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Published in the Northwest Indiana Times

Panhandlers on the rise
Sunday, October 17, 2004
BY ANDREA JAMES and BAHAR TAKHTEHCHIAN
Medill News Service

CHICAGO -- Joel Guice shook two pennies in his cup with a mind-dulling cadence.

Seven years ago, the 44-year-old Chicago resident lost his right leg to diabetes and has been unemployed since.

"You never leave a lot in your cup, they might snatch it," he said.

His wheelchair was parked in front of Salvatore Ferragamo, a ritzy fashion boutique on Michigan Avenue. A stump dangles where his leg should be, his skin exposed to the rain. Chicago city officials don't know how many panhandlers like Guice fill the streets, according to Pat Camden, spokesman for Chicago Police.

But Rene Heybach, director of the Law Project of the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless, thinks the problem is getting worse.

"I came back to Chicago in 1987 and saw very few on the street begging," she said. "Now, you can't go anywhere on the street where you don't encounter someone."

During a typical week in August, the city receives 75 calls or complaints about folks who look like they need assistance, according to Ted O'Keefe, director of 311, Chicago's non-emergency help line.

"You see them all over the city," Camden said. "Usually we just ask them to move on, to go about their business."

Like many panhandlers, Guice is not homeless. He lives at Presidential Pavilion, a nursing home at 8001 South Western Ave.

"People make an automatic assumption that there is a direct link between panhandlers and the homeless. All the research we've done says it's not true," said Jay Terry, director of Evanston's Health and Human Services.

Before March 2002, Chicago prohibited panhandling. Then the City Council repealed that ordinance in the midst of a lawsuit by panhandlers who claimed the city violated their rights.

"There's a First Amendment right to beg," Heybach said. "There were many instances historically in which the police were busting people under this ordinance because they were begging."

When it settled the suit last year, the city allocated $99,000 for those previously arrested for panhandling ordinance, but not engaged in any other illegal behavior.

"It wasn't really the panhandling that was the issue, it was the other activity that was taking place," said Jennifer Hoyle, public information officer for the City of Chicago's law department. "The courts have generally not upheld ordinances that just prohibited panhandling or begging."

Asking for money is legal. But activities associated with panhandling, such as blocking the public way, grabbing people and standing on private property are illegal, Hoyle said. Also, panhandling on Chicago Transit Authority property remains illegal.

"Many police practices toward the poor are very vicious. You're going to be busted if you urinate in public even though businesses will not allow you to use their bathrooms," said Heybach.

But police spokesman Camden said that police do not target the poor. They only enforce the disorderly conduct code when there is a legitimate complaint, he said.

Guice and another Michigan Avenue panhandler, Lester Mills, both term Chicago police as polite. According to Mills, that's not the case in Atlanta or Las Vegas.

Frommer's guide to Chicago says "panhandlers can be a problem in certain congested downtown areas."

Even so, millions of visitors come annually.

"It's not the effect on tourism," Camden said. "We're much more concerned about the effect on commerce."

Many of the panhandling complaints come from businesses.

"Sometimes a merchant will get upset because they think a panhandler is a distraction for their business," said Lisa Elkuss, spokeswoman for Chicago's Department of Human Services.

Not all businesses want the police to get involved.

Some, such as Bistro 110, a Chicago restaurant near Water Tower, self-police and thus develop a reputation among panhandlers. At Bistro 110, valet employees simply ask panhandlers to leave.

"They don't even come here out front anymore," said senior manager Ulises Sanchez. "Customers know when they come here, they won't be bothered."

Peter Gill, communications director of Illinois Retail Merchants Association, agreed with this more friendly approach, saying that most retailers only complain to police when a panhandler causes trouble.

Visitors from other cities such as San Francisco come here to learn about how the Chicago deals with panhandlers, according to Elkuss, spokeswoman for the Department of Human Services. It has 35 outreach specialists working to address complaints about the city's homeless and panhandlers. In a partnership with the Department of Public Health, it operates two large mobile medical clinics.

Barbara Ireczek, an outreach specialist on one of the vans, said that each unit serves up to 18 people daily. When folks come in for health care, Ireczek and fellow social worker, Sam Theodore, try to convince them to abandon street life. Social workers help people get identification cards, enter detoxification programs and ultimately, find housing and jobs. Ireczek has learned to work around panhandlers' shifts -- so as to not get in their way or anger them while they are soliciting.

"We can get them into a shelter," Ireczek said. "A lot of times they don't want to go."

People refuse shelters because of a bad past experience, drug abuse or mental illness problems, Ireczek said. Other times, they don't want to leave their carts and bags behind, because they can't take them into the shelters.

Some panhandlers get up every morning and consider begging their job.

But the alternative, getting a real job, isn't all that easy.

"Surprisingly, a lot of them do have income. Panhandling is a way of augmenting the income that they have," Elkuss said. "The next stage is to convince them to take advantage of some of the services that are out there."

A street person is not marketable to employers, and the demand for low-wage jobs exceeds supply, Theodore said. A criminal background, lack of identification or a drug addiction can also stand in the way of finding employment.

"If you're going to have a country where people are desperately poor, they're going to beg," Heybach said. "I mean, connect the dots."

Joel Guice used to be a cook before he lost his leg. He said he's now learning how to use a prosthetic leg in therapy and hopes to go back to work eventually. Even so, on a good panhandling day, Guice pulls in about $40, not much less than his $60 daily wage as a cook.

"It really comes down to a matter of convincing people. Sometimes if your mind is contorted by substance or mental illness, you are just not capable of making the smart decision," Elkuss said. "Ultimately it's up to them."