This third edition of "Korihor's Corner" is something of a special event. Today—Tuesday, February 17, 1998—my good friend Bob Howe and I are swapping essays. When we discovered we were each writing pieces on the theme of panhandling, me for "Korihor's Corner" and him for his excellent “Fetish Weather Forecast,” it seemed only logical that we should share. So I'm running his along with mine, and he's running mine along with his. We hope you enjoy this two-fisted, stereoscopic examination of the problem of panhandling in American cities.
And also, ye yourselves will succor those that stand in need of your succor; ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish.
—Mosiah 4:16
Latter-day Saints hail King Benjamin as one of the greatest prophets of their holy volume of scripture The Book of Mormon, though the short section dealing with this character spans no more than twenty pages of this 531-page book. This is due largely to a single sermon delivered by Benjamin, which takes up most of the aforementioned twenty pages. The sermon in question covers such disparate topics as the characteristics of a good king, the foretelling of Jesus Christ's birth and ministry and sacrifice, the practical meaning of repentance and remission of sins, and the proper treatment of the poor and needy.
Mormons refer to this sermon, as recounted in Chapters Two through Five of the Book of Mosiah, as "King Benjamin's Address"—and it's that last topic I mentioned that the leaders of the Mormon Church would appear to have skimmed over in their reading, the one about the dispensation of the poor.
The thrust of King Benjamin's remarks on this subject, as contained in what Mormons consider canonized scripture and what their prophets have hailed as "the most correct of any book on earth," are that to deny the petitions of beggars is a grave and mortal sin. Segueing from a discussion of the effects of God's forgiveness, Benjamin says this to his assembled subjects:
And also, ye yourselves will succor those that stand in need of your succor; ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish.
Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just—
But I say unto you, O man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent; and except he repenteth of that which he hath done he perisheth forever, and hath no interest in the kingdom of God.
For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind?—Mosiah 4:16-19
Okay, so here Mormons are exhorted by their holy scriptures in unequivocal terms to not deny the petitions of beggars. So what in the world is that sign doing on the sidewalk beside the Temple entrance at the corner of Main Street and North Temple in Salt Lake City?
You know the sign I mean, if you've attended the Salt Lake Temple any time in recent memory. It's a modest but forceful sign, phrased gently but in the sort of unquestionably authoritative voice to which Mormons are so conditioned to respond with obedience. The sign requests that, in accordance with city ordinances, Temple patrons not give money to panhandlers at the Temple gates, but rather contribute money to homeless shelters, where it can do more good.
And the panhandlers are there—oh, boy are they ever. They know a corner ripe for the plucking when they see it. Thousands of well dressed and affluent Saints pass through those gates every day, on their way to redeem their ancestral dead by standing proxy in ritualistic ceremonies rife with secret passwords and handshakes. Surely some of those well-fed worshippers can be convinced to part with a few of their hard-earned shekels before they enter the House of the Lord to commune with the Holy Spirit! And surely this does happen, or else the panhandlers would find some other corner on which to ply their trade.
But what about that sign? Why don't the good Mormon people obey it? Well, a lot of them do. But others no doubt recall the lesson that King Benjamin taught, and they don't deny the beggars their petition.
I defied that sign myself on a few occasions, though the last time I passed through those gates was late in 1991. I gave ten dollars to a young fellow who said he needed gas money to get to a job interview, and who told me if I came to that same corner at the same time the next day, he would pay me back in full. I didn't judge his request—well, okay, I did judge his request. I judged that he was lying—but that didn't stop me from imparting of my substance, because I had learned from the scriptures that was what I was supposed to do.
Which is why I was always so troubled by that damned sign, even before I decided to set my back to the Mormon Church forever. It might very well be true that donating money to a homeless shelter would do more good than squandering it on isolated beggars—but King Benjamin did not say to donate money to a homeless shelter. He said not to deny the beggar his petition.
But panhandling is illegal, you might argue. There's a city ordinance against it! Ergo, giving money to a panhandler is abetting and encouraging crime! Not to mention the fact that Joseph Smith counseled us in his Articles of Faith—also canonized Mormon scripture—to keep and respect the law:
[Mormons] believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law.—Articles of Faith 1:12
Well, fine—except that the Bible and The Book of Mormon both are rife with examples of people forced to choose between obeying two conflicting commandments. Adam and Eve: don't eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of How to Have Sex—but do multiply and replenish the earth. Nephi: thou shalt not kill—but thou shalt lop the head off this drunken oaf I've dropped into the dust here at your feet. Modern Saints: obey the law—but don't deny the beggar his petition.
It would seem to me, weighing the two sides, that the beggar wins in a walk.
Besides which, I've pored over The Book of Mormon, and there's only one loophole I've found for the beggar rule. It goes like this:
And again, I say unto the poor, ye who have not and yet have sufficient, that ye remain from day to day; I mean all you who deny the beggar, because ye have not; I would that ye say in your hearts that: I give not because I have not, but if I had I would give.
And now, if ye say this in your hearts ye remain guiltless, otherwise ye are condemned; and your condemnation is just for ye covet that which ye have not received.—Mosiah 4:24, 25
In other words, poverty is the only acceptable excuse for not giving, and even then you have to want to give, or else you're toast, no matter how poor you are.
This is one of the few ideals from my Mormon upbringing, aside from basic moral principles like not killing and not stealing, that I still practice today. I'm not saying that I think it's better or smarter to give to panhandlers than it is to donate to homeless shelters and outreach programs—that's not the point of this essay at all. The point is that I was taught from a young age not to judge the beggar—and that the wizened old tightwad hypocrites who run the multibillion-dollar corporation that the Mormon Church has become appear to have forgotten this basic lesson from the very scriptures they hawk like snake-oil salesmen through late-night infomercials and 1-800 numbers.
I have a message for those dried-up, loveless misers who have judged the petition of the beggar before they've even heard it, and who are interested in nothing more than keeping unsightly riffraff from clogging the portals of their Temple. Call the number listed on your screens and order yourselves a free copy of your vaunted other "testament of Christ," The Book of Mormon. Turn to the fourth chapter of Mosiah and review the principles you purport to believe, paying particular attention to the promise in the twenty-second verse:
And if ye judge the man who putteth up his petition to you for your substance that he perish not, and condemn him, how much more just will be your condemnation for withholding your substance, which doth not belong to you but to God, to whom also your life belongeth; and yet ye put up no petition, nor repent of the thing which thou hast done—Mosiah 4:22
Jesus knew what to do with the moneychangers in his temple. I don't believe there's any true justice, either in this world or in the next, but if there is, then I hope Christ comes back in all his righteous fury and flogs the shit out of you bastards.
In the meantime, I'll give my money to whomever I feel like giving it to. And you can be certain it won't be you. Not ten percent—not anything.
Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?
Robert J. Howe
Copyright © 1998 by Robert J. Howe. Reprinted by permission from “Fetish Weather Forecast.”
I take the New York City subway every day, and every day I see one of the most mean-spirited features of the Guiliani administration. It's an advertisement, set in a thought balloon so that it appears to be issuing from the head of whoever is seated in front of the ad. The text goes like this, more or less:
"Oh, no, it's another panhandler. They always seem to ask me for money. Don't they know it's illegal to ask for money on the subway? I feel bad for them, but I want to give my money to legitimate charities—so I know it will go to the really needy."
Or words to that effect.
Me, I give money away to everyone who asks. Usually whatever change is in my pocket, or a dollar or two, if I'm feeling flush. The only exception is the rare panhandler who tries to be intimidating—I have a loathing for extortionists, and I see no point in encouraging any more anti-social behavior than there already is on the streets of New York.
Sometimes this seeming irresponsibility irritates whoever I happen to be with. My stock reply is that it's better to be the panhandled than the panhandler. The truth goes deeper than that, however. For one thing, I have a touch of the Bill Clinton disease: I want everyone to like me—even panhandlers. I want to be a "nice" guy, strange when you consider that I'm into S & M.
I've made less trivial decisions than who gets my pocket change based on this desire to be a nice guy. As a brand-new seaman aboard the US Coast Guard's 95-foot patrol boat Cape George, I decided that I wanted to be an electrician based on the performance of the boat's electrician, Lloyd Wentworth. Lloyd was a happy-go-lucky Electrician's Mate Second Class—that he was on independent duty (no supervising Electrician's Mate Chief or First Class) meant that Lloyd's previous superiors thought he was a pretty skilled electrician. What impressed me at the time, however, was that everyone on the Cape George came to Lloyd when they needed something fixed. From the Skipper (a Lieutenant J.G.) on down. Whether it was some piece of the boat's equipment or some broken piece of personal gear, Lloyd always got the call.
When I graduated from electrician's school on Governor's Island and was sent to the USCGC Gallatin, a 378-foot high-endurance cutter, I emulated Lloyd as best I could. In time, I became a fairly skilled troubleshooter, (though not as skilled as I thought was, being 22-years-old and still rather damp behind the ears). But I gave almost every job my best shot, and pretty soon the other engineers were calling for me when there was a troubleshooting job—sometimes regardless of the fact that one of my three Third Class colleagues was the duty electrician, and I was entitled to "sleep in." Since sleep is the holiest of sacraments to a sailor (food being the next holiest, and sex completing the sailor's trinity), I didn't always take the professional compliment with the best grace. Despite its shortcomings though, that life of service was in many ways a deeply satisfying one.
And this, more or less, has been the story of my life. From my earliest recollections, I valued service above personal enrichment; self-sacrifice above self-interest. I came of age in the post-JFK world, but his famous words, "Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country," resonated deeply in my adolescent soul. As an adult I have worked almost exclusively for non-profit, humanitarian, or news organizations (the latter having an influence on me disproportionate to the small amount of time I was actually among the working press).
Given my worldview, it's not surprising that I've remained in modestly-paid jobs in non-profit settings. The other side of the coin, of course, is that I hold in contempt those whose main goal is making money. This doesn't immunize me from envy—rather, it makes the pangs of jealousy more keen. I can't quite decide whether I'd rather be amomg the rich, or have the rich be poor. On the one hand, human nature being what it is, people will not work without incentives (usually financial); on the other, I can't help but think that there is a certain level of comfort and dignity we owe those unable or even unwilling to work. Despite the fact that Communism and Socialism are seen to be failed welfare ideologies, it was Stalin who said, "Those who do not work shall not eat."
One could even make the case that charity is immoral:
Then again, do not tell me, as a good man did today, of my obligation to put all poor men in good situations. Are they my poor? I tell thee thou foolish philanthropist that I grudge the dollar, the dime, the cent I give to such men as do not belong to me and to whom I do not belong. There is a class of persons to whom by all spiritual affinity I am bought and sold; for them I will go to prison if need be; but your miscellaneous popular charities, the education at college of fools; the building of meeting-houses to the vain end to which many now stand; alms to sots, and the thousand-fold Relief Societies; though I confess with shame I sometimes succumb and give the dollar, it is a wicked dollar, which by and by I shall have the manhood to withhold.—Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self Reliance
Beyond my personal ideological contortions, however, there's this: if someone needs a few cents, or a few bucks, badly enough to ask, the least I can do is come across with it. And I often think I should be doing more—that we all should be doing more—for fellow human beings so bereft of means and dignity that they're reduced to asking for pocket change from passers-by. It's true that you can't save everyone from themselves. But it seems to me that if the rate of homelessness correlates with the disappearance of moderately paid jobs for unskilled or semi-skilled workers in the toughest real estate market in the country, I have to consider the possibility that many, if not most, panhandlers are victims of circumstance, rather than defective human beings.
You hear the argument that panhandlers are going to spend the money on drugs or booze, or something equally "bad" for them. So what? I don't know what I need in life, half the time. I'm certainly not wise enough to make that decision for anyone else. It's not as if any panhandler's going to put the 75ยข I give him into his stock portfolio. Adam Smith might disapprove, but Adam Smith never spent a night sleeping exposed to the elements on a city street.
I'm lucky. I have a job that pays well enough to allow me to sleep indoors; I have a family that would never let me end up on the street; and I was able to acquire some useful skills along with my college degree. I'm a fairly presentable caucasian male without any life-threatening illnesses or addictions, and I can usually dress myself in the mornings without help. Most of these traits are accidents of birth and circumstance. If I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I at least have a spoon, and food to eat with it.
I'm not consciously thinking of all these things when I dig into my pocket, of course. I just can't seem to ignore panhandlers. Especially since I can usually satisfy their requests with a handful of change or a couple of bills that I'll never miss. I feel better being able to help in this small way, and on the rare occassions I don't give, I feel bad about it. Whether it is a "wicked dollar," I don't know, but in the meanwhile, I can do no other.