NewsBeat

June 2018 NewsBeat 9 He earned a master's degree in engineering, then landed a job with the state. But he grew disillusioned, he said, with the bribery and official corruption he saw around him. "I was the only honest guy," he said. Mr. Singh arrived at Kennedy International Airport in 1980 with $300 and the address of a friend's friend, who helped him get settled. "I was thinking, the most honest people must be in America," he said. He found out quickly that his Indian engineering degree had little currency in this country. He worked retail jobs before approaching The Times, where a manager suggested he sell at 262 Central Park West, the White House. Mr. Singh started on April 23, 1982. Mr. Singh's endurance embodies one of New Yorkers' favorite truisms: that their big, reputedly heartless city is really a collection of small, caring villages. It also attests to a less comforting truth: the city's blunt juxtapositions of the wealthy and the not- so — like Mr. Singh, who makes about $25 on a weekday ($40 on a Sunday), working in the shadows of some of the most expensive real estate on the planet. For some Upper West Siders, he is a reminder of a less Darwinian city. "It's like he's part of the old-time New York where you have other people you look out for," said Maxine Davis, a Feldenkrais practitioner who has lived in the area since 1979. "Young people come here and make a fortune and stay for two or three years and then move out. Who makes up the long-term neighborhood? I have a strong sense that you need that." Mr. Singh is also among the last of a vanishing breed: the sidewalk newspaper hawker. While his Times sales have dwindled to about 80 a day from nearly 800, he outperforms many brick-and- mortar newsstands. Mark Weitzel, who heads print distribution for The Times, said there are about 130 individuals selling papers on New York streets, but most work for larger vendors and handle fewer copies than Mr. Singh, who buys his papers directly from The Times and other companies. "Singh is definitely unique," Mr. Weitzel said, "as he is a one-man operation with an apparent loyal group of regular customers." Unlike most street vendors, sellers of newspapers and other published material are protected by the First Amendment and need no license. Mr. Singh has no protection, however, from the changes that keep intruding on his corner — two powerful foes in particular: the internet and home delivery. One regular, Donald Christensen, recalled that "for a while, Singh would carefully remove the advertising stickers promoting home delivery of The Times before handing the paper to a customer." With only rent, meals and the bus as expenses, he has saved enough to send money to relatives in India. He has no computer or cellphone, but calls his nephew Poona every few weeks from a nearby deli. "Every time they are asking me, 'Come back,'" he said. "I don't know." Mr. Singh appears to relish his autonomy. Neighbors ask one another if he has the means to retire in New York; a few have spoken about leaving him something in their wills — the assumption being that he will outlast them all. For now, Mr. Singh's plan is simply to keep working. — Reprinted from The New York Times Jack Begg contributed reporting. A version of this article appears in print on April 22, 2018, on Page MB1 of the New York edition with the headline: Extra! Extra! He's Still Selling. Order Reprints | Today's Papers | Subscribe While his sales of the Times have dwindled to about 80 a day from nearly 800, Mr. Singh outperforms many brick-and-mortar newsstands. Credit: Joseph Michael Lopez for The New York Times

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