Bruce Matlock photo
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Published: July 12, 2009
Terry Ashman jumped up to catch the three $1 bills floating to the ground.
He grabbed them before the driver of the truck turned left off the ramp at Exit 33 off Interstate 77 onto Williamson Road.
"God bless you," he called out to the driver, stuffing the money into his cargo pants.
"I passed right by him," said Terry's fiancee, Molly Mohammed, 42, holding a worn "Homeless and Hungry" sign written on the back of a Bud Light cardboard box.
Ashman, 36, settled back on the log he sits on when it is his turn on the corner. Lacey, a dog the couple rescued, rested patiently between his legs as the next wave of cars filled up the four turn lanes.
"I've had every bone in my body broken," Ashman said when asked why he doesn't have a job. "I have no license, no car, no tools and the economy sucks."
Nearby, a few others have appeared to ask when and if they will get a chance to stand on the corner as well. Panhandlers off the exit described a loose "gentlemen's agreement" under which they've agreed to share the corner and monitor each person's time.
Mooresville Police Chief Carl Robbins said he's noticed an increase in panhandlers on the corner these days.
"Before, it just seemed like there was just the one guy," he said. "Now, you see different faces. They are actually on both ramps now."
Robbins said the town has received a number of complaints about it. However, the exit is outside the town's corporate limits, meaning the town ordinance banning panhandling doesn't cover the exit.
"A lot of people assume that we (patrol both sides of the) interstate, but we don't," Robbins said. "If we have a call for Exit 36, police can use their discretion. We have a few complaints out there, but not many. It seems to help."
The penalty for violating the town panhandling ordinance is court costs, around $120, plus a fine of around $50 to $500.
Mohammed said she and others have been run off from Statesville, which also has a panhandling ordinance.
Statesville Police Chief Tom Anderson said the city's aggressive panhandling ordinance has eliminated the health and public safety concerns officials were facing.
"There are people that need help, and they have valid needs," he said. "It's a shame you have people in desperate situations."
Officers started off by issuing verbal warnings and directed people to Fifth Street Ministries or other agencies. Repeat offenders were issued citations and eventually arrested people on misdemeanor charges, Anderson said.
A General Statute also prohibits people from obstructing traffic once they step out onto the pavement.
"I think some people don't care for it because they know there are agencies that actually offer assistance," Robbins said.
Just enough to live
"Get a job!" someone yelled from a passing car.
Ashman and Mohammed didn't even turn their heads. They have grown accustomed to hearing the comment from passers-by. They receive different reactions all the time.
"They get out of the car and want to fight you," he said. "These people, they don't understand. It's a rough life out here. Would you like to try it?"
Ashman said he and Mohammed left Exit 42 near Troutman because of a disagreement with a man who regularly sits at that corner.
Many panhandlers find Exit 33 an attractive spot "because the money is good," panhandler Rick Groce said.
"I never thought I would be out here at 56 years old," he said.
Groce has searched for a job since the Mooresville office of Port City Electric closed down. It's hard to find a job that doesn't require you to stand up, Groce said, gesturing down to the 6-inch scars on each of his dark red legs.
Groce used to live with his brother, but eventually couldn't afford the rent.
"I filed for disability," he said. "He's got kids. I didn't want to burden him down with my problems. I got turned down (for disability). I had to get me a tent and move to the woods."
There are a few secrets people employ, Groce said. For instance, if a woman or an animal is with a panhandler, people tend to give more money.
Groce said it was hard to get past certain stereotypes such as homeless people drinking away handouts or being unclean. He hasn't consumed alcohol in over a year, he said.
When he is waiting for his turn at the corner or in his tent in the nearby woods, Groce said he reads his Bible or prays for the passing motorists' compassion. Groce said sitting there day after day watching people he knows pass by is embarrassing.
"I'd like to still work," he said. "Right now, I'd be a liability to anyone who put me to work. This is just one of those valleys I have to get through."
On his best days, he would sit on the corner all day and collect $75, he said. Most of the time, however, he tries to collect just enough to be relatively comfortable for a few days. People's willingness to help out touches him all the time.
One woman and her husband supplied him with a new tent, sleeping bag and other essentials. He tries to always leave them with a "Thank you, brother. God bless you."
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