New York Sign Language

The Psychology of Begging in New York

By BOB YAMPOLSKY

Let us start this month with a handwritten sign in the window of a delicatessen on West 72nd Street, in one of Manhattan's fancier neighborhoods. The sign says: "No begging in front of store," and then in small letters, "please."

To understand this sign, you have to know a thing or two about Manhattan. First of all, there are many beggars - only we do not usually call them "beggars," but "panhandlers." (They are called panhandlers because, when they hold out their hands to ask for money, their arms look like the handles of pans.) Secondly, a favorite spot for panhandlers is right in front of delicatessens and grocery stores.

There is very sound reasoning behind this. First, a person going into the store will have to pass the panhandler twice - going in and coming out. And while most people can pass a panhandler once without giving anything, a good number have difficulty doing it twice.

Second, if the person buys something in the store, it's likely that he'll receive some change, and since he has the change in his hand, he might very well think, "Well, I'll just give this to the panhandler outside."

Third, having bought food for himself, the person is likely to feel guilty about passing this panhandler without giving something ― especially when the panhandler says, "Can you help me get something to eat?"

So for all these reasons, panhandlers choose to stand in front of delis. The stores, as you might expect, do not like this. Many stores will chase panhandlers away. Others will make them work ― cleaning up, hauling boxes of produce from the basement - just for the right to stand in front of the store and panhandle. This store on 72nd is the only one that I've ever seen that uses a sign.

For our second anti-panhandler sign we will descend into the other prime locale for panhandling: the subways.

This sign is designed as a cartoon balloon showing the thoughts of a character. The character, in this case, is a rider, sitting directly beneath the sign: "Oh no ... another panhandler. Why do they always stop in front of me? Don't they know it's illegal for anyone to ask for money on the subway? Sure, I feel for you. But if I give my money to charity, I can be sure it goes to the truly needy."

There is a great variety of panhandlers - black, white, male, female, young, old - but in the subways, at least, most operate in pretty much the same manner. They will enter a car, stand at one end, and in a loud voice tell their plight (which almost always includes homelessness). "I do not rob, I do not steal," begins one man. "I haven't eaten for two days," screeches one woman. "Virtually everything I own I have on me now," says a dignified middle-aged fellow.

Invariably, the faces of their audience display the same emotion: indifference, with just a hint of nervousness. On the street you can walk away, but in the subway you have to wait until the panhandler passes you by. The only ones who turn to look are those behind him or far enough away or at an oblique enough angle not to make eye contact with the panhandler, who makes his way slowly down the aisle, arm outstretched, stopping from time to time in front of someone who looks like a potential giver. When the panhandler exits, the relief in the car ― though unspoken ― is palpable.

I've thought about why we don't use the word "beggar" much in America. It sounds desperate, and only someone in true poverty, we think - someone in Calcutta, maybe, or some place like that - begs. "Panhandler" is slightly mocking and it does not sound desperate at all. It seems to suggest that the panhandler panhandles simply because he is too lazy to work. In other words, it is his own fault that he is poor. And since it is his own fault, we have no obligation to help him. This, I think, is the way that America likes to think about its beggars.

Shukan ST: Jan. 30, 1998

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