EDITOR’S NOTE: The presence of panhandlers in downtown Northampton continues to draw criticism and complaints from visitors and merchants. In this story, reporter Sarah Crosby introduces readers to some of the city’s most visible panhandlers.
They sleep in tents and hammocks, outside of churches and in shelters. During the day, Main Street is their home.
Panhandlers frequent both sides of the bustling downtown street, concentrating in areas between New South and Pleasant streets.
Miguel Rodriguez, a tent-dweller in Holyoke, has been visiting Main Street for nearly three years.
Most days, he can be found in the vicinity of Haymarket Cafe.
Rodriguez doesn’t speak up to ask for money, but is gracious if passersby offer.
“If I get blessed, I get blessed,” he said. “If not, I gotta go with the flow.”
A rocky history with selling and using heroin landed him on the streets after several stints in jail.
When Rodriguez woke up one day in his family’s home, they were gone. They had moved on to Puerto Rico without him. He says he has not seen or heard from them since.
They were tired of dealing with his drug habit, he said.
“The first time I didn’t learn. The second time I didn’t learn. The third time I didn’t learn,” he reflected.
“I finally learned.”
Rodriguez, 47, says he has been out of jail since 2005 and clean for just over a year. But given his criminal record, finding a job has proven nearly impossible.
Instead, he starts his days with a bus ride from Holyoke to Northampton where he finds more “humble people that care.”
On the best days, he returns to Holyoke with upwards of $30 for food. On other days, he supplements meals with leftovers found in garbage.
It’s all in the luck of the draw, several Northampton panhandlers agree.
Sometimes, the change flows. But often, hours drag on without a single acknowledgement. That’s what Christina Gaudreault hates the most. “Most people ignore you,” she said. “Some look at you like you’re nothing more than a piece of trash on the side of the road.”
Gaudreault, 35, lives in a tent in Northampton with her boyfriend. She settled there after a year of bouncing between hotels and friends’ couches. From 10 a.m. to 10 p.m., she sits on an overturned milk crate that is worn and dented from frequent use as a chair. In her hands is a small, blue blanket that once belonged to her now 3-year-old son.
The boy’s father was given full custody of the child by the Department of Children and Families. Both father and son moved out of the home they shared with Gaudreault, and she couldn’t afford the rent while on her own, she explains.
A wallet-sized picture of the boy is her most-prized possession, now. This past Monday, she’d made $2 after panhandling for four hours.
Gaudreault said she has health issues that keep her from working. While she collects Social Security, it is not enough to get an apartment, she said. She also developed a drug habit, saying her drug use became a way to cope after her son was taken away.
That makes it even more difficult to save up for a place, she said.
While some panhandlers feel lost among the hustle and bustle of downtown business, others have built up relationships with store owners and parking attendants.
Haymarket offers leftovers to the homeless at the end of the day, Gaudreault said.
She said some businesses let them use the bathroom without a hassle. A Starbucks barista knows her by name and provides Gaudreault with water to stay hydrated while she’s out in the sun.
Rodriguez, too, savors the generosity found on Main Street. A Shop Therapy employee brought several wind-up toys out to him on Monday.
“Heyyyyy,” he responded with glee, explaining that he’ll give them away to the kids that pass by.
Rodriguez returns the kindness offered to him by providing an occasional quarter when someone feeding a parking meter is short on change.
Jamin Martinez traveled from Springfield to Northampton after friends told him it was easier to panhandle here.
He said the people he’s met have been kinder, so far. And, woods that surround the city provide better accommodations for sleeping.
Martinez, 18, used to live in New Bedford with his adoptive mother. When that situation did not work out, he moved in with his biological mother and her two children, who all lived in Springfield.
He got kicked out of that home after failing to follow house rules. His biological mother didn’t want his behavior to negatively impact her younger children, he said.
Martinez said his juvenile history involves a lot of crime, including attempting to steal a car, breaking and entering and various assault and battery charges. He said those issues stem from what he experienced as a baby. But Martinez says he left his troubles with the law behind when he became a legal adult, he said. He said he tries to make better decisions but has not yet been able to land on his feet.
Last month, a small group of homeless people living off the Northampton bike path took him into their tent community.
Collectively, they aim to pool their panhandling income to find a more permanent dwelling – hopefully before winter. “There’s always a chance for people to change,” he said. “Talk to us, give us advice. Just help us along when you walk by.”
Gaudreault said acknowledgement goes a long way, even if someone can’t spare any cash. “That place inside your mind is not for rent,” a passerby offered as encouragement in a moment when she was feeling low. Both Gaudreault and Rodriguez say they are thankful for every penny, every kind word.
“It’s just pennies from heaven,” said Chris “Twitch” Barton. “It just falls out of the sky and into your life.”
Barton, 29, says he has at times chosen to live without a home, and other times had no other option. His family moved from Westfield to Texas when he was a child. When Barton was kicked out of the house soon after, he began following bands around the country. He recently got out of prison in Texas for manufacturing and delivering meth.
Barton said he plans to “pull himself together” soon.
Life on the streets is not easy, he said. “It takes a toll on your every existence,” he explained. He said being homeless is taxing physically, mentally and emotionally.
“It’s a little humiliating until you get used to holding a piece of cardboard asking people for kindness,” he said. “There’s not a lot of kindness to go around these days.”
Still, there’s something about that life that Barton finds liberating. He’s a self-described “dirty kid,” a population that travels the country by jumping freight trains and hitchhiking. They embrace a minimalist lifestyle, Barton said. “Out here, I don’t need anything except what I absolutely need,” he said. “There’s no extra stuff.”
Barton’s entire life is found inside a 95-pound backpack. Inside it, he keeps clothing, a hammock, tennis balls for juggling, several quartz stones and one pair of shoes which he most often opts not to wear.
Barton’s appearance is often what draws passersby to him. He’s tattooed from his eyelids to his toes and wears brightly colored clothing, holding a sign which reads, “at least I’m not Trump.”
“I stand out like a polka dot,” he said.
For the most part, Barton has not been fulfilled by the jobs he’s held and the money he’s had. Barton said he had once owned a tattoo shop. Right now, he barters for some things and panhandles to fill in the gaps.
“You appreciate every little scrap you get out here because these people that do that for you don’t have to,” he said.
Small offerings from others is what keeps Rodriguez alive. He uses the change to buy Chinese food at night and “sleeps like a baby,” afterward.
Gaudreault pushes on for her son. Her boyfriend, who is also homeless, recently got a dishwashing job at a local restaurant.
She hopes they will be able to pool enough cash to get an apartment and some day, regain custody of her son.
Martinez, too, has his sights set on a better life. He said his next step will become clearer once he’s in a stable living situation.
“I try to live in this situation to get up there,” he said pointing upwards, referencing a brighter future ahead.
Sarah Crosby can be reached at scrosby@gazettenet.com.