D.C. MERCHANTS LOSING PATIENCE WITH PANHANDLERS

Every day, Anne Kruk says, the same man stands in front of her shop in Northwest Washington. He never speaks, but Kruk says she knows what he wants: a handout.

And she's not giving.

"We had thought of giving something to him, but we thought we'd better not, because he'd be living here," said Kruk, 58, manager of the Trover Shop on Connecticut Avenue, where on a recent day as many as 10 panhandlers lined one block. "I wouldn't give because every time they see me, they'd expect something from me."

Panhandlers have become a common sight on the streets of the nation's capital, and it's a sight that many people find disturbing.

Merchants throughout downtown and in Capitol Hill's commercial district say they have noticed a marked increase in panhandling since last summer. The beggars, they say, are driving away business by loitering in front of their stores and harassing customers.

"They're a nuisance," said Herbert Stanwood, owner of the Capitol Hill Exxon station on Pennsylvania Avenue. "I think they've had a real negative influence on the Capitol Hill commercial district. These are young, able-bodied guys. When you work 60, 70 hours a week, it's hard to sympathize with someone who stands out there five hours a day with his hand out."

The merchants contend that many of the panhandlers are neither destitute nor homeless. One Capitol Hill businessman, who asked not to be identified, said he has seen beggars drive away in cars after several hours of panhandling.

"I knew one guy, he was big, about 30 years old," said Vincent Cronin, who sells flowers at Third Street and Pennsylvania Avenue SE. "He would put pebbles in his shoes and walk around limping, begging for money."

Cronin said panhandlers have tried to rob him three times in the past six months. And the Capitol Hill merchant who requested anonymity said his trash bin has been set afire several times after he has called the police to move beggars from outside his store.

"I know that one day, I'm going to get a call saying that my store has been burned down," he said.

Merchants attribute the influx of panhandlers to people who give money to them. They say their customers often do so because they are intimidated or scared.

John Boyd, 24, a financial analyst who lives on Capitol Hill, said he usually ignores their pleas. "A lot of these guys wear Nike tennis shoes and leather jackets and just don't seem to be needy," he said. "I'd rather donate my money to a worthy charity, where I know my money will be put to good use instead of {spent} on drugs or alcohol."

"We've had customers tell us that we shouldn't let anyone stand in front of the door," said Kruk, the Trover Shop manager. "But what can we do? There's no law that says you can't panhandle."

There was such a law once, but in 1982 the city's Office of the Corporation Counsel ruled that the ordinance was unconstitutional and that beggars cannot be arrested for soliciting.

Police said that all they can do now is keep panhandlers from standing in front of establishments. They can be arrested only if they are actually blocking the entrance to a business or are attempting to extort money from customers, officials said.

Advocates for the homeless argue that if panhandlers had a choice, most would not be on the streets begging.

"I don't think people do it with pleasure. I think it's basically very humiliating," said Susanne Sinclair-Smith, director of the Washington Legal Clinic for the Homeless. "Some have drug problems, and they're desperate. They'll seek money any way they can. Some have hit hard times, and there aren't many forms of help to get them back on their feet quickly."

For their part, panhandlers say they are just trying to survive.

On a rainy afternoon recently, a man stood outside the Signet Bank on Pennsylvania Avenue in Southeast, holding the door open for customers using the automatic teller machines. A coffee cup at his feet was half-filled with change, and he jingled coins in his left hand. The man, who wouldn't give his name, said that he had been a beggar for eight months, ever since his construction job ended, and that he sleeps on benches, behind buildings and on heating grates. He said he takes in about $15 a day, which he uses to wash his clothes and buy food, cigarettes and toiletries.

"I look at this as survival, not as a job," said the man, who said he is 36 years old and from Southwest Washington. "If I don't do this, what am I going to do? I ain't going to rob. I ain't going to sell drugs. That doesn't leave too many avenues to turn to."

At the Metro entrance on the southwest corner of Connecticut Avenue and L Street NW, Rodney Hawkins, 30, sat on his sleeping bag and held a plastic bag full of his belongings. Hawkins said he has been panhandling for a year, ever since his girlfriend told him to leave their apartment in Prince George's County.

Hawkins said he gets angry "when people say, 'You're big, you're healthy, go get a job.' Why don't they say, 'Son, you want to work? I know where you can get a job,' even if it's mowing lawns or digging ditches or fixing cars."

Kenneth Reddick, 31, another Connecticut Avenue panhandler, defended his right to beg: "I don't cause trouble. If the police tell me to move along, I move along. Nobody's hurt."

But many merchants argue that they are in fact being hurt. They say the city should do more -- perhaps implementing an anti-loitering law or a measure that would recognize panhandling as a job, thus subjecting beggars to the same restrictions as self-employed workers.

"License them, just like vendors," said Paul Meagher, assistant manager of the Hawk 'n' Dove bar on Pennsylvania Avenue SE. "That way, they'd have to pay taxes and would be part of the main economic system. If {a pandhandler's} going to abuse people's good intentions, he should have his name there for people to see. Right now, they're just anonymous hasslers."

Still, some business people see the panhandlers as an inevitable part of city life.

"To be honest, I don't think about the panhandlers that much," said Paul Lewis, an assistant manager at Bally of Switzerland on Connecticut Avenue. "If people are giving them the money, you can see why they're there. I think a lot of people accept it as part of everyday life down here."

Articles appear as they were originally printed in The Washington Post and may not include subsequent corrections.