Event 4: The MTA Beggar
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Some time ago, a friend of mine asked me a question: “What do New York, Ukraine, and Singapore have in common?” Why she chose these three places, I’ll never know, but I always assumed it was for variety. My mind scanned the possible answer choices, and one answer stuck out to me – one unusual answer. “Beggars,” I answered, “the homeless and beggars.” She seemed surprised, so I felt the need to elaborate. I explained that to every place that I have ever traveled, I have seen them, but New York had special ones with special talents. Our conversation continued with various anecdotes about some incidents we had encountered of these New York City beggars on the infamous New York City MTA.
As a Brooklyn, New York resident I am forced to take either the train or bus almost every day. Often beggars come onto the train to ask for food and money. Some have routines that they perform, instruments that they play, while others just plain beg. Sometimes the riders of the train donate to these people and sometimes they do not. It has been my experience that people react to beggars negatively unless they are entertained, bringing up an important question: what exactly does a beggar need to do to earn money?
Last week, I got on the D train to travel to work around 3:00 and traveled one stop under peaceful conditions. The train was crowded as usual but luckily that day I scored a seat. Once the train stopped at its first destination after I climbed aboard, many people began to pile in; among them was a man wearing a crumbled blue dress shirt with a white tank top showing through. He was wearing black pants and appeared to be dirty. I could not see his shoes. As soon as he entered the train, he began a rant about how embarrassing begging was and how he wishes to be able to live without it. He claimed to have been out looking for work all day becoming hungry and leaving his search with no opportunity to buy food. He continued to ask for donations of money. When he first began to talk I looked at the woman sitting across from me. She was a twenty something year old brunette wearing a pale purple dress, high heels, and rocking a Marc Jacobs bag. As soon as he began his lecture she quickly closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. I continued to glance around the train and it had seemed that all of the people who were alive just seconds ago had fallen prey to a sleeping plague. This poor man was the plague. Two brave souls in my train cart donated a few jingling coins and he went farther on his way.
A few days later on my way into the city, in the evening with a group of friends, luck struck again. This time it was on the B train. Three Spanish looking, middle-aged men boarded the train with their instruments. One held a pair of maracas and a triangle, the other carried a set of portable drums, and the third gripped a large guitar-like instrument (I think it may have been a mandolin). Upon boarding they began to play their instruments and sing. I looked around the train, and strangely there was no sleeping plague. The people who were talking before, continued talking; the people who were reading before, continued reading; and those few that seemed asleep before now awoke to listen to the music. Coincidentally it was my friend’s birthday, and unbeknown to her at the time, another of my friends approached them and requested a happy-birthday song. They sang happy birthday in both Spanish and English for her, setting a happy mood for the rest of her party. We gave them money for the song, and it seemed that other people on the train began to donate as well.
My final incident occurred on my way home from a football game on the Q train line. A man, who I had seen before on numerous times, wearing broken down timberland boots and ripped jeans boarded the train on the Prospect Park station. His speech began as it had in the past: “You may have seen me on the Q line before. Sometimes I come out with my family. We are homeless.” As I previously mentioned, I have seen this man on numerous occasions, and not once have I seen his family with him. He asked for donations just as the other groups did, and like the first man, received a few coins of jingling change. The sleeping plague returned. One couple rested on each other, while a mother tried to distract her daughter from the man by telling her a riddle. Once he left, a teenage boy sitting next to me called his friend and told her about the man in Russian. Since I am Russian speaking I was able to understand the conversation. He began the story with annoyance and cursed the lying man. He told his friend, that like I, he had seen the guy many times, yet never with his family. He claimed to feel sorry for homeless people in general but said that he felt this man was lying about having a family, making him an “ass-hole. ” He continued to vent further saying that the man was playing on the emotions of others and should be jailed for disturbing public peace. “This stop is Ocean Parkway,” the conductor announced as the doors opened, and I walked out.
I realized that it is much easier to reject a person by not rejecting him at all. Those people who had fallen asleep were not responsible for helping the men eat any longer. They had submitted all responsibilities to the few that were brave enough to stay awake. Naturally people are cowards, unable to honestly reject a person, resorting to other tactics such as sleep. During this observation, I also learned that people donate more money when they are entertained. The mariachi band entertained the passengers and got paid whereas the other two men just requested money but provided no service. In New York’s capitalistic society, services must be rendered for payment. So for a beggar to be successful, he must provide a service to the people such as a performance.
