VTMBH Article: Body
Haggling on his cell phone with Citibank over exorbitant fees, straddling a pile of bills, and helping customers all at the same time, David Ramnauth holds court outside his parents hardware store. He constantly nods hello and gets patted on the shoulder by men walking past. Ramnauth seems to know everyone on Bedford-Stuyvesants Fulton Street.
With good reason: Hes been working in the area since 1979. His parents now own the building and store he stands in front of, and his brother owns Rose, a beauty supply business down the street, right next door to a health food store that a Ramnauth cousin runs.
Ramnauths family didnt always have so much real estate. When they started out, they were licensed street vendors, selling fragrances and costume jewelry. (It was the disco era, so we sold big pearls and medallions, he recalls.) By juggling street sales, college and his mothers office cleaning job for over two decades--one Ramnauth would watch the tables while the others were occupied--they built three small businesses and began investing time, money and love into the neighborhood. Now, they are vendors, residents, customers, shopkeepers, building owners and small business operators, all in one family. We were in the right place at the right time, says Ramnauth.
Yet the Ramnauths arent reaping many benefits these days. Rents are up on Fulton Street, but business is down--way down. And according to Ramnauth and scores of other small merchants o Fultons main commercial strip, its plummeting because of a measure that was intended to help local merchantsgetting street vendors off the sidewalks of Fulton Street.
In May of 2001, the city, using police on horseback and in helicopters, with metal barricades and special task force teams, removed all street vendors--whether they were licensed or not--from Fulton Street. As with most vendor crackdowns, the city was responding to complaints from residents, commuters and real estate groups to Brooklyns Community Board 3. According to District Manager Lewis Watkins, local business owners wanted the vendors out too, but were too afraid to come forward. Store owners complained under their breath--we were getting a lot of complaints from people who never had a face, says Watkins. Then-City Councilmember Annette Robinson lobbied hard for the vendors removal, which was implemented as part of a $3 million Brooklyn Chamber of Commerce and city Department of Business Services revitalization project called Fulton First.
But on Fulton Street, its difficult to find a single retailer who will acknowledge supporting the campaign for the vendors eviction. Shop owners satisfied with the outcome are just as scarce. When the crush of vendors along Fulton Street sidewalks was swept away, Ramnauth estimates, all businesses out here lost 20 percent of their sales. The street vendors, it turns out, were one strand in the web of relationships that snared customers and sustained Fulton Street.
In interviews up and down the strip--from Bedford to New York avenues--almost all small merchants say the same thing. While a few shop owners report that removal of the vendors did not affect their profits one way or another--Im not waiting for vendors to bring us business, says record store owner Charlie Rawlston--even they have to admit that business did not improve. And its not just the crashing economy, they say. The majority date the local slump to the vendors removal, after which business instantly dropped, contends Roberto Mader, who has worked on Fulton Street for seven years. Then, he adds, 9/11 finished it off. Over and over, vendors and merchants alike mutter phrases like Just look, gesturing with a wave of the hand to point out the obvious: deserted streets, abandoned storefronts, empty marketplaces.
Inside the narrow Rose beauty store, Ramnauths niece Tina, a cherubic 17-year old, lists benefits that vendors brought to the area, and, in turn, to her parents corner store: variety, crowds, liveliness, and music that made you feel wanted, like you belong. Caribbean people like to have some music to bop their heads to, she explains, herself of Guyanese and Indian descent. Without the vendors, says Tina, its just dead.
Outside, Tinas mother Rose notes that zero visibility restrictions have also limited their ability to pay their $6,000 rent every month. Enforced at the same time as vending crackdowns, these city regulations, which prohibit shops from cluttering street sightlines by displaying their wares outside, have the same goal: pristine, merchandise-free sidewalks.
Yet most stores along Fulton Street put inventory outside--in a way, becoming vendors themselves--even though they risk fines of up to $1,000. Sitting in the midst of her T-shirts and handkerchiefs, Rose explains: If you have high rent and no foot traffic, $800 feels like $8,000. If I didnt do this, I couldnt pay the rent. Visible goods--whether a vendors or the stores--equal sales.
While some merchants still think vendors constitute unfair competition, others see them as threads of the same commercial web. Mader has worked for seven years in a store that sells everything you would expect to see at vendors tables: hats, scarves, beaded sandals, trinkets, bags, and more. But business didnt improve with vendors out of the way. In fact, when they were out on the sidewalks en masse, I wouldnt be sitting down on a Saturday, says 27-year-old Mader from his tiny chair. A few doors away, his mother, Pamela, a Trinidadian vendor of incense, had drawn up petitions in support of vendors remaining on the street, giving them to then-Councilmember Robinson. Now, her sons store is losing out.
They made a big mistake for everyone, says Cobra, an aspiring photographer who works in a small photo and gift shop on Fulton Street, close to Nostrand, the epicenter of the Bedford-Stuyvesant shopping strip. Fulton Street is not what it used to be, sighs the 23-year-old philosophically. Ask anyone.
Across the street from Cobra, in a houseware store literally stuffed to the rafters with towels, sheets, curtains, and other home goods, an attractive, quiet man estimates that without the vendors in front of the shop, theyre losing $400 per day, $700 a day on Saturdays. They had to lay off one staff member, and those who remain work fewer shifts. (Because most of them were violating vending or zero visibility laws, vendors and many merchants were afraid to give <i>City Limits</i> full or even first names.)
It wasnt just sales that deteriorated, either. Two weeks after vendors were removed, says Pamela, an old lady was mugged of $200 at the bus stop across the street. While some people say crime was worse with the crowds and the vendors, Tina says, If somebody was in trouble, theyd be the first ones there--even before the cops.
Before, you couldnt have stolen something and gotten more than two feet, before being caught, says Cobra. Everyone looked out for each other. Now, everyone looks out for themselves.
<i>For the rest of this story, please see citylimits.org.</i>
With good reason: Hes been working in the area since 1979. His parents now own the building and store he stands in front of, and his brother owns Rose, a beauty supply business down the street, right next door to a health food store that a Ramnauth cousin runs.
Ramnauths family didnt always have so much real estate. When they started out, they were licensed street vendors, selling fragrances and costume jewelry. (It was the disco era, so we sold big pearls and medallions, he recalls.) By juggling street sales, college and his mothers office cleaning job for over two decades--one Ramnauth would watch the tables while the others were occupied--they built three small businesses and began investing time, money and love into the neighborhood. Now, they are vendors, residents, customers, shopkeepers, building owners and small business operators, all in one family. We were in the right place at the right time, says Ramnauth.
Yet the Ramnauths arent reaping many benefits these days. Rents are up on Fulton Street, but business is down--way down. And according to Ramnauth and scores of other small merchants o Fultons main commercial strip, its plummeting because of a measure that was intended to help local merchantsgetting street vendors off the sidewalks of Fulton Street.
In May of 2001, the city, using police on horseback and in helicopters, with metal barricades and special task force teams, removed all street vendors--whether they were licensed or not--from Fulton Street. As with most vendor crackdowns, the city was responding to complaints from residents, commuters and real estate groups to Brooklyns Community Board 3. According to District Manager Lewis Watkins, local business owners wanted the vendors out too, but were too afraid to come forward. Store owners complained under their breath--we were getting a lot of complaints from people who never had a face, says Watkins. Then-City Councilmember Annette Robinson lobbied hard for the vendors removal, which was implemented as part of a $3 million Brooklyn Chamber of Commerce and city Department of Business Services revitalization project called Fulton First.
But on Fulton Street, its difficult to find a single retailer who will acknowledge supporting the campaign for the vendors eviction. Shop owners satisfied with the outcome are just as scarce. When the crush of vendors along Fulton Street sidewalks was swept away, Ramnauth estimates, all businesses out here lost 20 percent of their sales. The street vendors, it turns out, were one strand in the web of relationships that snared customers and sustained Fulton Street.
In interviews up and down the strip--from Bedford to New York avenues--almost all small merchants say the same thing. While a few shop owners report that removal of the vendors did not affect their profits one way or another--Im not waiting for vendors to bring us business, says record store owner Charlie Rawlston--even they have to admit that business did not improve. And its not just the crashing economy, they say. The majority date the local slump to the vendors removal, after which business instantly dropped, contends Roberto Mader, who has worked on Fulton Street for seven years. Then, he adds, 9/11 finished it off. Over and over, vendors and merchants alike mutter phrases like Just look, gesturing with a wave of the hand to point out the obvious: deserted streets, abandoned storefronts, empty marketplaces.
Inside the narrow Rose beauty store, Ramnauths niece Tina, a cherubic 17-year old, lists benefits that vendors brought to the area, and, in turn, to her parents corner store: variety, crowds, liveliness, and music that made you feel wanted, like you belong. Caribbean people like to have some music to bop their heads to, she explains, herself of Guyanese and Indian descent. Without the vendors, says Tina, its just dead.
Outside, Tinas mother Rose notes that zero visibility restrictions have also limited their ability to pay their $6,000 rent every month. Enforced at the same time as vending crackdowns, these city regulations, which prohibit shops from cluttering street sightlines by displaying their wares outside, have the same goal: pristine, merchandise-free sidewalks.
Yet most stores along Fulton Street put inventory outside--in a way, becoming vendors themselves--even though they risk fines of up to $1,000. Sitting in the midst of her T-shirts and handkerchiefs, Rose explains: If you have high rent and no foot traffic, $800 feels like $8,000. If I didnt do this, I couldnt pay the rent. Visible goods--whether a vendors or the stores--equal sales.
While some merchants still think vendors constitute unfair competition, others see them as threads of the same commercial web. Mader has worked for seven years in a store that sells everything you would expect to see at vendors tables: hats, scarves, beaded sandals, trinkets, bags, and more. But business didnt improve with vendors out of the way. In fact, when they were out on the sidewalks en masse, I wouldnt be sitting down on a Saturday, says 27-year-old Mader from his tiny chair. A few doors away, his mother, Pamela, a Trinidadian vendor of incense, had drawn up petitions in support of vendors remaining on the street, giving them to then-Councilmember Robinson. Now, her sons store is losing out.
They made a big mistake for everyone, says Cobra, an aspiring photographer who works in a small photo and gift shop on Fulton Street, close to Nostrand, the epicenter of the Bedford-Stuyvesant shopping strip. Fulton Street is not what it used to be, sighs the 23-year-old philosophically. Ask anyone.
Across the street from Cobra, in a houseware store literally stuffed to the rafters with towels, sheets, curtains, and other home goods, an attractive, quiet man estimates that without the vendors in front of the shop, theyre losing $400 per day, $700 a day on Saturdays. They had to lay off one staff member, and those who remain work fewer shifts. (Because most of them were violating vending or zero visibility laws, vendors and many merchants were afraid to give <i>City Limits</i> full or even first names.)
It wasnt just sales that deteriorated, either. Two weeks after vendors were removed, says Pamela, an old lady was mugged of $200 at the bus stop across the street. While some people say crime was worse with the crowds and the vendors, Tina says, If somebody was in trouble, theyd be the first ones there--even before the cops.
Before, you couldnt have stolen something and gotten more than two feet, before being caught, says Cobra. Everyone looked out for each other. Now, everyone looks out for themselves.
<i>For the rest of this story, please see citylimits.org.</i>