A Series of Vignettes: How I was told to never give anything to a panhandler

Plenty of panhandlers sit and ask for money near street performers in Chicago.

There's a new girl on the streets - a young woman standing on the pavement with a teddy bear and a cardboard sign asking for money. I hadn't seen her before that day, and neither have the other street performers. One of the street performers came up to me and asked me to speak with her. He was concerned about her, wondering what she was doing here, and figured that she would be more willing to open up to me. I spoke with her briefly, was careful not to pry, and worked nearby. When she disappeared from view, the busker told me that some of the other female panhandlers - concerned about the competition - had chased her away. He returned a few minutes later with her in tow. I didn't see her again after that day.

There was a special on ABC, a busker told me, where they interviewed a panhandler, a magician, and a musician. They asked each of them how much they earned in a day. This performer pointed out how evasive the musician was in his answer. I was, instead, struck by the fact that someone had thought to compare these three.

One busker complains to me: "People think you're homeless or impoverished or have a lot of personal issues" if you are street performing. And then "you try it," and it is "nothing like that."

Another day. It's winter time, and I'm observing instead of performing. There's a man sitting on the corner. He's got a warm winter hat on and a cardboard sign. "Please help," he yells out. "Trying to get bus fare! To the homeless shelter! Peace and love! Have a beautiful day." He takes a breath and continues. "Trying to get bus fare! To the homeless shelter!" And on and on he went. When the nearby street performer's music is turned off, and the street is suddenly quiet enough for me to hear his words, I hear the same pitch repeated throughout the day. I very quickly get used to the rhythm.

When the street performer whom I am observing turns off his music for a second, I suddenly hear the familiar cadence of his voice. "Hey Bozo!" he says to this performer. "I'm gonna be across the street til you take a break!" The performer nods and tells the man that he'll be taking a break in another thirty minutes or so. Then he turns to me after that panhandler has left: another panhandler - one who stops by regularly - is supposed to be coming in a bit too. The performer shrugs. "We'll see what happens," he tells me. He normally pays a nearby panhandler to watch his stuff while he takes a break. Looks like there's going to be some competition today.

The other man never shows up. The "bus fare" panhandler gets the job. After the break, the performer pulls some cash out of his pocket and hands it to the panhandler.

I get a lecture. It's the first of many similar lectures, all by different street performers. The essence of the lecture is the same: Never give any money to panhandlers.

"Because if you do, they'll be back."

"There's no reason anybody should be out on the streets of Chicago. There's too many resources."

"They don't need money for food ... There are plenty of places in the city for food and a roof over the head head."

"It's crack money."

There's a McDonald's that I frequent when I'm street performing. There's a man nearby who always asks for a quarter - no more, no less. He doesn't seem to ever recognize me. I give him a quarter sometimes when I'm walking alone. When I walk past him with other street performers, he doesn't even ask.

A street performer has a rag nearby. He gestures towards it and tells me how he got the rag. It was a hot day. He needed a cloth of some sort and recruited a panhandler to stop by a store and get it for him while he was performing. When the man came back, the performer was told that the rag costs $3, but the performer could have it for $2. He suspected that the rag was stolen. He shrugs and laughs. He told me he didn't mind. "It was to a good cause, I guess." I hear a hint of doubt in his voice.

Someone approaches me after a show. He thanks me with a handshake and a smile. He comes back later with a friend. I don't do a full show. I show them one trick. They leave with a smile. They don't pay, and I don't ask them for money.

After a show, two panhandlers - one after the other - approach a street performer. He reaches into his hat and pulls out some cash for each of them while they chat. I am nearby, chatting with another busker. He very loudly tells me never to give any money to panhandlers. I just nod slightly, a little embarrassed by how loudly he was speaking with all this happening next to us.

After they leave, the performer who gave them the money turns to me. He tells me these are the only two individuals that he will give money to. They are mentally ill, he says. And one of them "just makes me laugh."

A traveling magician proudly recounts how a panhandler in his audience had just emptied out his earnings for the day into his hat. The rest of the audience had burst into applause.

A busker tells me: "The panhandlers don't need a license. We do. And we're under the same first amendment right."

I see a panhandler stand up and move when a street performer approaches. I ask him why he is leaving. "I was trying to get bus fare to the homeless shelter," he tells me. But he moved because "This is his [that street performer's] corner."

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*Panhandlers were never the focus of my research, and I represent them here only through their interactions with street performers. Writing about them in detail would be unethical (since they did not know of my role as researcher), but ignoring them completely would be a misrepresentation. These vignettes were my attempt to bring them back into the story, to show that despite how rarely I write of these individuals, panhandlers play a very real role in the landscape that they share with street performers and the shoppers in downtown Chicago.