A Holiday Catalog of Bumming

Bob Mauer has claim to prime panhandling real estate. He hustles on a small patch of grass near the Broadway offramp of Interstate 35. He carries a crumpled cardboard sign that reads "HELP HOMELESS VET. Thank you!" He wears a U.S. Army logo shirt and fatigue pants to make that image bankable. Mauer works the corner in shifts with two other vagabonds. At night, they share profits to buy smokes and booze. They sleep beneath a nearby overpass, huddled together for warmth.

So when an intruder comes along, Mauer has to protect his turf. This happens regularly, as it did during a recent afternoon at rush hour. Mauer, 50, didn't even notice the guy at first. The vagrant, in his mid-40s, wore a camouflage jacket and jeans, obviously working the war-hero angle, too. Mauer finally noticed the guy because drivers who stopped at a nearby signal — the ones who usually look away and make sure their doors are locked — were peering past Mauer intently.

He spun to face the new guy.

"How long you been here?" the new guy shouted over the din of the highway. But something about him was off. His head stayed cocked to one side, resting against his shoulder. A patchwork of scabs plastered his face. He reeked of piss. "You got a sign?" the guy added hopefully, holding his own ratty homemade placard like a bargaining chip.

"I don't know you!" Mauer shouted as the man stepped closer. "Get away from me!" He balled his hands into fists and stepped forward.

The intruder blinked. He ranted incoherently and spun in small semicircles, like a puppy that's just discovered its tail. He stumbled back across the street and into the shadows beneath Bartle Hall.

This is the first rule of panhandling: Territory must be re-established daily. And once occupied, it is kept only by brute force.

Other rules: The best hours to "work" are when the rest of the world isn't, rush hours and weekends. Primo work conditions are when the weather is bad, because standing in a winter storm is sure to evoke sympathy. Success is contingent on a gimmick, the street equivalent of a straight-up sales pitch.

Everyone can be categorized by a type of solicitation. Con men fake injuries or use standard come-ons. Recall the line favored by infamous Plaza panhandler Jerry Mazer, who asks passers-by for a "down payment on a cheeseburger." Beggars put out a hand and proposition their marks directly. Cup rattlers push their message subtly, by jingling for change. Guys who "fly a sign" use cardboard to sell their plight, billboard style. They compete with more legitimate sidewalk entertainers and charity organizations, all vying for your change.

'Tis the season to be giving. With this in mind, the Pitch has created a panhandling primer with the real stories behind some of those with their hands out.

Name: Nathaniel

Age:52

Warning: Speaks gibberish; has no concept of personal space.

Tenure: Three years "on and off"

Distinction:Sign flyer

Tools: Cardboard sign: "Need Will Work. Can You Help. Bless you."

Hangout: Center island of 47th Street and Belleview intersection

Smells like: Liquor

Odd detail: Won't make eye contact

Formal education: High school, some college "out East"

Previous gig: Cook

Average take: No comment

Best take: $20 from one person

Justification: "I'm a person of jobs. I'll do any construction, anything that comes along. It can't be anything about narcotics because something with some shit just went wrong."

Best street Zen: "I drink during the day and especially this time when it's chilly. It's like I find a hole and get warm."

Name: Vincent

Age: 49 Tenure: Two years

Distinction: Cup rattler

Tools: A plastic bucket to sit on and a paper cup from any garbage can; each cup usually lasts a week.

Hangout: In front of The Gap on the Plaza

Smells like: Hangover

Odd detail: Wears a shiny silver watch.

Formal education: Lincoln College Preparatory Academy

Previous gig: Custodian for American Sweeping

Average take: $150 to $200 a day

Best take: $350 in seven hours

Trade secret: "I burn a hole in the bottom of it [the cup] for good luck. The change tends to rattle a little bit more with the hole in it."

Justification: "I'm not homeless. This is a job. I have a $78,000 home. I come out here. I sit on my bucket eight to 12 hours a day. I average 150 to 200 bucks a day. No job is gonna pay me that. So why not sit on my ass and get tax-free money? Everything I have on now was purchased from The Gap by customers. That's three sweaters, these jeans and this new plaid jacket. I've paid for the mortgage on my house, for light, gas, Dish Network and two cell phones." He commuted here in his Cadillac until he was spotted by a regular contributor, who got angry. He now gets dropped off and picked up to preserve his cover.

Claim to fame: "Most of the people on the Plaza call me by my first name. I am one of the best, most professionalest panhandlers the Plaza has ever seen."

Best street Zen: "Respect goes a long ways. You have to be kind, courteous, polite. And if people don't give you anything, still say thank you."