Oakland’s panhandlers find time to smile, sing while gathering change

Every now and then, near the corner of Forbes and Atwood, you can hear loud and ambient music… Every now and then, near the corner of Forbes and Atwood, you can hear loud and ambient music accompanied by a deep baritone voice.

It’s a familiar sound to pedestrians in Oakland. It’s the sound of William Allen Dorsey.

Dorsey is an instantly recognizable panhandler on Forbes Avenue – the blind, singing man with a stocky build, who habitually rocks back and forth to the music blasting from the duct tape-swaddled boom box that also serves as his seat.

But Dorsey isn’t homeless; he lives in a public housing building in the Hill District, and though he is a panhandler, Dorsey likes to distance himself from the archetype.

“I’m not like some of those panhandlers, I’m not an aggressive panhandler,” he said. “I’m a public entertainer.”

Dorsey, who’s lived most of his life in Pittsburgh, spends more time Downtown than in Oakland. He usually comes to his Oakland post after dark.

“I’ve been coming out to Oakland for 25 years now,” he said.

Dorsey has been blind since birth. He did at one point pursue a musical career, but was hampered by his handicap one way or another.

“I almost had a singing career, but [the band] didn’t want me to play my instruments,” he said. “They didn’t want to be seen with me that much. So I quit.

“I’d rather be a one-man orchestra, like I am now. Ray Charles was his own orchestra.”

Oakland has its fair share of panhandlers – some, like Dorsey, are not homeless, but others are.

Lt. Frank Jackson, a Korean War veteran, sleeps under a bridge in Oakland every night, and has done so for the past three years. Jackson, 79, is also a former federal convict.

“I don’t make that much. I barely make enough to eat,” he said. “But people in Pittsburgh are generous. They know how to help out a soldier.”

Jackson was stationed in Inchon, South Korea, in 1951. He was there for three and a half years. He then spent an equal amount of time in a federal prison in Atlanta for what he called “beating up the enemy too bad.”

Now, he gets by with what he can.

“I’m homeless and I’m here about every night,” he said. “Homeless and hungry.”

Another homeless man named Roosevelt, often panhandles on South Craig Street. He sits on his plastic crate throughout the day, holding his cup with a smile, joking with passersby.

“I live wherever I can really,” he said, smiling. “I try to make people feel happy. Things could be worse.”

Roosevelt, who just turned 49, splits his time between the streets of Oakland and the Pleasant Valley Homeless Shelter in the North Side. He’s been on the streets for three years.

Roosevelt grew up in the Hill District and served in the Army for four years before leaving in 1980. Since then, he’s held various jobs around Pittsburgh.

His longest and last job was with a catering company. It lasted 13 years. Since then, he’s been making ends meet by panhandling.

Roosevelt relies on his rapport with neighborhood residents for his business.

Last week a group of men stopped and joked with him, promising to remember his birthday. When a woman attempted to parallel park her SUV, Roosevelt jumped off his crate and assisted her in parking.

“If you’re friendly to them, they are friendly to you,” he said. “Smiles are free, everyone’s got one. It don’t cost you to smile.”

Roosevelt and Jackson aren’t the only ex-soldiers working on the streets.

Panhandler Lamont Stevens served in the Army at the same time as Roosevelt. And, like Roosevelt, he was born and raised in the Hill District.

But Stevens, who panhandles on Forbes Avenue, is not homeless. He lives on Centre Avenue.

“I just do this to get some food,” he said. “I’m not well educated, so I gotta hustle.”

Like the other panhandlers in Oakland, he appreciates the generosity of the community. He told a story about a Pitt student who bought him a full meal from Szechuan Express.

“I love the students here,” he said. “They are very warm people. It’s like one big family.”