Even if you do not see them, they are there. Every day they are standing at the stoplight at the interstate ramp of I-40 at 15-501. They are holding signs that say, "Homeless, Stranded, Need Help." You might occasionally glance at them but you are careful to avoid eye contact. You wonder if they are really stranded and homeless. You wonder how much money they make. You wonder if they would accept an ordinary day job if someone offered it. You wonder what type of condition, circumstance, or character flaw allows these men to degrade themselves by begging for change at freeway stops. You occasionally take quick glances at their faces and see vacant, distant, pathetic expressions. You begin to notice the same expression on the faces of many other highway beggars in the area. You wonder what their lives are really like.
Maybe you do not wonder about any of this at all, but many of us do. I did. I became curious about two men who I had noticed standing every day at the 15-501 Exit off of I-40. One morning a few months ago (for reasons that I still do not understand) I pulled off the ramp and onto a service road. I walked through the underbrush, over a fence, across the ramp and approached one of the highway beggars. As I approached the homeless man, I mentally rehearsed a few openers to explain my interest. I slowly walked close enough to shake hands and introduce myself.
I said, "I've noticed you guys out here for a long time. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" The homeless man said, "What kind of questions?" "I don't really know, yet," I admitted. "I have this idea about making a videotape that describes what you guys are doing out here. I think a lot of people would be interested." "I don't know about a videotape, but we'll be happy to talk to you. I'm Charles."
He looked over into a stand of trees about 30 feet from the ramp. There were two other homeless men sitting on crates in what I later learned was their "break area." Charles pointed at me and yelled over the traffic noise to one of the other homeless men, "Talk to him!" He smiled at me and said, "His name is Bulldog. I can't talk to you right now. You can go talk to Bulldog if you want to."
Bulldog looked like a guy who had earned his nickname. He was a short, sturdy, tattooed guy with long hair. He was sitting with another man who appeared to have some type of skin disorder. I walked over and sat down in the break area and started chatting with Bulldog. He told me that he was a former Navy Seal. He said that he had been on the highway ever since both of his parents died many years ago. He said that he and Charles worked together and that they had been standing at this same ramp for almost two years. I must have looked surprised that they had been at the same spot for so long. Bulldog explained, "We're all out here waitin' for something. Charles over there is waitin' to get his driver's license back. Ralph here is waitin' for his disability claim to go through. Everybody out here is waitin' for something." I asked, "What are you waiting for, Bulldog?" Bulldog looked up to the sky, raised his hands into the air and said, "I'm waitin' to be taken up by Jesus."
Eventually Charles joined us in the break area. He appeared to be a respected leader among the group. He told me that he previously worked for thirteen years for an electric company in the area. He had been married and had several children. His life had taken a sour turn a few years ago when he lost his driver's license. He was a little vague about how this happened, but he said the loss of his driver's license started a chain reaction of negative events that left him with no way to earn money.
I brought up the idea of making a videotape to tell some of these stories. Bulldog made it very clear that he was not interested. Charles said, "We don't know you well enough for something like that. But you can come out here anytime to talk with us if you want." His invitation led to a series of visits over the next several months. During these visits I learned a great deal about their lives. I also grew to like these guys.
The first few conversations focused primarily on the mechanics of their work as panhandlers. Charles and Bulldog told me that they "own" the ramp at I-40 and 15-501. They sometimes share their ramp with a few other local people, and they are happy to share "shifts" with drifters who are just passing through. I asked Bulldog if other panhandlers ever challenged their ownership of the ramp. He looked over into the trees at a long metal pole and said he was not worried about that. He said it was "sort of a code of the West" that panhandlers respected each others' property rights. Charles and Bulldog start early enough each morning to catch the rush hour traffic.
They take a long break about ten o'clock. They return in the afternoon around three and work through evening rush hour. They work in thirty minute shifts. One of them stands on the ramp with a sign while the other sits on a crate in the break area. They are a team, and they work together well. They pool their revenue and share expenses. They say they each can make about ten to twelve dollars a day, but I suspect that they may make a little more than that. Charles has studied the giving patterns of people passing by and can predict which days will be better than average. For example, he said, "Fridays before holiday weekends are always our best days."
Charles and Bulldog live together in a campsite in the woods near the Interstate. They do not reveal the location of the campsite but they appear to be very proud of it. They each have a tent, sleeping bag and a propane tank. They live in this campsite year round, regardless of the temperature. They store water in containers and take "half a bath" at the campsite each morning. The other "half a bath" they take in the restroom at Wal-Mart. They take pride and satisfaction in their ability to live independently in the woods. They correctly pointed out that, "Not everybody can to do it."
Eventually, I learned that Charles and Bulldog have "regulars" who frequently give them food. Bulldog told me that he once returned to the break area after being away for a while, and someone had left food on top of one of the crates. On one occasion while we were talking, they were eating freshly baked bread given to them that morning by a truck driver from a bakery. In fact, they seemed to have plenty of food. "What we really need," Bulldog said, "is propane fuel and bug repellent to get rid of the ticks."
Charles and Bulldog told me that each panhandler in Durham must buy a permit for twenty dollars from the city or be subject to a fine. This permit includes a photo ID that the panhandler must wear when working. This requirement became relevant one afternoon when I was at the Interstate ramp during a visit from the Durham police. A young policeman parked his patrol car and approached the break area where I was sitting with four panhandlers. Everyone but me quickly stood up and displayed his ID card. When the cop asked to see my permit, Charles said, "This guy is some kind of social worker. He's okay." The friendly cop accepted the harmless but untrue explanation and left.
I think the police actually like the panhandlers at the 15-501 ramp, and I can understand why. On another day while I was visiting the ramp, a car at the intersection started to smoke from under the hood. A young woman driving the car panicked and immediately called 911 on her cell phone. Charles approached the car and asked if he could help. The distraught woman said that she thought her car was on fire. Charles asked for permission to look under the hood where he saw a small leak in one hose. He reassured the woman that her car was fine. He called Bulldog over to help push the car out of the road and onto the curb. Within minutes a police car and a fire truck were at the scene. Charles took charge. He explained the circumstance to the patrolman and told him, "Everything is under control." The police and fire department quickly moved on to other matters. When the woman's husband arrived, Charles continued to manage the situation in a way that minimized the young woman's embarrassment for overreacting. Later Charles told me that he and Bulldog often manage situations like that at "their intersection."
Charles, Bulldog, and the other panhandlers I met are not ashamed about begging for money. Their acceptance of begging challenges the stereotypes about work and self sufficiency that most men in our culture are stuck with, whether we like it or not. I think Charles and Bulldog have created some sophisticated rationalizations that make them more comfortable with begging. For example, Charles says, "At least we are not stealing money. We would rather accept what people give us than steal it." Another rationalization is supported by the permit that they wear. They say, "If there was something wrong with panhandling why would the city sell us a permit to do it?" One of their friends said, "I am not proud of standing out here with a sign but I am proud of being able to live on my own in the woods."
After two years at the same Interstate ramp, Charles and Bulldog have established some very strong relationships beyond the community of fellow panhandlers. The strongest of these relationships is with a group of Divinity School students from Duke University. This handful of students has created the 15-501 Ministry that exists to serve the handful of panhandlers near the 15-501 intersection. Every Sunday afternoon the students set up a small tent at the end of a service road and conduct a Christian church service for the panhandlers. The students return every Monday afternoon and serve a free meal. The students have a very strong friendship with Charles and Bulldog that appears to be based on mutual trust and respect. One of the students is helping Charles get his driver's license back.
Charles and Bulldog do not have a house, but I do not think they are homeless. They have a comfortable campsite and people who give them enough money and supplies to eat reasonably well. They even have a sense of independence that comes with being free spirits who are able to make a home in the woods. In some ways they have more than a house. They have created a genuine community.
I do think that they are stranded and need help. Charles expressed it best when he said, "If somebody drove by in a car and gave me a thousand dollars it wouldn't make any difference. I could get an apartment and pay the deposits and two months' rent. After that I would be right back out here, but I would have lost this ramp and lost my campsite." I think he is stranded on the Interstate ramp because he cannot take the risk to leave and let go of what little he already has.
Their situation seems similar to many of us who drive by on their ramp. We own cars and live in houses, but many of us are still stranded in one situation or another. Some of us are stranded in painful relationships. Some of us are stranded in dead end jobs or in mindless routines. Some of us are stranded on Interstate ramps. Maybe the common thread is our inability to take our own version of risk that threatens what little we have.
Sparky, another member of the 15-501 panhandling community, told me he has been standing on I-40 with a sign since 1991. I asked, "How long are you going to do this?" He said, "Only three more years. Then I'm going to retire." He sounded just like countless other people who tread water while waiting for retirement. Maybe we avoid eye contact with the panhandlers because we do not want to face what we have in common.
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