Sorting Them Out

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 588, 14 February 1929, Page 8

Sorting Them Out

Good and Bad in Charity Seekers

THERE is a big regular army of charity-seekers in Auckland City to-day—an army whose only bugle-call is tho pang of acute hunger. The great majority are genuinely distressed. but some are living by carefully organised artifice, and canvass business houses systematically for help. This band of professional cadgers is being eliminated gradually

from Auckland City by a system of close cheeking, operated by the Rev. C. G. Scrimgeour from the Methodist Central Mission, and sponsored by business men themselves.

JN addition to those who are being helped by the relief department of the Auckland Hospital, there Is a large contingent of people who appeal to the generosity of the business community for individual assistance. Their case is a difficult one, because the average man in business cannot discriminate immediately between the genuine charity-seeker and the regular cadger. His difficulties have been modified by the operation of the Business Men’s Relief Service, which, after four or five months in existence,

promises to clear from the business houses of the city almost all trace of the professional sponger. Careful tally shows that SO per cent, of the appeals are genuine, but in order to ensure that justice is done, a card checking system is employed. When a man appeals to a business house he is given a card addressed to the Rev. C. G. Scrimgeour. If his case is genuine he presents it and receives whatever relief is available; if it is not, he knows he will get nothing from Mr. Scrimgeour, and simply tears up his card. The process of sorting the good from the bad is an intricate one, but it bas been reduced to a fine degree by the dispensers of relief, and even the cleverest subterfuge is discerned in members of what Mr. Scrimgeour calls his “regular army.” It is well not to forget that the great majority of appeals are genuine. It cannot be forgotten, however, that many of them are shallow and unsubstantial, and merely hollow excuses to live temporarily upon the misguided generosity of the people. When the Business Men’s Relief Service was established toward the

end of last year, many firms in the city were quick to recognise in it the potential solution of a difficult problem, and although no contribution was demanded to entitle membership, individual sums up to £SO have been given to help the service on to its feet. It is estimated by the management committee of business men that the service will cost about £2.000 annually to conduct. Mo effort is being made by Mr. Scrimgeour to build up a reserve fund for this purpose, but calls are made when necessary upon those who have promised their financial support. Several firms are trying out the idea, and. if they are convinced of its efficacy, doubtless will contribute toward its support when the need for further money becomes apparent. CADGERS GROWING LESS The operation of four or five months shows that the professional beggar class has been severely checked, and it is anticipated by the promoter of the service that when most of the city business people are embraced by its provisions an effective barrier will be raised against this undesirable section. It costs nothing to join, yet the benefits are widespread. By the institution of this scheme, Mr. Scrimgeour has undertaken a task which has been facing the business world ever since the grotesque form of poverty showed itself to thousands of New Zealanders. Men in business are willing to help deserving cases, but when they are approached by many people, all telling the same hard-luck tale, the good case is turned down with the bad, simply because no risk is taken where there is an element of doubt. Meal tickets, bed tickets and small orders for groceries are dealt out under this system—just sufficient to keep body and soul together among those who are struggling for their liv ing. Systematic investigation brings to light the cadger and he is turned gently but firmly from the door. HUNDREDS ARE HUNGRY A difficulty presents itself when relief work is undertaken. When a man goes to the country, a month elapses before he receives his first pay. In the meantime his wife and family—usually left in the city—have to live. Even in city jobs a week passes before the receipt of the first envelope —and frequently the landlord is then found to be sitting on the doorstep when the breadwinner reaches the gate. On this scheme of casual day-to-day help, Mr. Scrimgeour is handling about 100 cases weekly—at a time of the year when charity relief is expected to be negligible. In addition to this, the hospital relief system is distributing over £40,000 annually, and there are approximately 30 social societies in the city doing good work. “Do any of them starve?” Mr. Scrimgeour was asked. “None of them starve,” he replied, "but many are suffering malnutrition, and hundreds are going mighty, mighty hungry A