Sidewalk

“People like me are the eyes and ears of the street,” Hakim Hasan says to Duneier (17). He explains that he is a dependable presence who helps ensure safety on the sidewalk, such as when he calls an ambulance for an elderly man suffering from health issues or provides guidance to officers about which cars should not be issued parking tickets. Duneier says that “Hakim seems to consider himself a person of some consequence out on the street, not merely a public character but a street intellectual as well (18-19). He derives this self-image partly through his customers, who also come to him with the understanding that he possesses vast knowledge about books. Duneier also briefly describes Muhammad, a seller of black books, and Alice, a Filipina bookseller who is Hakim’s business (and romantic) partner on an on-off basis.

Before setting out on this project, Duneier recognizes he must close the gap between himself and his subjects, a recognition that puts him ill-at-ease. Duneier is a white, upper-middleclass, Jewish professor; his subjects are lower-income black street vendors. He “wanted the trust that would be necessary to write about the life of the street, and race differences seem a great obstacle to such trust” (21).

One day, before he knows Hakim well, Duneier spots a copy of his first book on the vendor’s table and wonders if it might be stolen. When he tells Hakim that he is the author, Hakim asks for Duneier’s contact information to place in his Rolodex. Duneier is surprised that an organizational tool like a Rolodex would be in the hands of a street vendor, whom Duneier incorrectly assumes is unhoused ( that is, homeless). Duneier meets again with the vendor to express his desire to write about him. Hakim at first politely declines, citing a history of misrepresentation of his people: “African Americans are at a point where we have to be suspicious of people who want to tell stories about us” (23). But as the two meet and Duneier acknowledges that he can understand why Hakim has made the choices he has, Hakim agrees to let Duneier observe and write about his table.  

Born Anthony E. Francis, Hakim Hasan is a native of Brooklyn, New York and a former member of the Nation of Islam, an African-American political movement. He attends Rutgers University but does not receive his degree due to unpaid fees. He writes for black newspapers during his college years and stops being a practicing Muslim, though he keeps his Muslim name. He aspires to work in publishing, but is rejected when he applies for jobs, so he works as a proofreader for a legal firm, instead. However, they fire him without warning during a performance review. Upon observing sidewalk book vendors in Greenwich Village, Hakim believes the vendors “had discovered a way to subsist in New York without buying into the corporate-employee mindset” (24). He realizes that he can pursue meaningful work as a vendor of black books—books concerning and/or of interest to people of African descent. Observing Hakim’s table, Duneier hears a variety of conversations about intellectual and moral concerns—and from a variety of people: “On any given day at Hakim’s table, one might encounter a high-school dropout, a blue-collar worker, a film student, a law professor, a jazz critic, or a teacher in a Muslim high school” (25). In order to accurately observe the conversations, Duneier gets Hakim’s permission to place a tape recorder under his table.

Through the recorder, Duneier captures Hakim’s mentor-like relationship with a 22-year-old African-American man named Jerome, who works at a Vitamin Shoppe and frequents Hakim’s table. Jerome has a young daughter who lives in Florida. His parents have not been together since he was born, and he does not have a close relationship to them. Hakim dispenses advice to Jerome about which books to study and which career paths to follow, encouraging Jerome to get his GED and complete his high-school education. Hakim asks Jerome questions with genuine interest about his life. Jerome tells Duneier that he was drawn to Hakim’s table due to his interest in black books. A black book, according to Jerome, “teaches you about yourself and how white people look at you. It teaches you stuff that white people don’t teach you” (31). Black books also imbue Jerome with a sense of self-worth by educating him about unknown aspects of the history of his race, unlike mainstream society, which teaches him that “being black is like sin of the earth” (33). Jerome feels comfortable speaking with a man on the street like Hakim but not in a bookstore, where he feels people are arrogant and unwilling to engage in discourse.

Hakim says he respects Jerome for his sincerity and his desire to work hard. He also relates to Jerome’s background, since his parents also separated when he was young. He says that Jerome is not at the intellectual level where he can distinguish between facts and propaganda, but Hakim has no qualms, “[b]ecause people gotta start where they are” (35). He believes that he has an important role in shaping how people perceive black history, and thinks that people must not create a black history that is “mythic” just to counter racist narratives perpetuated by the dominant white culture.

Duneier refers to Hakim and Jerome’s relationship as being common in African-American communities, wherein “old heads” mentor young men who have weak ties to their fathers and lack strong paternal role models (37). Jerome clearly respects Hakim’s life experience and listens to him: “He knows what he’s talking about. He’s been there” (39). Hakim recognizes that as a man working on the sidewalk, he is an unorthodox role model, but due to the decline of formal manufacturing jobs, Hakim encourages men like Jerome to find creative niches for entrepreneurial opportunity. When Duneier asks Hakim why Jerome should take him seriously, Hakim asserts he has the experience of working in the formal economy. He believes he could still find a job in that sector if need be. Duneier concludes the chapter by recognizing the larger value of Hakim’s work in the informal sector through the vendor’s impact on Jerome: “As Jane Jacobs wrote in The Death and Life of Great American Cities, the first ‘fundamental lesson of successful city life [is] that people must take a modicum of public responsibility for each other even if they have no ties to each other […]’” (42).

Although the unhoused, poor black men on Sixth Avenue may not seem to fit into Jane Jacobs’s respectable model of the “public character,” Duneier stresses that these individuals abide by a series of informal social norms and generally keep social order on the block through their presence. Take, for example, the magazine vendors. On Sixth Avenue, it’s not uncommon to see tables with high-end magazines like Architectural Digest andNational Geographic. Magazine vendors like Marvin and Ron scour the trash of local residents to find these magazines and then place them for sale. They are all black men, and most of them were in prison for offenses related to possession or sale of crack in the 1980s. In 1995, Hakim introduces Duneier to Marvin Martin, a Vietnam War veteran and an African-American magazine vendor in his late forties who has been on the sidewalk for twelve years. Marvin jokes: “I am the overseer of all the men who sell used magazines and books” (44). Duneier works for Marvin on-and-off for a year and learns about his life. After spending time in an Ohio prison for an armed theft that he did not commit, Marvin finds it difficult to secure work and ends up in New York. He sells leather belts on the streets, enters into a substance-abuse program through the Veterans Affairs (VA) to deal with his alcoholism, and finds his own apartment. He eventually becomes a magazine vendor and works with his business partner, Ron.

Ron is a first-generation immigrant from Jamaica. Ron still uses drugs and consumes alcohol regularly. He is pleasant and honest when sober, but intimidating when drunk. He’s been in and out of jail, like many of the vendors. Through working with him, Duneier begins to piece together Ron’s hardscrabble life. Both of his parents were alcoholics. He has been on Sixth Avenue for seven years. Ron used to work for a construction company, but his drug abuse prevented him from working regularly, so he quit: “And I just decided I wasn’t gonna go home. I left my apartment, my clothes, television, everything. I just left it there” (49).

Duneier frames Ron’s use of these words as a choice to live on the streets. But this is different than the choice Hakim makes to leave the corporate world and seek a different lifestyle. Ron’s choice seems to be less of a real choice and more of a resigning himself to an inevitability due to his drug abuse. But a chance encounter gives Ron an opportunity. A panhandler, upset at Ron taking his spot, hands him some magazines to sell. And so he becomes a magazine vendor, $100 on a daily basis. He starts sleeping on the street, even though he maintains he could have always gone home if he had wanted to do so. But Duneier cautions against taking either the story of Ron—being unable to hold a job due to drugs leads to the streets—or Marvin—lack of economic opportunity leads to the streets—to mean that the men were “destined” for employment in the informal economy.

Duneier finds that in talking to the men on the street, each of them has had a pivotal moment where they almost give up on caring altogether, or—to use street slang—decide to say, “Fuck it!” A magazine vendor named Warren describes this low moment: “When I got put out of my house and I went to all of my friends and nobody would do nothing for me, I said, ‘Well, fuck everybody. Fuck it’” (51).

With this mindset, the men drift to the streets, supposedly no longer desiring to live by society’s standards of finding work in the formal economy and instead seeking income through the informal written-matter economy. The “Fuck it!” mentality differs from mere resignation. It consumes all aspects of one’s life and leads a person to disregard behavior they once perceived as normal (like using a restroom to urinate). It also has the effect of isolating these individuals from their family and friends due to shame over their drug or alcohol abuse. When taken to its worst point, “Fuck it!” can compel individuals to theft of money or property because they no longer care. But Duneier urges that individuals with a “Fuck it!” mindset have not abandoned society altogether, nor do they erase all social ties. This is evident when magazine vendor Conrad brings a relative of Butteroll, a panhandler, to see him, and Butteroll grows embarrassed at being seen by his family in his condition. The Sixth Avenue men “do give a fuck about certain things” (62).

The author also spends a rainy night not only helping Ron and Marvin cover their tables with a plastic cloth to protect the magazines, but also understanding the complex dynamics of their relationship. Marvin must suss out at night whether Ron will be sober enough the following morning to work. Duneier also meets Mudrick, who is an alcoholic, unhoused man in his fifties that receives payment to assist other vendors occasionally. He also receives money from tourists in exchange for providing directions, and once put up a sign stating, “Information: 25 cents Correct Information: 50 Cents” (53). While Duneier is away, the tape recorder captures Marvin and Mudrick in discussion. Marvin states Duneier’s goals in trying to understand the people working on the street, to which Mudrick responds: “I don’t give a fuck about what nobody else thinks” (54). Mudrick says that he doesn’t care about “other people” who aren’t physically present, including Ron (55). Marvin’s outrage at this comment highlights his bond with Ron: “That’s my partner over there…you gotta care about him” (55). There is a photo on the following page; this photo shows the affection between the two vendors (56).

While working with Marvin, Duneier observes that the men are given to bargaining with customers, which they do in a sense of fairness to receive what they believe they have rightly earned and to “maintain their self-respect” (65). He also notes that despite their differing backgrounds, lower-income vendors and upper-middle-class customers can often interact with ease. Vendors maintain a knowledge of their customer’s needs to keep up the relationship, such as when Marvin remembers that a regular customer, Jack, likes Christie’s catalogues.

Duneier writes, “I found strong evidence for the rehabilitative forces of sidewalk life in the self-respect these men maintained as they sold their scavenged magazines and did complex work” (63). Duneier also takes into account Marvin’s deep friendship with Ron and his mentorship of other vendors, highlighting the positive social bonds that can come through work that one chooses. These social supports on the sidewalk, which prevent men from giving in to the “Fuck it!” mentality, also lead to improved relationships in other spheres of life. Ron starts spending more time with his great-aunt Naomi instead of sleeping on the sidewalk. To allow Ron to cultivate this positive relationship, Marvin gets Duneier to cover Ron’s table so that he can check on his great-aunt. These relationships give the men purpose in working. As Mudrick says, you have to “do the right thing” for those who need you (75). When Ron returns, Marvin asks him to promise to “stop that dumb shit” so he can take care of himself and those who need him (76). Duneier even brings Ovie Carter to photograph Ron cooking a meal for his Aunt Naomi (78). The author reflects once more on how Marvin—and to some degree, Ron—have been able to leave the “Fuck it!” mindset behind through their work in the informal sidewalk economy, which imbues them with purpose through their relationships with others and pride in their status as entrepreneurs. The author concludes the chapter by expressing gratitude: “I am thinking about the sidewalk. Thank goodness for the sidewalk” (80)

Meet Joe, a heroin addict with a pleasant smile who panhandles outside of an ATM vestibule on Sixth Avenue. Leo and Keith Johnson—both of whom came to the sidewalk after leaving prison—also ask for money in front of the bank. Duneier cheekily coins these panhandlers “the men without accounts” (83). However, in 1996, Mayor Rudolph Giuliani passes a law banning solicitations near ATMs. Now, most of these men sell written matter instead of panhandling by ATMs. But for those who panhandle, what prevents them from becoming written-matter vendors? According to the men without accounts, they either cannot summon the patience necessary for the job or the stable routine that accompanies it. The magazine scavengers are less generous in their assessment, believing they are not willing to put in the effort to get the job done. Respect in one’s own task influences the scavengers’ and panhandlers’ choices, as they each believe “they have too much pride to engage in each other’s activity” (83). Notably, panhandlers find self-worth in the way that they present themselves to be well-mannered when soliciting donations:“‘I’ve never found it degrading to ask for what you need,’ says Keith Johnson” (84). They would rather beg than steal their money, according to Keith.

Panhandlers also hold a number of other important, complementary roles to those of magazine and book vendors. The first is a place holder to existing vendors. Because vending spaces can be few in number, book and magazine sellers will enlist the help of panhandlers to hold a spot for them overnight in exchange for a fee. Leo says he receives $20 a spot for performing this service. Others say they can get up to $50. Duneier recognizes there is a “certain level of creativity” in selling a public space; the panhandler B.A responds by saying: “That’s what the street is about: survival” (88).

The second role is that of a table watcher. Most vendors are only able to legally maintain one table. If vendors want to put out additional tables, they’ll need to hire table watchers to staff them. Table watchers can also be useful if a vendor wants to prevent police from confiscating their table while they are away. When business is slow, the men strike up conversations, mentoring one another and forming bonds. For example, a conversation between Keith and Warren about Keith’s desire for a fancy “going out to get a girl” car (a Chevy) highlights the vendors’ ambitions for themselves (91). Disputes do occur, such as when Warren believes another man, Rock, has stolen his Walkman. Rock describes how others have hurt him, and Warren responds with some advice: “Then in turn you’re gonna hurt other people? That’s why you say ‘Fuck it!’…It’s never too late to turn your life around” (92).

The third role that panhandlers occupy is that of a mover for vendors; Duneier provides a photograph of one such mover (93). Movers like Conrad and Randy charge nominal fees for transporting vendors’ equipment in and out of storage:“‘I’m in my own moving-and-storage business now,’ Randy explains to [Duneier] with genuine pride” (93).

A fourth role is that of storage provider. When the vendors who have housing leave for the night, they need a place to store their tables and written matter until the next day. Marvin occasionally houses Ron’s books in the basement of the building where he works a side job. Butteroll charges $10 to carry Grady and Keith’s tables down to the subway and store them next to where he sleeps.

The last—and perhaps most contentious role—is that of the men who “lay shit out” (95). Like magazine vendors, they scour through trash bins and other sites for items to sell. They draw the ire of other vendors for bringing the attention of law enforcement upon them and impacting overall business. Vendors must legally place items for sale on tables and not on the ground or on a blanket, as these scavengers do. The men also occasionally place pornographic material in full view, thus potentially drawing in police crackdowns if other vendors don’t step in first. These occasional crackdowns provide “a further incentive for the vendors to be self-regulating” to prevent harsh policing (95).

Duneier and Mudrick watch over another vendor’s table one Sunday in August, affording an opportunity to see the sociologist’s participant-observer techniques in action. Mudrick asks customers to point to magazines because Mudrick cannot read very well. Mudrick responds: “Mitch, you a professor, right? No need to lie to you. I can read some things. But it outside my jurisdiction to try to read anything. Because I don’t care about reading” (98).

Another day, Mudrick comes to the block with no particular plan, but comes upon some mirrors that he intends to sell. When Duneier worries about the mirrors being broken, Mudrick displays a tough demeanor that probably protects him on the street: “He won’t break my fucking mirror or I’ll break his ass. Nobody fucks me over here” (100). Nonetheless, Mudrick expresses concern about the police, whom he believes want to prevent the vendors from making money by confiscating their possessions. Mudrick brings in Butteroll to watch the mirrors. Even though Mudrick promised Butteroll $4, he gives him $10 for his work, since they are friends and want to support one another. As Duneier observes: “This sphere of sidewalk life […] reinforces conventional social norms” (109-10). Duneier and Mudrick’s growing trust also emerges through these conversations. The black vendors occasionally use Duneier’s status as a middle-class, white male as an asset, such as when Mudrick points to the professor and says “That’s my lawyer” (107). Mudrick also maintains a close relationship with his granddaughter, Dyneisha, who visits him on the block. She gives him purpose to continue working and living.