The View from My Window.
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“Hey OG, can you give me a dollar?” asked the man panhandling at McDonald’s near my office.
There is so much to unpack in this one sentence.
Who is OG? Did he mean “old guy” or “old goat”? The real answer is “original gangster.” It’s a term of respect and endearment (don’t worry if you are not hip enough to know this. I didn’t know it either). So I guess I am the original gangster in that “old-polite-gay-boy-gone-bad” kind of way.
Next, he asked for a dollar. Now, I am used to people panhandling and asking for spare change, but lately panhandlers have been very explicit about what they want. And they look disappointed if you don’t give them what they ask for. I have heard some say, “Is that all you can give?” or “I don’t want any pennies and nickels.”
Finally, McDonald’s? Yes, I go there sometimes. I admit it. Don’t judge.
When I stepped down in June from my job as associate dean, I moved from the iconic Talbot Building to an office in the Crosstown Building, joining with other members of the Department of Community Health Sciences. My new office on the 4th floor has huge windows that face Massachusetts Avenue. From these windows, I have a front row seat to the daily panorama of events involving the large crowd of people who frequent the sidewalk on Mass Ave.
The people are homeless, substance users, and have various mental illness challenges. Some have one of these conditions; others have all three. Some people have lots of material goods that they carry in suitcases, backpacks, shopping carts. Others seem to have nothing. The crowd appears to be mostly youngish (20’s, early 30’s). I rarely see any older people among them. There are men, women, and many different races.
I have become obsessed with what happens on the sidewalk. I go to my office almost every day and spend the first one or two hours looking out of the windows at the events on the street.
From 6-9 am, people who have been sleeping on the sidewalk start waking up and moving about. They fold up tents, gather up their belongings. Some change clothes and put their other clothes in backpacks and suitcases. Around 9 am there is more movement on the sidewalk. Some people leave the area. Others stay. There is drug selling, drug using. Some people talk to others on the sidewalk. Some people stay by themselves. The crowd thins out.
Around 3-5 pm, more of the homeless population returns to the sidewalk to scout their “residence” as they prepare for the night. Around 6 pm, the sidewalk is full of people, mostly sitting in clusters, spilling out into the street lane. By 10 pm, everybody has mostly settled down. A few tents have popped up. People lie on the sidewalk covering themselves with sheets, towels, coats. At 2 am there is almost no movement at all and the sidewalk is quiet.
This happens every day. On the weekend, people hang around the sidewalk all day. The area is heavily littered with trash. On weekdays, the police and the street cleaners sometimes come and disperse the population from the sidewalk. I don’t know where they go. I just know they return almost every night.
People stationed along the sidewalk often go back and forth to the McDonald’s located about a block away from the Mass Ave sidewalk. This is where I have met some of them.
It started innocently enough when I drove to Mickey D’s for a snack. Somebody approached my car and asked for money. We had a brief conversation. Now, almost every day when I leave my office, I drive to the takeout lane at McDonalds. Almost immediately, somebody approaches my car and asks for money. Sometimes I give money, but most times I say, “sorry, won’t give you money, but I will buy you food. What do you want?” Sometimes they say “I really want the money.” I repeat, “what can I buy for you?” I order their requests at the drive-up kiosk—a burger, Chicken McNuggets, vanilla shake—whatever they ask for. The panhandlers usually approach the many other cars in the drive-through, too. Some people do the same as I do, others roll up their windows to avoid contact.
After I pick up my food, I drive to one of the parking spaces. The panhandler follows my car. I park and give “my” panhandler the food. Then, I ask questions. Lots of them.
“What’s your name? How long have you lived on streets? What drugs do you take? How often? Does your family know where you are? How do you make money to support your drug habit? Are you interested in treatment? Have you ever been in treatment? What are you going to do for the rest of the day?
I want to know everything. People are usually quite forthcoming with details about their lives. I have done this enough times that I have some “regulars” that come to my car when I go to Mickey D’s.
James (not his real name) uses crack, and has been using for 10 years.
Casio drinks alcohol, and especially likes Southern Comfort. He will drink anything, though, and a lot of it. His family kicked him out of the house years ago. He wants to get in treatment. But not today.
Terry is glad to be a middleman and makes money couriering drugs between sellers and people who want to buy. He makes enough money to buy several hits of crack each day. Sometime he provides sexual favors for men to make more money. He will do anything for money.
There is John. He had been drug-free for three months, then COVID-19 happened. He lost his job at a restaurant and couldn’t pay rent for the room he was sharing with his girlfriend. He started using drugs again—heroin and fentanyl. He suspects that nobody cares about him. Never has. Never will.
There are others. Lots of others.
After every encounter, I have so many more questions. Where do you go when it rains? Where do you use the bathroom? I feel sad, confused, hopeless. I am left wondering what I am supposed to do.
Frankly, I don’t know.
We tell students, faculty and staff here at BUSPH to show respect and maintain safety. Show respect for the people and the challenges they experience. They are somebody’s mother, father, brother, sister, cousin, friend. Respect them. If and when they speak to you, look them in the eye when you reply. If they ask for money, make a decision about whether you want to give money. You don’t have to. It is your choice. Just be respectful.
We also tell members of our school community to think about their own safety. Most people on the street will not hurt you. Still, you should also be cautious, and use your best judgment when approaching crowds of people on the sidewalk. If there are too many people on the sidewalk, I will cross the street and walk on the opposite side. Be aware of where you are. Stay alert.
Respect and safety are great ways to engage with the street community. But this is not nearly enough to satisfy my desire to help. A few weeks ago, I emptied my closet of most of the blue dress shirts I wore to work when I was associate dean. I left them on the Mass Ave. sidewalk knowing that some person in need would pick them up. I don’t have an answer for what I—we—should do to address the issues on Mass Ave. NOT YET. I am still working on it.
In the meantime, I am going to continue observing from my Crosstown Building window, asking questions, and carrying a cache of dollar bills for the next time somebody approaches and calls me “OG.”
Harold Cox is an associate professor of community health sciences.