Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

I tried panhandling once. Technically, twice. It was in the fall of 1969 in front of Terminal Tower in Cleveland’s downtown Public Square. It was an unoriginal experiment with a predictable conclusion that satisfied some requirement for a sociology class I was taking during my first attempt at higher education at Baldwin-Wallace College.

Day One involved my being dressed as a derelict hippie with ratty long hair, sandals, stained clothing and a face smudged with an anti-establishment attitude. With an outstretched shaky hand, I’d accost strangers during the hours around noon with slurred lines like, “Spare change, man?” or “Can ya help me out, man?”

I endured such responses as “Get lost,” “Get a haircut,” and the ever-popular “Get a job.” Most, of course, just averted eye contact as they stepped up their pace to walk past me.

Day Two had me dressed in sneakers, sweat pants, a University of Pittsburgh sweatshirt, my hair tucked (hidden) neatly under a Pirates baseball cap. The story I laughingly told the morning commuter crowd—men only—was that as a rush prank from a fraternity I was pledging I had been kidnapped and dropped off in Cleveland with no money. I had to make my way back to the U Taka Krappa house in time for the pledge dinner that night or I wouldn’t get elected to the brotherhood.

I made a small fortune on Day Two from men who found my story uproarious and completely plausible. Many of them patted my back as they told me their own frat stories, laughing about the ritual hazings that somehow seemed an important part of their own college experiences—right up there with drinking beer, reading the occasional book and doing other mildly academic stuff that led to careers in middle management.

Panhandler hippie made about three bucks on Day One of the sociology class experiment that proved nothing more than that in 1969 downtown Clevelanders seemed more willing to support a cleanly dressed liar than a dirty guy who just wanted money. Go figure.

And all that is what brings us to the subject of Barry Manilow, whose music is currently being used by the Rite Aid chain of drug stores in Southern California to keep derelicts, panhandlers, loiterers and other deplorables from hanging around the fronts of their stores and scaring customers away. They are “blasting” the music through strategically placed loudspeakers in their parking lots and near the store entrances.

It seems to be working, although I’m not sure how anybody would really know. Some socially undesirable folks might actually like Manilow’s music and be attracted to the store fronts. And, of course, some customers who don’t like Manilow’s music might seek out the closest Walgreens or CVS.

A concern that should addressed by Rite Aid and others using music as a scare tactic is that Manilow’s repertoire of sappy lyrics and insipid melodies once attracted huge audiences; he has sold more than 80 million records. His fans—many of whom by now would have a great and perhaps even frequent need to go to Rite Aid—might become Rite Aid hangers-on just to listen to the music and reminisce about the ‘70s.

I write the songs that keep the bums away
I write the songs of torture for Rite Aid
I write the songs that make the derelicts cringe
They blast my songs, they blast my songs

Music has a long history as an instrument of torture. Anyone with children knows this.

Children have a vast repertoire of ways to annoy their parents and music might just top the list. Children like songs that adults generally don’t, but to keep them quiet—especially on car trips—the parents listen to the repeated motifs of sing-song inanity created mostly with intent to quell a child’s insistent whining.

Of course, children don’t want to just sit back and listen. They want to make it an interactive exercise by singing along—loudly and usually off-key. Forty minutes of “The Bear Went Over the Mountain” can nearly drive one to homicidal distraction.

Fortunately for the sake of my sanity, my kids were just a little too old to like the animated show Barney & Friends, which is known mostly for having a theme song, “I Love You (You Love Me),” that was used by interrogators at the Guantanamo Bay detention camp to coerce uncooperative detainees to become, well, cooperative. The song, apparently, was used only if waterboarding failed.

Note from Courtney: “I very clearly remember an incident after Amma [grandmother] had purchased a bright orange plastic record player for me from the Salvation Army…the only record I owned…was Disney’s Lady and the Tramp soundtrack. The only song I played on repeat was ‘We are Siamese if you please/We are Siamese if you don’t please.’ After listening to that about 10 times in a row or so, you came barreling into my bedroom and confiscated the record.”

I should note that the annoying childhood music situation was relatively brief. Courtney became an avid Beatles fan and my son Daniel’s first music purchase was a CD of Benny Goodman. It was only later that they started listening to music that would be used by the United States armed forces to quell domestic riots and foreign insurgencies.

The Clash, Van Halen, U2, Guns N’ Roses and Bruce Cockburn created music that, from what little I’ve heard, is just not my cup of tea. They are names I recall as being part of my kids’ teenage musical indulgences. And each was an unwitting participant in the capture of General Manuel Noriega by U.S. forces.

Facing a U.S. indictment for drug-trafficking, as well as claims he had rigged the 1989 election, the repressive military leader had secured refuge in the Vatican’s embassy in Panama City, after President George Bush invaded Panama in 1989. A fan of both opera and not going to jail, Noriega was blasted at high volume with the music of the aforementioned bands. Operation Nifty Package only lasted three days because the Vatican’s emissaries couldn’t bear the noise as well as Noriega could.

Nonetheless, Noriega was captured and brought the States to stand trial and the Vatican people went back to listening to Gregorian chants.

The program worked well enough that when American law enforcement agencies and the military laid siege to a Texas compound belonging to the Branch Davidians cult, trying to arrest its leader David Koresh, they dragged out the stereo and started blasting Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’.” Unfortunately, the song failed in its mission.

In the War on Terror on various Middle East fronts, the U.S. has deployed Thin Lizzy in Afghanistan and made musical threats to the Taliban and ISIS with heavy metal, most notably Metallica’s “Enter Sandman,” a favorite of interrogators who used the music to deprive Iraqi captives of sleep and offend their cultural sensibilities.

Subjected to such torture (especially Nancy Sinatra), I’d be willing to admit to having done things I hadn’t done just to hear some Duke Ellington or Beethoven or even, maybe, a chorus or two of “Copacabana.”

Beggar’s Stew

My grandmother Liska used to make this when she stayed with us, reminding us that “beggars can’t be choosers.” I don’t know why she always said that. This is a delicious one-pot meal. The following recipe is merely a guideline.

1 tablespoon of vegetable oil
1 cup of chopped onion
1/2 cup of chopped sweet an/or hot peppers
1/2 cup of chopped celery
3 cloves of minced garlic
1-1/2 pounds of meat *
2 tablespoons of all purpose flour
1-1/2 cups of beef or chicken stock
2 (11.5 ounce) cans Campbell’s tomato soup
1 (14.5 ounce) can of diced tomatoes
2 large potatoes, peeled and diced
2 large carrots, peeled and diced
2 cups of frozen corn
2 cups of frozen cut green beans
Worcestershire sauce
Tabasco sauce
Salt and pepper

In a heavy pot, heat the oil over medium high heat. Add the onion, peppers and celery; cook and stir until softened, about 4-6 minutes. Add the garlic and meat, season with salt and pepper; cook, stirring frequently, until meat is browned and cooked through. Drain off excess fat. Sprinkle meat with flour; cook for 3 minutes or so. Add the stock, tomato soup and diced tomatoes. Stir in the potatoes, carrots, corn and green beans. Add Worcestershire, hot sauce and seasonings to taste. Stir, cover and simmer over medium to medium low (low bubble) for 1-1/2 to 2 hours, or until vegetables are tender, stirring occasionally. Taste and adjust seasonings as needed.

* Stew meat, ground beef, pork, diced chicken, venison or any kind of sausage can be used.

Photography by Courtney A. Liska