maybe the guy standing next to you on the subway is an angel.
you just don’t recognize it, because there is nothing abnormal about his presence.

I was walking back to the friary here in San Francisco and I was having a lot of doubt about my vocation as a Franciscan friar, asking myself questions such as “Was this God’s will for me? Is the spiritual dryness that I feel ever going to abate? Should I just leave now and cut my losses?” The next thing I know is that there is an eldery black woman standing next to me in a pink trench coat and purple Converse high tops. She tells me that the Lord had placed on her heart to come talk to me and assure me of His love, and that I was very blessed to be able to devote my life to His service and the poor. We walked for about 4 blocks uphill and it was my turn to cross the street. She turned around to walk back the way we had come. “Did you walk all this way just to talk to me?” She said “Child, when the Lord tells us to do something we have to listen.” As I was taking that all in, and as I was right in front of the Franciscan Mission Dolores, a young Latino man approaches me and says “Padre, I used to be a Franciscan. It was the happiest time of my life. But, I let myself be talked out of it by what I thought I was missing. I wish I had never left.” Okay, God, I got the message. Situations like that happen to us friars all the time. Truly, we are surrounded by angels.

When at 7:56 pm I clicked the comments to this thread from the home page, there was one comment tallied out front.
When immediately the comment page opened up, there were two – the second one having posted at – 7:56 pm…
Not quite an angel, I agree, but of such “physic” (Paul Newman to barkeep, opening of Harper) instances has my world been constituted, from the enunciation on radio or TV of the highly-differentiated word or proper name I am reading at that moment, to the wildly disproportionate propensity of the seconds field on my digital watches these last thirty years to be at :59 going on :00 when I chance to check the time. Of the occult force driving me to check so often at just such 1-in-60 moments, I know nothing whatever, and it terrifies me like the unearthly howls of the eternal damned I hear in my dreams.

Almost twenty years ago when this Southern girl was moving from atemporary home in Iowa to a temporary home in California with hubby and two babies I was very apprehensive about crossing the desert in high summer. We’d gotten west of Battle Mountain in late afternoon when all of a sudden we heard a clunk and a roar, and it took a dozen yards before we stopped to figure out what had happened. Pulling in right behind us on the side of the road was a “rough girl” who pulled a coat hanger out of her car, assured us it was the muffler that had dropped out, and proceeded to tell us that in the next town 70-odd miles west we should stay at the Model T Hotel, the nicest one for families, and that an old boyfriend of hers (or brother of a boyfriend) worked at a garage just a short walk from there and could help us–she scratched his number on a piece of paper.
Sure enough, we arrived to find the weird word of a Nevada casino where 8pm and 8am look just the same on your walk through on the way to the cheap but good restaurant. And the friend at the garage couldn’t help but assured us we’d do fine until we could get to a Midas in Reno, where we got the car fixed while we enjoyed a nice lunch.
The Lord didn’t even give me time to get apprehensive before everything was all tucked up and settled! I still think that girl was an angel.

One year when we were having a particularly difficult time financially I decided to stop on my way home from church to surprise the kids with a donut. I had a little bit of cash in my purse a couple dollars I thought and would just cover the doughnuts. But when I looked in my purse I could find nothing there. I was mystified and looked and looked in each compartment but the bills were nowhere to be seen.
The very next day, we were driving and passed a homeless man looking for money. He was strategically located so that when we stopped at the red light he would be right there. The kids were with me and really wanted to give him something. I knew we had no money because I had not gone to the bank before. But to please the kids I checked my purse again to see if I had missed some coins the day before.
WHen I opened the purse I quickly discovered a twenty dollar bill! To this day I have no idea where it came from but I figured it was hidden from me the day before so that it would be there for this man. I gave the bill to him.
Never regretted it event though we still had trouble buying groceries that week.

When I was two years old my maternal grandmother died unexpectedly. It was a bitterly cold on that January day in 1969 and my mom loaded me into the car so we could to make the half hour drive through the countryside to her mother’s apartment so my mom could start making arrangements.
The roads were icy and the car ended up in a ditch. There was no way for my mom to back the car out. She had already been in tears during the drive because of her grief and now she was panicked, as it was dangerously cold and she was stranded on a remote country highway with her two year old.
Suddenly a farmer on an old tractor appeared. He motioned for her to stay in the car and he hooked up a chain and pulled us out. He was only wearing a flannel shirt and wasn’t dressed to be outdoors in the bitter cold. There were no barns, garages or other buildings nearby and my mother was very perplexed as to where he came from.
After the car was safely out, my mom stepped out of the car so she could go thank him. He and the tractor were nowhere in sight.
She’s convinced he was an angel. I can’t argue with that.

Yes, I have had a similar experience, which led directly to my conversion to Orthodox Christianity.
For some time, I had been struggling with the decision to leave a religious group which I had joined several years earlier. I won’t belabor the details, but there were several things troubling to me, and I had begun to seriously consider returning to Christianity.
On July 27, 2006, I had just returned from vacation, and had a few extra dollars left over in my pocket. I was out doing a bit of shopping, and was about to return home when I noticed a gray-haired woman of unusual dignity, dressed entirely in black, who was holding up a sign asking for money. She was standing at a side entrance to the shopping center where I was, at an almost unused exit. Her head was down, as if she was deeply ashamed to be begging, in contrast to the usual panhandlers that tend to congregate at the main entrance. She did not have the disheveled look of so many homeless, and she seemed rather out-of-place.
I sat there in my car for some time, watching as car after car drove past her. There was something compelling about her, a sense of a power that belied her apparent helplessness. At that moment, I heard a voice in my head that quoted something from the scriptures of the group I was struggling with leaving: “the most despised of men before God is he who sits and begs.”
At that moment, I knew I was no longer a member of that group. My God does not despise anyone; my God is a God of infinite love and mercy. The decision whether to act was no longer mine; as if by someone else’s volition, I started the car, drove over and handed her a $20 bill. She fixed me with a peculiarly direct look, smiling and saying, “God bless you,” and I returned the sentiment. When, just a few moments later, I turned around to look at her again, she had vanished, seemingly into thin air, as if she had never existed. There is no way she could have walked or run that fast, and there was no vehicle anywhere near her.
I am convinced I had an encounter with an angel or a saint. I will not be at all surprised if someday I see her in an icon.

Rod, I was raised Catholic, I’m a scientific materialist atheist now. I have no hopeful coincidence events to contribute to you.

For most of the 1990′s I worked as a paramedic. For the last two and a half years of it, the unit number on the side of my ambulance was 455. I finally left the job and went into a different industry. I spent my first week of training at the new job thinking I was in over my head and made a huge mistake. I couldn’t sleep and barely ate the whole week.
At the end of that Friday I checked in with the reception desk to pick up my new employee ID. The receptionist said “You’ll also need to put this sticker on your car to park here”. It was a plain white sticker with a gray band and a large black number – 455.
My hand was shaking so much I could barely hold it. Here’s the really strange thing. I had experienced a lot on the ambulance that should have had an effect. I had seen dying people suddenly become seemingly lucid and talk to family members, sometimes to family members that weren’t there and had died a long time before. I had seen people survive things that they shouldn’t. I had even survived things I shouldn’t have. I had a lot of calls that went far too well, where the first thing I said to my partner afterward was “There’s no way that should have worked.”
What got my attention was a little sticker with a number. It was something that would be really easy to dismiss as coincidence or random luck. And it was the first time in my life when I wasn’t able to do that. I’ve had some experiences since that seem to be giving me a message. The difference now is that I pay attention.

Once I was hurrying home from work for an important appointment. It had been on my mind all day, so much so that I forgot all about my gas gauge. Halfway home, I ran out of gas. I had just started a life of faith in earnest, and it occurred to me as I sat on the side of the road that this was exactly the sort of ordinary duress that provides an opportunity for some expression of faith.
Before I could come up with a plan B, a man pulled over to the side of the freeway and began backing towards me. As he came closer, I could make out a commonly seen Christian radio sticker on the back of his car. I rolled down the window and he leaned down and said, “Out of gas?” He looked a bit like Bun E. Carlos, and I noticed a pack of smokes in his breast pocket.
“Yep, out of gas.”
“Well I have a gallon of gas in my trunk, and God told me to stop and give it to you, so I did.”
I was sort of taken aback at that, but was grateful and thanked him repeatedly.
Other than the fact that he really didn’t know that I needed gas, it’s not that extraordinary a story, but it did fortify my faith to such a degree that I wondered if he might have been “placed”. Maybe so, maybe not.

each of these stories are giving me the chills. especially anita’s.
i hope that there are a lot more coming.
the beautiful mysteries of a benevolent god.

I do believe in angels although I don’t know that I’ve ever had contact with one.
Regardless, I would not give money to homeless people since it will enable many
of them to go buy drugs or alcohol. I think it would be better to give them actual food
or something they can redeem for food. And that, by the way, was emphasized to me
by a former homelss person and by an inner-city priest who has contact with many homeless at his church.

I love every one of these stories. Though nothing like this has ever happened to me, I certainly hope it will one day. And I hope my heart and mind will open enough, and that I will be humble enough, to recognize it when it does. The difference in tone between these stories and the comment by “meh” is like the difference between poetry and prose.

If I can expand on what Thomas Tucker said, how do other people here handle panhandlers asking for money? As a Christian I really struggle with this. I am especially annoyed with the ones who walk out in traffic at major intersections as this strikes me as dangerous. I am more likely to give money when I am approached while on foot, and I will almost always give money to a homeless woman– of which there appear to be few out begging. Do their families take care of them instead? And if so why are there no families helping the men? I was raised to believe that you look after your own and surely all these homeless men can’t be too dangerous to sleep on some relative’s couch.
One good idea I read of once, some city (San Francisco?) had tokens people could buy which would be acepted at certain busuinesses (laundromats, drug stores, public transport) which you could then give to the homeless in lieu of cash. If Baltimore did this I would almost certainly buy some to give out, and thereby feel certain I was not just funding someone’s alcoholism.

Hi Rod,
I apologize in advance as this post is off topic. I seem to recall that you gave your email in the comboxes once, but I couldn’t find it. My wife and I will be in Dallas next week, and I was wondering if you had any personal favorites that you would recommend?
Thanks!

Re: Jon
I’d say I’m 50-50 when approached for money, mostly because I have a bad experience and then refuse to give for a duration. I once gave a Jersey Mike’s sub to a guy standing at a Red Light and he was the most thankful and happy than any of the one’s I’ve given money too.
Most recent experience: I’m at Home Depot with my Wife and baby, as I’m getting in the car I am approached by an older gentleman and little boy, sweating profusely has it was in the 90′s and gives me the story that his car is broke down and needs $35 more, he’s been out here all day, etc. I have no cash on me but tell him to hang on. I go back into Home Depot, buy 2 waters and get $35 cash back using my debit card. I give the man $35 and the waters. An hour later I’m back at Home Depot because I bought the wrong size Air Conditioner filters and the guy is still dragging that little boy around and approaching people for money. He recognizes my car, sees that I see him and disappears. My only hope is that it was an elaborate excuse as he was embarrassed at either being in the position, so created the story but truly needed the money for himself and the kid (looked to be his grandfather) whether for food, rent, whatever.
I’m all for charity, but I’m done giving money out to beggars, Angels or not.

I buy $5 gift coupon booklets from McDonalds’ and keep them in my wallet. When people say they are hungry, those are good to give out, one or more, depending on the circumstances. Then you’re not handing out money for drink.

Regarding giving money to panhandlers, why not instead pray that an angel will come to minister to them?

I have read that angels will appear at times in material forms to help in certain situations.
In January 2003 my daughter was being baptized. This was being done after mass and after all the regular parishioners had left. The only people in attendance were our relatives and friends. My son was one year old at the time and while the baptism was going on some of my wifes relatives who were watching my son let him go to the size of the church to run around and play (we did not think this was appropriate) and they were probably paying more close attention to their own one year old instead of my son. My son picked up a candle (it was burning in a glass container and filled with melted wax) and lifted it above his head and tilted it over his head and the wax was about to spill out. At the same time the priest was pouring water over my daughter’s head as she was being baptized. I was about to scream when out of no where a lady came and grabbed the candle away from him. There was no one but a couple of my wife’s relatives on that side of the church and all of the parishioners had left. I often wonder who that lady was and if we had some divine help.

Regarding giving money I usually do not give it to pan handlers that hang out outside of churches or downtown. On occaision I will give with discretion. A man once approached me downtown and told me he was just let out of prison and had nothing and asked if he could get money for a meal. His appearance and and especially his face and eyes looked sincere so I gave him some money. Last year, in a Home Depot parking lot, I was also approached by someone who said they just moved from across the country and their vehicle had broken down and that they needed some money for a tow. The hood was up and it had different licence plates and the man looked working class and not at all afluent so I gave him money to help him out.
Giving to professional panhandlers is one thing but I think we have a duty to help those who genuinely need it.

Mr. Sig always gives to panhandlers. When people chide him for this, he just shrugs and says “That’s what Jesus said to do, so I’m doing it.”
Me, I say no sometimes, but not that often. When I give some money, I try to take their hand and make eye contact, if that seems appropriate. I remember a writer who lived on the street as an experiment reporting that the hardest thing was seeing people walk by as if he wasn’t even there. Being treated as if he did not exist. To be seen and touched as a human being is a gift. I’ve never taken the hand of a beggar without feeling as if the gift was mine. When a homeless old woman squeezes my hand and says “You have a good day now, honey,” I feel I’ve received something far in excess of what I gave. If it doesn’t hit you that way, I guess I can’t really explain.
I can’t say I’ve ever thought people who asked of or gave to me were angels, but I’ve never felt the lack of an angel, either. I remember one time at a rest stop when our family was eating, and this guy kept hanging around watching us. It made me a little nervous. As we were packing up, he approached me and said “Excuse me, but you just seemed like such a nice family . . . I’m sorry, but do you have some food I could have?” I gave him everything that was within reach. He said he was sick and couldn’t go home. I told him he should go and talk to his mother because mothers almost always care about you no matter what. I thought he probably had AIDS–he had a particular look of fear that I’d seen before during that time. I should have unpacked the cooler again and given him more substantial fare–but I didn’t, for the light was fading and we had far to go. I’ve sorrowed over that since. I wish I’d made him another sandwich. If there is a God, this has been to his benefit, for I prayed for him every time I thought of him. But if there’s no God, then the poor guy just missed out on a sandwich because I didn’t have the patience, and there’s no way to make it up to him.
I like all the angel stories, and I don’t mean to be contentious–but it troubles me that we should need legends of supernatural beings to get us to look at the human right in front of us and treat him or her like a person with value. I’d rather help a sick, crazy, smelly old homeless person than a glorious immortal–because the man or woman needs my help, and the angel doesn’t. And I’d rather help them right now, and not look to another life to make it right. I suppose if angel stories make us treat each other more like humans, they are useful . . . but I wish we could see each other with loving eyes right here with our feet on the ground.

I lived in Washington, DC for many years, in a residential area just north of the Capitol. When I would walk the couple of blocks to Pennsylvania Ave., I would encounter many homeless (mostly men)along this avenue.I would try to lend them z little bit of cash when I could. Some of them were regulars, & I sort of ended up befriending them, concerned about their health issues, latest crisis etc. I still think sbout them, though I now live far away from DC.
I was fairly broke myself a lot of the time, but my philosophy was that no matter how broke or poor I was, I probably had many more resources than most of them would ever have. As for the old argument about panhandlers just using the money for drinks or drugs (which I’m pretty sure some of them did…), my feeling was that if I was in their position, who was to say I wouldn’t either! Surely, withholding help wasn’t going to convert them to sobriety over night, or for many years (if at all). They needed immediate help THEN, not for some pie-in-the-sky future recovery program. (“The fierce urgency of now”, as our president has said – applicable to these indigent men.)
Oh, yeah, I got scammed a few times – big deal. I’ll tell you a story about an incident that taught me a lesson, & still haunts me to this day. It was in a bitterly cold Washington winter, & a homeless approached me for money/help. Despite the freeing winter, he didn’t have any gloves. I gave him a buck or two, & then continued on my way to CVS or somewhere. It was only later that I realized what I should have done was buy him a pair of gloves, no matter how cheap – anything would have been better than exposing his raw hands to the icey weather. But he had disappeared, & it was too late. I never wanted to be so thoughtless again.
Sorry for being so longwinded! But that’s my opinion about helping or not the “panhandlers” we encounter.
All the best to you fellow philosophers!

I may have entertained an angel in the form of a homeless black lady with a sweet face. At least I have always thought there was something about that meeting that was out of the ordinary.
I work in downtown Dallas and so I get to know the faces of the regulars and I get hit up often by same. I never saw her before and never saw her again. She walked up to me with a flower she had plucked from somewhere and offered it to me for one dollar. Since she was at least offering something, something pretty for it, I handed over the dollar without a second thought as to whether the flower was worth it or not. I felt like I was doing a good deed for someone nice in a bad place and getting something in return for it.
Then she said “God loves you.” and went on her way. No homeless person had ever said that to me. Heck, I couldnt remember the last person of any kind who had.
So I was just struck by those words like they were lightning. I was feeling pretty out of sorts before that and just like that, I felt good.
I hung on to the flower which had a rough kind of sticky texture to the stem for the rest of by train ride and then I left it where someone else could pick it up if they wanted it.
Thanks for this post, Rod. Its good to be reminded sometimes.

Rabbi Daniel Lapin answered this question thus:
“When you are with your children, you should give money to beggars so you will teach your children charity through your example.
When you are alone, no. In almost all cases you are encouraging substance abuse.”
—
Think about it: There are many places an enterprising person can get help if temporarily stranded in a parking lot or on a street corner.
It is highly unlikely the person asking for money is telling the truth should you find yourself approached. I get these types in my business on occasion – they all have that desperate, fast-talking story to tell that makes no sense when critically analyzed.
I used to think we should err on the side of charity, but the actual substance-abuse stastics about homeless people don’t support this [self-defeating] moral “imperative”.
Quote scripture all you like about “doing it to the least of these”, and I’ll retort with scripture that says “if you don’t work you don’t eat”.
When a person is obviously hungry, as Sig noted, you should by all means get them some food. Or clothing if they’re cold.
Money? Never. It’s pure foolishness.

One good idea I read of once, some city (San Francisco?) had tokens people could buy which would be acepted at certain busuinesses (laundromats, drug stores, public transport) which you could then give to the homeless in lieu of cash. If Baltimore did this I would almost certainly buy some to give out, and thereby feel certain I was not just funding someone’s alcoholism.
Philadelphia tried that about 20 years ago when I lived there. The idea was that you could give these to the homeless instead of giving them money that might be used to buy drugs. As I recall, it never really caught on.
The problem — as a woman in my church who had a history of drug abuse pointed out to me — is that if these tokens have *any* possible intrinsic value, if there is *any* way they can be converted into cash and therefore into drugs, they will be.
(She pointed this out to me after I had been accosted by a panhandler asking for change “for the bus” and I had instead given the person a bus token I had in my pocked, and was congratulating myself on my cleverness. She said that a drug addict could easily find someone who could convert bus tokens into to cash or drugs.)
I can recall at least one occasion when a panhandler accosted me outside a WAWA (anyone from the Philadelphia area will know what I mean — it’s a local convenience store chain) and asked for money for food, and I went inside and bought a sandwich and a couple other things for him.
I was living in Philadelphia from about the mid-80s to the mid-90s, when the homeless population there just exploded. City officials couldn’t understand where all these homeless people on the streets of Philadelphia were suddenly coming from — then they learned that other cities in eastern Pennsylvania were dealing with their homeless population by giving them one-way bus tickets to Philadelphia!
I’m not sure what the answer is. It’s a real dilemma for someone who wants to be charitable. Giving money to a panhandler can feel like the right thing to do, but you run the serious risk of feeding someone’s drug habit and contributing to urban crime.
Is there a shelter or soup kitchen in your city where the homeless can get a free meal? Maybe the best thing to do is hand out cards with the address of the soup kitchen to any panhandler who accosts you. And volunteer at the soup kitchen. And if the panhandler cusses you out for not actually giving him cash, well, I think that’s a pretty good sign that he was really planning to use it for drugs.
Captcha: the conniver

With panhandlers, I typically give them 50 cents and the phone number to the local United Way hotline. The hotline acts as an umbrella referral agency to local charities and churches. I work in social services and believe in charity but not in subsidizing addictions or dysfunctional behavior. But I also believe in giving support and care.

PS — Someone in a position to know (I think in law enforcement, but it was *long* time ago) told me that one clear tip-off that you’re being hit up for drug money is if the panhandler asks for a specific, odd amount of money for a specific purpose, e.g., “I just need 37 cents for the bus.” They’re trying to make it sound like they need the money for something legitimate, but they’re overcompensating.
I used to get that a lot in Philadelphia: “I just need XX cents (random but specific number) for the bus.”

We lived in the Pacific Northwest a while back. One day close to Christmas on the way to work I saw a man at the intersection of an interstate ramp and cross road. He was holding a sign that said something to the effect “Out of work, no home, Please help, we have kids”. He looked pretty down and out. The sad thing was that he never looked up. Not once. He just stood there holding the sign and looked so humiliated and defeated. I saw him from several cars back and passed him as the light turned. The next day he was there again. I had lived in moderately small towns all of my life and had pretty much no experience with homeless or panhandlers. I prayed for him, that he would find work/help. The next day there was a woman there, holding the same sign. She looked as hopeless as the man had. Again, I was several cars from the intersection and watched as someone rolled down a window and offered her some bills. She looked so grateful and wiped her eyes as she walked back to her “station”. This began to gnaw at me. I had been told so many times, “don’t give them money; they’ll just use it for alcohol and drugs.”
Now, I remembered that there were many times we had had so little money that we went to my husband’s parent’s house for Sunday dinner since we had almost nothing to eat. I’d gone to the grocery store saying to myself, “I have twenty-three dollars. How far can I make that stretch?” We had been saved from certain ruin a year or so back by a former parishioner sending us a check out of the blue. Just then, we were in fairly comfortable circumstances. I thought about my little children at home and what I would be willing to go through for them.
I had a twenty in my purse. I prayed that the light would turn red before I went through. It did. I called the woman over and offered her the money. Before she walked away, I asked her how many children she had and their ages. They had two, aged about four and five.
I consulted with my husband first (only fair) and went to the bank to make a withdrawal (no, I’m not naming the amount but it wasn’t gigantic). At the last minute I stopped by a drug store and bought four pairs of gloves and two little stuffed animals. I slipped the money in a Christmas card I’d brought with me and wrote in it: “May God bless you as he has blessed us” and a few other things. I went to work the next day and didn’t see anyone at the intersection. The next day the man was back, holding his sign. I stopped close enough to the intersection to make myself heard and called him over. I handed him the bag and the card and he said, “You’re the lady my wife talked to.” I said yes, and the light turned green as he thanked me.
Later that day I realized that I didn’t know the sexes of the children. At those ages I knew we had some hand-me-downs I could give them if they were girls. I resolved to ask the next time I went by.
I never saw them again. I hope the money we gave them enabled them to get a leg up. I prayed for them for years.

Interesting discussion. I believe in angels, of course, and I believe that I’ve experienced angelic presences, but only in dreams and never in waking experience (I’m a big believer that dreams can be interpreted in a Christian context). So I don’t have much to say on that front though I do appreciate other people’s experiences.
Regarding giving to panhandlers, I go back and forth on that. When I’m in a developing country, I give to people who ask for it, no question. I lived in Africa for a few years and gave a _lot_ of money and food away. In the United States, it’s a trickier question, since we do have a social safety net that is supposed to make sure no one falls through the cracks. I do volunteer at soup kitchens and shelters, of course.
I guess if you are in doubt, it’s safer and better to give than not to give.

Well of course the panhandlers (in the US) are going to look pathetic. They always do. It’s an integral part of making their living. If they weren’t making a living at it they wouldn’t stand there for long, would they?
Remember, in the parable of the Good Samaritan, the man was beaten and left for dead. That circumstance calls for a different approach.
Again, when it comes to panhandlers, you can safely assume that substance abuse has placed them at the side of the road – not the failure of our social/religious safety nets.
The best urban missions require that their residents do some type of work for their room and board. It’s the beggars on the offramps that refuse to comply.
I used to think it was better to err on the side of generosity, but I’ve changed my mind. But y’all go ahead. Hand over your hard-earned money to bankroll their next cheap high. It’s only ultimately about making yourself feel better, right?

The car trouble tale of woe is a hardy perennial. We had a guy in Akron OH when I lived there who must have told everyone he met in the parking lot of Walgreens on our side of town that his oil filter had died.
By the way, there are few panhandlers who manage to clean up and pull a very middle class act: a guy I ran into near Camden Yards here in Baltimore told a tale of visiting from Michigan and having his rental car and his wallet stolen, and he needed money for trainfare to BWI. He was very well groomed and cleancut, and had the flawless diction of a college professor. Three months later I ran into him again (he didn’t remember me) and he tried the same line on me, on the other side of town.
The McDonalds coupons thing is a great idea.

The last time my parents went to New York City, they were conned by a guy posing as a rabbi who claimed he had lost his wallet or something, and they gave him 20 bucks. He promised to return it and even took down their address. I couldn’t believe they had fallen for this ancient dodge. But then again, they gave thousands of dollars to the Republican National Committee, so 20 bucks to a fake rabbi probably did less harm all around. ; ) (/snark)

what does it say that people seem to so naturally align angels with the homeless and the dispossessed. rather than with, say . . hedgefund managers?