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Panhandlers Human Filth and Real
Threat
By Phil Elmore
 “Sir!
Sir! Sir! Sir! Sir! Change? Change? Sir?”
The barking continued unabated for half
an hour. The disheveled black man, shambling about in front of a
shopping facility downtown, accosted each person who passed him on the
street entering or leaving the building. He was wearing one sneaker
and carrying the other. Literally barking at the top of his lungs,
he sent a barrage of begging at every individual he saw.
He was quite obviously mentally
deranged, chemically altered, or both. He was dirty and probably
carried any number of diseases. Several people cringed or otherwise
backed away when he approached them.
It made me furious.
What right did this scumbag have to
bother people in this way, to demand what they have earned simply because
he had the gall or the guts or the lack of shame to stick out his
grimy paw and shout for it?
I got out of my car. The creature
accosted me, his staccato demands for change alternating with his
rapid-fire attempts to get my attention. “Sir! Sir! Sir! Sir! Sir!”
I simply stood there and stared at him. He did not approach, so I
did nothing. At that moment I felt more hatred, more
loathing, than I think I have ever felt in my life. He did not
know how to react to my complete lack of response, so he stopped shouting
at me. Eventually he wandered into downtown traffic, still carrying
one sneaker.
The very next day I was again
downtown, checking the tire of my car after bumping the curb while
parking, when I heard a voice behind me.
“Excuse me, sir? Excuse me, sir?”
I ignored it. There is no one
downtown to whom I need to speak on the street. When the query was
repeated, this time more loudly and closer, I stood and whirled on the
speaker.
He was, predictably, a panhandler,
though he looked less obviously insane and was a little less dirty than
many. Muttering something about wanting two dollars to buy a bagel
at a nearby coffee shop — the surest sign that you are being panhandled
dishonestly is when the beggar offers too many specifics about what he is
going to do with the money — he was approaching me with his metaphorical
hand out.
In
Wing Chun we
are taught that a potential threat must not be allowed to close within
striking distance of you. You must attack the opponent preemptively
when he enters this range. When approached by someone whom you do
not trust, we are taught, you must put up your hands and maintain a safe
distance. As the panhandler approached my first thought was that I
must, at any cost, keep him outside that distance — or else I would have
to strike him, as I did not want him approaching me.
You see, every panhandler you meet IS a
potential threat to your health and your well-being. Under no
circumstances whatsoever should you allow a street person to approach you.
More importantly, nobody has the right to violate your personal
space without your consent. Let me say that again:
Street people do not have the right
to approach you.
Something clicked in my head. I was so angry.
I thought about the way street people decrease the quality of the lives of
every honest man and woman who walks down the sidewalks of my city,
harassed and intimidated by beggars who believe the world owes them
something for nothing, societal parasites who see nothing wrong with
simply asking for what others have earned because they think they
have some claim on the labor of others.
I pointed at him, bringing my rear hand up in a subtle
approximation of the double Wu Sau guard that is the default hand position
in Wing Chun Kung Fu.
“Step away,” I hissed.
Now, I’m not describing this because I think I’m cool or
because I think I have the ability to put the Fear of Phil into random
strangers. I was simply enraged and I spat at this beggar
with a hostility I did not realize I possessed. I reacted
instinctively — but my instincts were, in this case, developed by
training that simply took over under stress. I was pleased that when
I needed it, I did not have to think about it. That is the goal of
training to defend yourself for real-life problems.
As I pointed and glared at him, that street creature froze
in his tracks. He actually apologized, turned, and scampered
off in the other direction as if I’d threatened to kill him. I
looked down at my hands, exhaled, and was immediately hit with an attack
of the shakes as the adrenaline dump had its way with my nervous system.
I was a little shocked at the vehemence of my reaction —
but I was not sorry.
The reality of the homeless, of
panhandlers, is that the overwhelming majority of them have mental
problems, drug dependencies, or both. Crazy people and people “on
something” are the most dangerous of all potential assailants because they
are completely unpredictable and not deterred by actions or words that
give rational people pause.
How many women must be harassed and
made to feel physically threatened simply trying to get from home to work
and back again? How many honest citizens must be made to feel
somehow guilty for daring to work hard and lead productive lives simply
because some grasping, filthy beggar demands a hand-out? How many people
must wonder if they will contract lice, tuberculosis, hepatitis, or other
communicable diseases when forced to work and walk in close proximity to
the vile refuse of humanity? How many commuters must be stabbed with
fucking used hypodermic needles before we recognize the danger?
Panhandlers should not be objects of
our pity. They are potential threats who must be recognized
and avoided.
Their need does not constitute a
right to victimize you.
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Panhandlers What Really Scares You?
By David W. Pearson
 There
are very few places left that you can go that you do not see “panhandlers”
the homeless, the indigent, those that society has thrown away. There
was a time that I was working for a computer company here in Upstate New
York in the heart of the city. I would leave work every day, get into my
comfortable car in my secure parking lot, and drive out into five o’clock
traffic. At the first stop sign that I came to I would see a couple
standing on the corner. They both looked to be in their late forties to
early fifties, slightly disheveled, and they had a few bags with them.
Usually the man was holding a sign that said “Homeless Veteran.” He always
stood quietly watching the traffic that went by. They never looked really
dirty, menacing, mean, or like your stereotypical homeless people.
For the longest time I drove by this couple. Sometimes it would be
raining; sometimes it was snowing and rather cold. Most times I would pass
right by, not thinking much about them at all. There was the occasion when
traffic would have me stopped right next to them. I thought most times
“Don’t look. Just go about your business and leave them be. I had thought
during all my travels across the world that you should avoid the homeless.
They are dangerous, I thought. They are dirty, they are
crazy…
How wrong I was.
A cold wet day in the Fall changed my view forever. I was stopped in
traffic like on any other average day, only this time it was due to a
traffic accident ahead. It wasn’t serious — just a fender bender — but I
could see that I was not moving anytime soon. I pulled my cell phone from
my suit jacket, turned down the radio, and called home to let my wife know
I was going to be late.
I was a smoker at the time and I lit a cigarette.
I then glanced over at the man holding the sign. He was obviously
miserable. The rain was drizzling around him, threatening to freeze in the
cool Fall air. There I sat, a veteran, in my warm car with my cell phone,
a pack of cigarettes, and a cup of coffee in the cup holder. I hung my
head. Why did I feel guilt? Why should I? What made me want to look away
so badly?
There are defining moments in our lives that we will not forget. For some
of us these will be the day of the birth of our first child, the day we
get married, or perhaps the day we get that big promotion. I have had many
of these moments and they do change you in fundamental ways. Sometimes
they aren’t all a bed of roses. A defining moment could be a major injury
or illness, the death of a loved one, or a great loss such as a house
burning down. It has been said that your life is the sum of all your
experiences, that we are the culmination of our life’s work. We are
defined by the totality of these moments.
I had an epiphany the day I decided not to look away
any longer.
I rolled down my window and called over to this man. He had been standing
as proudly as he could in the cold rain holding his sign for at least the
twenty or so odd minutes that I had been waiting for traffic to clear up
in front of me. He looked over at me, a young man in a suit and tie,
sitting in a nice car, comfortable, wearing a wedding ring, and he walked
over to the car carefully.
“Good evening sir.” he said. His speech was
excellent; there was no drunken breath and no stumble in his step.
“Terrible day, isn’t it?” I attempted to make
conversation, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. I had never done
this before. Everything in my mind screamed that this wasn’t smart,
yet all my instincts said otherwise.
“I suppose. Heck, any day I can spend with my wife and breathe fresh, free
air is a good day, though,” he replied with surprising optimism. I was
amazed at his outlook on his situation. I offered him a smoke and he
turned it down. “Those things will kill you, man,” he explained. I
laughed. Indeed.
We made small talk and I pulled out my wallet and
looked inside. I had a single and a twenty. As we spoke I noticed that
traffic was going to clear soon; the tow truck up ahead was hooking up the
last car. I handed him the twenty and he took it as he asked, “Are you
sure?”
I smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure. Go get out of the rain,
okay?” He paused and looked straight at me.
“Thank you sir, I won’t forget this.” With that, he
walked away.
Maybe he won’t forget it. I know I never did.
I drove off feeling much better about life in general, but at the same
time I felt terribly sad. During our conversation that day I learned that
he had indeed served in the armed forces, in the late sixties and early
seventies. I assumed he was a Vietnam veteran. He had lost his job and
home after an injury and could no longer work. His wife was not able to
support them. They stayed with a relative until that was no longer an
option and they ended up in my town, stranded and broke. They had been
living in a shelter for years. An injury caused this man to be there,
standing in the rain.
It makes sense to be wary in today’s world. There are many that are out on
the street, looking for an easy way to take what you have. Criminals,
addicts, alcoholics, mentally disturbed people, and indeed most of them
are bad news. I looked at the homeless for years as the trash of society.
The rule of nature — survival of the fittest — dictates that the weak
will perish. It is how we evolve into a stronger whole. The fact still
stands that we are ALL human beings. Civilization requires that the strong
care for the weak or we end up living in a world of chaos.
Before you pass that “panhandler” by, take a good look. Then take a good
look inside yourself. Why do you look in the other direction and walk
away? Is it fear? Are you afraid that something as simple as a trip on the
sidewalk may put you in his situation? Are you afraid that you might be
seen with someone “like that?” Are you afraid for your safety? Are you
afraid of the unknown?
Honestly, what really scares you?
Decide what moments are defining your life.
Then look at the homeless you meet and think about the moments that are
defining theirs.
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