly, this was a habit I picked up at IFC: in cases where a person needed transportation somewhere, it was our policy to call ahead and confirm that they were expected.  I wasn’t trying to antagonize Brian by withholding my phone; it was simply a force of habit.  Brian was angry and preparing to storm off, but I did manage to get in just a little more conversation in spite of his frustration.  I hugged him and might have even said a little silent prayer for him before he went off to seek money from someone else.

I put my phone away and started the walk back to the hotel.  It was beginning to rain a bit, and my glasses collected a light mist as I walked, requiring me to rub them constantly on my gradually-dampening shirt (you know, since my raincoat is hanging on a hook in Durham).  As the droplets gathered on my head and shoulders, I reflected on something strange: in spite of all the family connections, my conversation with Brian was the most at home I had felt so far during my visit to Baltimore.  There was a wave of comfort and familiarity that washed over me during that conversation.  It was a weird feeling, and I wanted to analyze it.

When I got back to the hotel, I jumped online and mentioned the encounter to Erin.  It just struck me as so strange that I felt out of my element in Baltimore until someone asked for money.  I had found the city intimidating, and I felt like a displaced, naïve little Southern boy until someone asked for money.  Once the request for money had occurred, I was suddenly back in my comfort zone.  Why?  Erin’s assessment of the situation was deep in its brevity: “You may not know Baltimore, but you know homelessness.”  It was true.  Everything in the city had felt so unfamiliar so far, but when Brian asked me for money and I was given the task of pulling apart the puzzle and trying to address his real problem, I might as well have been right back in Memphis or the Triangle.  Baltimore is like any other city.  It has its people, and those people have their problems, and even though I know I can’t fix all that, it’s good to be able to listen and try to learn from someone, even if that person is really just after money.

What Is a Panhandler?

I have a rocky relationship with panhandlers.  I want to show love in those situations, but when people try to con me out of money, they provoke the part of my brain that almost became a lawyer, and that part of my brain is unnervingly skilled at picking apart people’s arguments and finding holes in stories.  I should clarify that, when I say “panhandlers,” I don’t mean all poor people.  I don’t mean all homeless people.  I don’t even mean all beggars.  Holding up a cardboard sign that says you need help does not make you a panhandler.  Accepting food, transportation, or shelter does not make you a panhandler.  Even asking for money does not necessarily make you a panhandler.

Panhandler-- a specific stratum of beggar characterized by the tendency to confront and accost people in high traffic/high commerce areas, usually with a partially-falsified story designed for the acquisition of money.  (my very specific definition)

At first meeting you, a panhandler immediately launches into a story that is designed to elicit money, and these stories are usually embellished to garner the maximum amount of sympathy.  I guess the characteristic trait of panhandlers is one that it’s sometimes tricky to identify: lying.  What separates panhandlers from other people seeking help is the willingness to lie, and this can only be discovered by prolonging the conversation and allowing the story to unravel so that the real need becomes apparent and can be addressed.  For panhandlers, there is a need to obscure what the money is really going toward and a need to obscure why the money is necessary in the first place, and that’s all pretty shady.

One of the things that bothers me most about panhandlers is that they prolong negative stereotypes about homelessness.  Through their extreme deference when they beg and total dependence on handouts, they fuel the misconception that privileged people are somehow better than the homeless, and they help foster an us-and-them mentality toward homelessness.  For many people in America, panhandlers are the only homeless people they will ever encounter, and so a false stereotype of the homeless as leaches on society becomes engrained in their minds.  Even worse, I feel that panhandlers often divert resources away from the people who really need them.  There are plenty of folks out there working really hard to pull themselves up onto their feet with limited assistance, but panhandlers look to exploit people’s charity in order to get by.  Of the homeless folks I’ve interacted with, I’d say that less than 10% have been panhandlers.  Of the people who are willing to ask for money on the streets, the percentage of panhandlers is a little higher, but panhandling still isn’t a universal phenomenon among beggars by any means.  Of course, the line is a little blurry sometimes because many people legitimately need the money but feel that the only way to get it is through an embellished story.  Hmm, while we’re on this topic . . .

Fourteen Traditional Hallmarks of a Panhandler Story

(from a heavily jaded perspective)

I’ve noticed a lot of patterns in the stories that panhandlers tell (and, again, keep in mind that this does not extend to all homeless people or all beggars-- just panhandlers).  Even though it’s good to give people the benefit of the doubt, if you find yourself talking to a man --and it’s almost always a man for some reason-- whose story includes more than half of the following elements, odds are pretty high that you’re being conned.  In this situation, the best response is to (1) refuse to give money, (2) offer food or transportation instead, and then (3) just walk away if these offers are rejected.  Here are some of the standard elements of a panhandler story:

 - Just got into town and trying to leave here just as quickly.  A panhandler never wants to reveal how long he has lived in the city, because living in the same place for too long without acquiring work generates the image of a “bum” in people’s minds.  Instead, he has always just arrived to find that the promise of work fell through or there were complications with the person he was supposed to be staying with or something like that.  The desire to leave town is supposed to reflect ambition and initiative, which should increase people’s desire to contribute money.

 - Has to use a needlessly complicated system of buses/trains/etc. to get home.  In a transportation-related story, to prevent you from simply driving him where he needs to go, a panhandler will invent a needlessly complicated route, usually over a great distance with several changeovers between buses and trains.  Every now and then, I actually meet someone who just wants a couple of bucks to hop a bus back to his neighborhood (so it’s good to know if the town has free transit or not), but what I encounter most often are guys wanting to travel a minimum of thirty minutes away-- just enough that it would seem crazy for me to drive them there.  I always offer anyway, and I always mean it, but my offer has never once been accepted.

 - Has some sort of loosely-defined medical malady.  Everyone hates insurance companies and HMOs, so making them the bad guy of a story is a surefire way to generate sympathy.  Also, it would be cruel not to help someone who is sick, right?  Admittedly, this one gets under my skin because, as a doctor’s kid, I’m pretty good at spotting when symptoms just don’t quite line up.  This is where some sort of prop will typically be used.

 - Has some sort of physical evidence.  This will usually be an I.D., a hospital bracelet, an expired prescription, etc.  These items will be flashed just long enough to create the illusion that the story is true, but you will not be granted time to examine them closely (which is actually kind of a tell that the panhandler doesn’t really trust you either, so I watch for that when trying to talk with someone).  I call this little dance the “Show and Tell,” and I could write for hours about some of the crazy things I’ve seen people use as props.

 - Already has some money but just needs a little more.  Now that I think of it, this is pretty much the same technique as lowballing.  Panhandlers start small, needing just a few more dollars to reach a goal.  Most will even pull out the money they have already collected and show it to you at some point during the Show and Tell.  The idea is to get you to spare a few dollars first and then slowly work up to larger amounts.  “Well, hey, now that the bus ticket is taken care of, think you could loan me just a little something for a meal tomorrow . . .”  Additionally, there is always the promise that the money will be paid forward to the next person in need.

 - Turns down practical assistance (e.g. food, transportation, etc.) in favor of money.  No matter what sort of assistance you offer, money is more practical for his situation.  Food is refused.  He says driving him somewhere would be too inconvenient for you.  Money is just the easiest thing to give.  Frankly, the goal here is to make you pay your way out of the conversation, and he will employ every tactic possible to make you take the easy route, playing on your feelings of guilt and your desire not to be hassled anymore.  Incidentally, I believe that just giving money means you have given up on someone, so never do it.  Money is the toll that you pay to be left alone.  It’s not really helping someone; it’s dismissing him.  You should feel disappointed in yourself when you give it, not proud.  How serious am I about this?  I once had a guy brag to me about giving a homeless man a 100-dollar bill, and my response was judgment eyes rather than affirmation.  If you really care, offer to sit with a panhandler and have a meal with him.  Listen to his stories, real or fake.  Offer to pray with him.  Offer to drive him somewhere.  See if you can break down the story and maybe learn a little from him.  Sure, odds are that he’ll fight you every step of the way on this and probably just walk away from you like you’re crazy, but it’s always, always worth a shot to try and start a real relationship with someone.  People on the streets need all the real friendships they can get, and frankly, so do people who aren't on the streets.

 - Gets indignant/offended at the mention of shelters and social services.  This is one of the least honest tactics in a panhandler’s arsenal.  A panhandler needs to make these things seem beneath him and can use your mention of them to invoke guilt if you’re not careful.  The goal is to make it seem like, by suggesting shelters and social services, you are demeaning and stereotyping the panhandler, and this is particularly effective against people from privileged backgrounds who have never worked/stayed in such establishments.  Honestly, the best weapon against this is to be really familiar with a town’s network of social services so that you can reassure an indignant panhandler that it’s not beneath him.  In fact, it’s not beneath you either; we all need a helping hand sometimes, and a little humility can go a long way in making that happen.  Since I’ve worked in this field in Chapel Hill, I don’t find the mention of these organizations demeaning at all, and I see them as great temporary solutions while someone is getting back on their feet during a difficult situation.  It’s where I’d go if things fell apart for me.  There’s no shame in accepting the aid of a shelter or social service organization, but a cunning panhandler will play on the cultural assumption that there is.  Don’t fall for this.  No one is too good to accept free services when they’re in need, and the way to remember this is to remind yourself that you are not too good for it.  Stay humble, and stay honest.

 - No matter what the problem is, it’s urgent.  It took a pretty substantial harvest of my wallet for me to catch onto this trick (and it really is a trick), but it is brilliant.  By inserting a strict time table into the equation and making the consequences incredibly dire, a panhandler makes it clear that he only has time to ask a few people for help, so by refusing him, you are drastically impeding his ability to get home or receive medical attention or whatever.  This tactic creates panic, confusion, and guilt, and it is incredibly effective.  More polished panhandlers will even talk more quickly and use their body language to reflect sheer panic.  When talking to a panhandler for the first time, make sure to slow the conversation.  Speak soothingly and patiently, and don’t fall for this trick.  See if you can coax out the real problem and then address that instead.

 - A family member in town refuses to offer assistance.  This is a bid for pity, plain and simple.  A younger brother will not allow him to sleep on the couch anymore.  A daughter has kicked him out into the cold to make room for her new boyfriend.  His own family has turned its back on him.  By making himself into a victim, a panhandler stands a better chance of getting money, and he can also use this to play on the family problems of the people whose aid he is seeking (you know, since more and more families in America are falling into the classification of “dysfunctional”).  Still, having seen it happen for real enough times, I usually go ahead and assume this part of the story is true, and offering to call the family member is always a nice thing to do, even though it will probably be refused.

 - A friend who was helping before can no longer be reached.  A phone number was lost.  The friend fell on hard times.  Whatever the reason, they can no longer offer help, and the story might indirectly cast a little blame on this friend (since being openly accusatory would make the panhandler look ungrateful, which would make you less likely to give money).  Of course, this element of the story is also just a reminder that there are plenty of folks out there who need help, and the introduction of a friend in need can be a good excuse to ask for more money. 

 - Something has been stolen.  This is the ultimate attempt to look victimized, and it gets used often.  It’s actually kind of a gamble since it means the panhandler has to point an accusatory finger at someone, thus compromising his own charitable and grateful image, but the sympathy tradeoff is worth it.  Theft is a very feasible and logical explanation for why the panhandler is short on cash, and it creates a feeling of innocence about the panhandler since he was subject to a crime that could happen to anyone.  It’s even more effective when used in a just-moved-to-town story.  Frankly, I seldom believe this one anymore.  Usually, it’s a ploy, and sometimes it’s even an indicator of paranoia.  It’s best to ignore this part of the story and try to coax out the real problem over a meal.

 - Is devoutly religious.  I don’t think I need to explain this one.  Faithful people appear more trustworthy.

 - Has been in a line of work very similar to your own.  The goal here is to create a sense of camaraderie and trust.  The panhandler wants to foster a sense of brotherhood with you, knowing that you will suffer tremendously from the guilt of refusing money to someone who could have easily been a coworker at one point.  This isn’t always going to be a lie either, and the more of a stretch the connection seems, the more likely that there might be a grain of truth to it.  Maybe teasing it out a bit will even hint to the panhandler that he can be a little more genuine with you, and I’ve had some great conversations result from this strategy.

 - Is a veteran.  Whether it’s a lie or the truth, this card usually gets played, and I actually have a theory that it started getting used more after 9-11, but the data collection tools don’t exist for me to study that hypothesis.  I always try to assume it’s true.  I’ve worked with homeless veterans, and I know that this country’s treatment of those who put their lives on the line for us is downright shameful.  Yes, the VA system is a start, but every town needs special resources to help our soldiers who went overseas and got mentally screwed up by the things they endured.  Those folks should never have to be out on the streets, and their families definitely aren’t equipped to deal with it, so we as a community need to provide for them.  In homeless vets, I’ve seen everything from PTSD to substance abuse to full-on schizophrenia.  These are people who need professional help, not handouts.  If a panhandler tells you that he’s a veteran, you stop whatever you’re doing, and you listen to him, because he’s had a hard road, and this country sure as hell isn’t going to help him.  Know the resources for homeless vets in your community and know how to transport someone to a place that can really help.  You’re not doing anyone any favors by giving money, but maybe, if you know where to look for help, there’s a chance that one of these heroes can get the treatment he really deserves.  (And yes, this particular issue is one of my “buttons.”  I believe that it should be the focus of every Veterans Day church service ever, and I believe that you’re a hypocrite if you call yourself patriotic but aren’t actively trying to address this.  Pacifists, you aren't exempt either; veterans are still your neighbors, and you are called to care for them.  So there.)

“The poor you will always have with you . . .” (Mark 14:7a)

Folks on the street really do need help picking themselves up sometimes.  No one makes it to a place of comfort in life without a helping hand somewhere along the way (I’m looking at you, Trump), and the vast majority of people who find themselves homeless only remain so temporarily.  Most people who seek handouts genuinely want to improve their circumstances, but when you’re in a high traffic/high commerce area and someone comes at you with a sob story, a set of props, and an oddly specific dollar amount, it’s okay to be a little suspicious.  Just giving them the money will almost assuredly make things worse for them and not better, but we are still called to show Christian love in these circumstances, and I believe the best thing to do is to engage panhandlers honestly and lovingly and then try to give them help in a non-monetary fashion.  Even if they turn down your assistance, at least treat them like people; they are God’s children too, and society so rarely treats them as such.  Shane Claiborne tells the story of a friend who begs for a living, and when he does so, he has a sign that reads, “Saying ‘no’ is better than saying nothing.”  Please, don’t just throw money at panhandlers and other folks in need so that you can assuage your conscience.  Put your wallet away.  Reach out your hand instead.  That’s the only way you’re really going to make a difference in someone’s life.

Now, if you haven’t figured it out, I’m going to go ahead and state it plainly: thanks to a little bit of conditioning over the past few years, I have become a naturally distrustful person, and I have kind of a disdain for panhandlers that I have to suppress when I’m interacting with them.  It’s not a class thing or some sort of uninformed fear of otherness.  It just really gets under my skin when people lie to me, and most of my relationships with panhandlers involve having to peel back a massive layer of untruths within my first fifteen minutes of knowing them.  My goal is always to find out the reality of their circumstances, get to know the real them, and help out in whatever way I can (other than money).  Sharing a meal with a panhandler is a way to encourage them and remind them that there’s more to life than just trying to suck money out of people.  A shared meal reminds a panhandler that he has value.  Listening to him reminds him that he’s a person, and once you cut through the bullshit, there’s usually a very beautiful story underneath.  You just have to be willing to work a little harder, and you have to be willing to get pushed away, because you almost certainly will, but that’s a sign that you’re doing the right thing.

We have created such a dichotomy between haves and have-nots in our society.  We have reduced people to thinking that the only way to overcome this is through begging for money, and we have forced many of these people to compromise their integrity in the quest to do so, resorting to lying, embellishing, and panhandling.  Why can’t we just treasure people?  Why does that wall need to exist?  Why do people have to remain invisible until they can concoct a story tragic enough to get our attention?  Why can’t we just be aware of the people around us?  Isn’t that what Christ called on us to do?  I think Peter Maurin said it best:

People who are in need

  and are not afraid to beg

  give to people not in need

  the occasion to do good

  for goodness' sake.

Modern society

  calls the beggar

  bum and panhandler

  and gives him the bum's rush.

The Greeks used to say

  that people in need

  are the ambassadors of the gods.

We read in the Gospel:

  "As long as you did it

  to one of the least

  of My brothers

  you did it to Me."

While modern society

  calls the beggars

  bums and panhandlers,

  they are in fact

  the Ambassadors of God.

To be God's Ambassador

  is something

  to be proud of.

Treasure those around you.  Especially those on the margins.  This upcoming week, take time to talk to someone.  I mean really talk.  Don’t just exchange pleasantries with a beggar while you fish out your wallet and dismiss them with a couple of bucks.  Sit down and have a conversation.  He can teach you a lot.  He’s a child of God just like you are.

Peace and Blessings,

Tom