Sid Stein Reinvents Charitable Giving

I was invited to a Valentine’s Day party this year. As you might be able to deduce from my stories, Valentine’s Day is not one of my favorite holidays. It’s restrictive by forcing one to choose between many candidates. And, even though it’s considered a “Hallmark Holiday,” women seemingly attach great significance and importance to the day. There are even financial considerations. Just how many Valentine’s Day gifts can one person purchase? On top of that, there are logistical considerations. Can one invite a woman to a Valentine’s Day breakfast without her knowing that she didn’t rate high enough to be invited to dinner? Probably not. So, in Sid Stein’s scheme of things, it’s just easier not to have a date at all. Besides, there are 364 other days in the year. So, the prospect of a party appealed to me. It was also a benefit for the American Heart Association, making it a good cause as well. And, when a pretty friend of mine asked me to give her a lift, I decided I would go.

I am glad I went to the party. Not only did I meet some very nice people, but I also saw some old friends I hadn’t seen in quite a while. One of these old acquaintances was Alex, someone I used to see regularly at karaoke at the Bleecker, now known as Pinto and Hobbs. He got married and moved to Troy, New York, just a short ride north from Albany. Since finding marital bliss, Alex apparently doesn’t get out in Albany very much anymore. If he does, he doesn’t get to Pinto and Hobbs. That’s a shame because he is a very entertaining karaoke singer.

Alex was standing with another friend as the two of us began reminiscing about old times. They were funny times too. As much as I still love karaoke at Pinto and Hobbs, I consider those the “Classic Karaoke” years, the time when I was a bit out of control and far more confrontational. In fact, Alex reminded me of the time when he and another friend “saved” my life. They intervened in a situation. Someone was apparently angry enough with me that he wanted to beat my brains out. I remember the incident well and was certainly grateful when Alex intervened. He is quite tall, which always helps with intimidating shorter bullies.

Alex, however, added a new story to the Sid Stein lore, one about which I have absolutely no recollection. The story convinced me that I should reconsider hiring a scribe to follow me around to record the events of my life I don’t remember.

It’s a short story, but adds a new wrinkle to the nature of charitable giving which might appeal to some people who normally don’t like to give or who need more fun when giving. Alex told me that he would never forget the time when he spotted me in an open window on the second or third story of a Lark Street brownstone throwing coins to a panhandler. Since I have no memory of the incident, I have no idea whose apartment I was in. Thinking back, I can’t even remember anyone I know who even lives on the particular block of Lark Street Alex identified. I asked him if he was positive about the location because there is someone I know who had an apartment which overlooks the street. He was adamant, but who knows for sure? Not I.

You might think that this form of charitable giving is demeaning to the recipient. A valid argument could be made that I was mocking this poor person who needed money, even if I was inebriated at the time. By the same token, I could argue that even if such were the case, at least I was helping someone in need. And, think about all the people who pass by beggars without giving them anything at all. Alex, though, added a twist that made me feel better about the incident. He noted that not only was I enjoying myself, but so was the panhandler. Apparently, we made a little game out of it.

Is there a moral to this story? Not really. On the other hand, there are many people who need help. Some even overcome their own sense of dignity and beg for help. So, if you are a person who has a problem giving to them, try to have some fun with it. You’ll be doing a good deed while helping a person in need.