Many people collect things, from books to stamps to shoes; it's usually a harmless diversion, perhaps even a social or educational outlet. Collecting garbage, that's something street people do. But that's not nearly the whole story. In _Mongo: Adventures in Trash_ (Bloomsbury), Ted Botha has reported on New York street collectors. "Mongo" is slang that originated in New York in the 1980s for "any discarded object that is retrieved." This decidedly does not mean mere garbage, the worthless rotting ephemera which no one wants. There are plenty of discarded things, however, from books to wood scraps to blocks of buildings, which the person who did the discarding thought were worth zero and which the eventual collector thought had value. And many times, that value is in the thousands. Frequently this is a surprising story of rags literally going to riches. Botha reminds us, "The street collector you see today could well be a bum or a lunatic, that's true enough, but just as easily a millionaire, a schoolteacher, an accountant, a doctor, a housewife." He has contacted all these levels to report on them.
This is a New York story, for a good reason. All mongo collectors of all levels "... agree on one thing: New York can't be beat." The reason is simple: "Great wealth makes great garbage." There is great wealth, true, but also people live very close together, meaning that collectors have to range minimally, and there is frequent turnover of renters. Remarkably, mongo collectors all are breaking the law. In New York City, garbage placed for pickup is no longer anyone's property but the city's. Even official sanitation workers are forbidden to take anything for themselves. Botha never once heard of anyone picked up for picking up garbage, so the regulations about it seem to be universally ignored.
The lowest of the low are the black bag people, those who hunt inside black plastic garbage bags. They have to look through genuine garbage, of course, but can find watches, rings, and even wallets, which they can sell on the street. Somewhat above the black baggers are those who are eating garbage. The best garbage to eat is thrown out by restaurants, and the best time to hunt for such stuff is at closing time. "Sometimes they put the food at the top of the bag so it is easier to find," explains once such collector. Some are dedicated anarchists, loosely organized to share found food so that eating this way is a political option and a rebellion against consumerism. Higher in the hierarchy are the canners, those who survive on what they can make by selling recyclable cans. Mongo is sometimes about making a living, and sometimes about making a life. A Chelsea woman found a computer in the trash several years ago, and from that taught herself to repair found computers, which she now resells. There is a former bank employee here who specializes in books and printed ephemera. He has found a first edition of _Finnegans Wake_ as well as signatures of Benjamin Disraeli and Aaron Burr. There are a couple who dig down in the grounds that used to house outhouses; they can get bottles worth thousands of dollars. Another excavates sludge for what has gone down modern sewers. There are artists who make an entire domestic statement with a folk-art installation of _objets trouvés_. There is the conservator who picks up valuable exotic wood for reinstallation into other houses. There are many collectors here with a passion for what they do, and very few outright loonies. With wide-eyed curiosity, and an agreeable friendliness he shared with his subjects as he does with his readers, Botha has dug up a strange and valuable portion of the national economy.