It’s SHOWTIME!

Only on the New York City subway

Another fond visit to a past when people mindlessly crammed themselves into subway cars, no one even thought about wearing masks, and you’d be hard-pressed to tell the difference between performers and panhandlers. This was what it used to be like on the New York City subway. (Updated November 20, 2020)

The door at the end of the car opens and here it comes. You know what’s coming because you’ve heard it at least six times on this trip home today.

Excuse me, ladies and gennelmen…

On any given day on the New York City subway, there’s a continuous parade of panhandlers and performers. You hear the above and it’s either time to scrounge around for some spare change or get the hell out of the way.

And some of our panhandlers are impressively creative. In fact, sometimes the panhandlers are the performers. For example, there are the three old black guys doing doo-wop from car to car with a crumpled up paper bag and they’re good. They are not to be confused with the other three old black guys, often going the other way, who sing amazing gospel songs in perfect harmony.

There used to be a stoic, silent guy who sturdily worked his way up and down the car, handing out carefully printed pieces of paper saying he’s deaf and raising three kids on his own. Once he got to one end of the car, he backtracked to take the pieces of paper and collect any donations. I seem to recall that he’d offer single pieces of Trident gum to anyone giving him money.

There was also the incredibly skinny woman on the 6 train who would get into the middle of the car, fall down on her knees, lift her shirt to let everyone see her ribcage and moan loudly, “I’m STARVING! PLEASE PLEASE ANYONE, CAN ANYONE GIVE ME MONEY FOR FOOD?”

(Late one night I was sitting next to some guy reading El Diario who had a grocery bag between his feet. When Starving Woman came through and had done her schtick, the guy reached down into the bag and handed a take-out dish to her without looking up. I offered to give him a donation and he said there was no need; he worked at a restaurant and just brought leftovers onto the train at the end of his shift.)

Most panhandlers seem to have received the same script from, what?, Begging 101?

Excuse me ladies and gennelmen; I’m sorry to disturb your ride today but, believe me, the hardest thing I’ve ever done is standing here asking you kind people for help.

Now that I think of it, however, that was kind of my patter from the bad old days when I was out there trying to put $1.25 together for a shortie of something to fix me up. Maybe it’s a case of collective memory?

There are variations. There are veterans. There’s the guy who does his spiel in English, Spanish and Spanglish. The one who says that he accepts debit cards, credit cards, and American Express gift cards. There’s the woman who welcomes us into this, her living room, and asks us to please clean up after ourselves. Then there are those who invoke the kids they’re raising and, most disturbing, those who do it with the kids in tow.

There was the woman who haltingly moved from car to car with her red-tipped broom handle, bumping into people and apologizing. See, she’d got stabbed in her eye coming home from work one night (at this point she’d flip her one eyelid inside out). She was a regular at the liquor store at my stop on the train where she’d be hanging out, laughing and seeing just fine thanks. Although, come to think of it, she hasn’t been around much lately. I hope she’s ok.

Then there are the performers.

The first time I heard it, “Ladies and gennelmen, it’s SHOWTIME”, I was enchanted. I’d been in town maybe six months and was still living up in Inwood (the very northern tippy top of Manhattan that is really more Bronx than Manhattan….or was when I lived there), so this happened on the A train.

There was a whole troupe. Teenagers down to a ridiculously talented little guy who was maybe 4 years old. They fired up the boom box and went into their routine. They were great. Clearly these kids put a lot of time and effort into their perfectly synchronized routine. The entire car burst into applause when they were done and those kids cleaned up.

I’m not quite so delighted when I hear that it’s SHOWTIME anymore. Partially because so many performers are way too quick to stress that we’re all perfectly safe; that they’ve never ever kicked a passenger. Then they fling themselves around the poles and upside down, barely missing someone’s head. Not mine. I move.

The mariachi bands are fun. Generally two or three guys with a guitar, an accordion, and sometimes a stand up bass. They’re enthusiastic and cheerful. And if they’re just a little off-key, so what?

Sometimes one of the platform buskers will take a chance on the trains, bringing their guitars and soulful ballads onto the crowded subway car. They tend to be ignored. Either we’re all half asleep on our way to work or zombified after work or trying to talk to our friends and, face it, there’s a reason they’re playing underground. Go find an open mic, my sad friend, we’re talking here.

One memorable night three dramatically dressed “ladies” launched into a rousing rendition of Sisters (are Doing it for Themselves) and had the whole car dancing. That was fun.

While I can appreciate the skill and talent of the guys lugging their (sometimes) beautifully decorated African drums onto the train, the fact is that drumming in those contained spaces hurts my ear drums. I am not shy about covering my ears when they start and if they’re offended, they are in the wrong city.

Probably the most unforgettable mix of panhandling and performance was on a 3 train going uptown one night. The emaciated fellow had just worked the car and didn’t really score much at all. He was about to move to the next car when a man and woman got on and it was SHOWTIME! They weren’t all that and most of the car ignored them. They wrapped up their uninspired routine (which thankfully didn’t include any swinging around from the poles) and made their way to the opposite door from where our panhandler stood, rapt. Suddenly he began pushing his way through the car to catch up with them, pulling coins from his cup to give them.

We spend countless hours on the subways in this city and many others. Most of us plug our ears and dive into our electronic gizmos the minute we manage to get crammed into a corner or, miraculously, get a seat. But doing that means that we may miss out on something extraordinary.

And sometimes that extraordinary thing is the smile we get from a guitar player when we drop a buck into his cowboy hat.

Don’t be like us. If you visit New York and take the subway, pay attention.

It’s the best show in town.

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