Squeegee workers survey squeegee workers

In all the grousing and near-hysteria about the young Baltimoreans who do the squeegee thing on the streets of our city, there’s been a woeful lack of listening.

Talk radio listens to the squeegee haters. With its ongoing “City In Crisis” reports, Fox 45 listens to any motorist who tells of being accosted by squeegee workers.

There has been some, but not much, listening to the boys and young men who wash windshields for money at busy intersections. I’ve done some, but not enough.

It was after July’s fatal shooting of Timothy Reynolds, the bat-wielding motorist who went after squeegee workers in downtown Baltimore, that someone thought it time to listen to the squeegee kids, and not just a few of them.

Kyla Liggett-Creel is an associate clinical professor at the University of Maryland School of Social Work. She’s been working with Baltimore kids who’ve been traumatized — and there are a lot of them — for more than two decades. They call her Dr. K.

Mayor Brandon Scott has convened a “squeegee collaborative” of government officials and business, nonprofit and youth leaders to come up with a strategy to deal with squeegee workers.

For that group’s work to have any credibility, its members would have to hear from those who squeegee.

Why are they out there?

What would get them to stop doing what apparently aggravates a lot of drivers and keeps some away (so they say) from the city altogether?

So Dr. K, who’s been consulting the mayor’s staff, convened a meeting with three squeegee leaders — two young men and a young woman who enjoy the respect of others on the street — to design a survey. “I told them we wanted to make sure their voices were being heard,” says Dr. K., who invoked the slogan, “Don’t talk about me without me,” as a convincer.

The trio liked what they heard and got onboard.

“I wanted to help people coming up after me,” says Davion Hodges, a 22-year-old former squeegee worker, now training to be a welder, when I asked why he agreed to design the survey.

Hodges and the other two squeegee leaders met at Coppin State University in July and, with

Dr. K on her laptop, came up with questions on the spot. They and others then conducted a survey of 31 squeegee workers and, after additional meetings, presented the results to a standing-roomonly gathering of the collaborative at the UA House on Fayette Street on Aug. 23.

Here are some of the questions, answers (including statements by squeegee workers) and general findings:

“Why did you start squeegeeing?”

The top answer to this was, as you might expect, “no money.” That was followed by “family reasons,” described as “family going through something, parents unable to help, siblings need help.” The third most-cited reason was “personal,” meaning a need of the squeegee worker for food or clothing.

“Why do youth squeegee?”

“Got a lot of kids in the house.” “Enjoy. Having fun and making money.”

“Tax free money.”

“Have siblings (out of $200 I spend about $180). I’m taking care of my family.”

“Nobody is taking care of me. I have to do it for myself. Take care of myself. Give to my mother when I can.”

“I want to make my mother proud. Money is coming constantly.”

“You can work for two days in a job and make what you can do in two minutes on the street.”

“Mothers tell the youth they have to.”

“See older siblings squeegee and have lots of money.”

“What is it like to squeegee?”

This survey asked for the positive and negative aspects of the work. On the upside was money — with earnings reported at anywhere from $600 to $1,200 a week, flexible schedule, fun and hanging out with friends. The downside included these responses:

“People throw things at you.” “People say racist things.” “People recording you on their phones.”

“People cussing at me.” “People walking up to me like they are going to do something to me.”

“Police will say something to us but they don’t say anything to those people coming at us.”

“What are some possible solutions?”

With this question, those in the survey were asked about their respective futures. Washing windshields for handouts on President Street is “not your forever job,” Dr. K told them. So what would get them off the street and into a more sustainable livelihood? Here are the top answers:

“Good job with good pay ($30 per hour).”

“Have my own business.” “Trade school.”

“Someone come in to help the family.”

And there was this: “Pay our mothers’ more so we don’t have to squeegee.”

The squeegee workers were also asked for comments about their experiences in school. Here are some comments:

“Teachers fail you for half a point.”

“They don’t teach life skills.” “They don’t teach us what we need to survive.”

“They don’t teach us how to be Black men.”

“The guidance counselors change every year and they don’t try to connect with us.”

Collaborative co-chair Joe Jones, the CEO and president of the Center for Urban Families, was hugely impressed with the presentation the squeegee workers made at UA House.

“They talked about the multiple siblings they have back home, that if they aren’t earning money to feed them, they don’t eat,” Jones said. “It’s heartbreaking to hear them describe that…”

But, of course, you only hear if you listen.