PUSHERS, PEDDLERS AND PIERCINGS

At Harvard, an establishment covered in ivy, full of prospective Rhodes Scholars and steeped in tradition, landmarks that are featured in application catalogues include: John Harvard, Memorial Church and the Science Center. But what about the Spare Change Guy? Whether or not the student body and administration are willing to admit it, there are several individuals around campus who have become just as important to student life as, say, Widener or Rudenstine. Some would hazard to say that it would be just as valid for Japanese tourists to take pictures of these characters alongside the squirrels. So here it is--an insider's guide to the noteworthy seminal figures not usually included in a overview of Harvard.

THAT SPARE CHANGE GUY

Every Harvard student has walked by the fine French eatery Au Bon Pain and found themselves greeted with these words: "Hey big guy!"--or perhaps more enticingly, with a fond "Hey pretty lady." Either way, they've just been exposed to the crack sales techniques of the most famous Spare Change vendor in Harvard Square.

What most Harvard students may not know is the story behind this Square veteran--Gregory Henry Daugherty. Twenty-nine year old Daugherty says he's been selling Spare Change in the Square for four years, and his enthusiasm for the organization is still strong. "Spare Change papers is a great organization for homeless people," Daugherty says. "It helps homeless people and gives them an idea what they want to do with themselves. Me, I do it because I enjoy selling. I enjoy the public."

Daugherty related his story of how he came to be a veteran Spare Change vendor, and simultaneously revealed some of the inner workings of the organization. Originally from Boston, Daugherty came to Cambridge to hand out the coupon book The Square Deal. Eventually, Spare Change asked him to do some jobs that did not include selling papers, but the publication couldn't give Daugherty the compensation promised. "They were supposed to pay me some money, but they couldn't pay me any money," says Daugherty. However, the editors had heard of Daugherty's aggressive sales technique while he was peddling The Square Deal.

Most new Spare Change vendors are given 10 copies of the publication to start with. They can then sell them for a dollar each and use the profits to buy more copies from Spare Change to sell. According to Daugherty, the editors told him, "We feel like you're a great salesman, so let's give you a hundred papers, you go out on the street and sell your hundred papers." So began his tenure with Spare Change. Daugherty claims he has been with Spare Change for four years; a fellow vendor, Joe Manuel, says Daugherty has been there for six; yet another vendor, Ed Springman, says five, as does Spare Change student intern Toni E. Moore '98, who claims Daugherty has been a vendor since the publication's founding in 1992. Spare Change Office Manager Fred Ellis, who has been with the publication since its inception, settles this dispute: according to Ellis, Spare Change was founded in 1992 and Daugherty has been a vendor since its founding. Despite the confusion about how long Daugherty has been with Spare Change, the consensus is that he is a veteran of the publication and also a great guy.

"He's my running partner," says fellow vendor Ed Springman, who works the Star Market in Porter Square. He met Daugherty through Spare Change, and agrees that Daugherty definitely has a more aggressive selling style than most. He is also of very resilient character, according to Moore, who is currently writing her thesis on the economic practices of homeless people. "There's a lot of rejection involved [in the life of a Spare Change vendor]...most people won't look them in the eye."

To compensate for this, Daugherty has developed his aggressive sales technique that combines persistence and flattery. Daugherty picks up visual clues about passers-by and incorporates them into his pitch, making every one personal. "One time when I walked by him, I was going to play rugby, so I had my cleats hanging from my backpack," states one student. "He saw my cleats and said to me, 'Hey, big guy, you play football?' I used to get that all the time but I told him that football was for wimps and I played rugby. That was two years ago, and ever since, whenever he sees me now he drops his arms to his sides and yells, 'Rrrrrrrrrugby!'" A female student is less amused by Daugherty, "He's a dirty old man. He says to me, 'you don't have to give me any money, just keep walking by so I can look at you.'"

Spare Change editor Linda Larson declares Daugherty "indefatigable," and also says that Daugherty is the embodiment of Spare Change's ideal sales representative. Larson, who has been homeless herself, describes his technique as "musical...it's like he's dancing." She adds that "Greg makes it look easy, he makes it look fun, he makes it look lighthearted...but he has a very serious manner and is a very serious man." When asked how he developed his sales technique, Daugherty replied, "It came from God, it just came from God." He once asked his family how he got his talent in sales, and they told him he got it from his father, also a sales representative. Daugherty even once lent his sales talents to a Harvard political race. "I remember two years ago, in the spring, in the midst of U.C. elections, the Square Deal guy danced around the Science Center gate singing, 'Ed Smith, Ed Smith, please vote for Ed Smith.' Ed Smith was then a UC presidential candidate," says Chris H. Kwak '98. "It was more effective than any poster." Unfortunately, Daugherty's help wasn't enough to put Ed Smith over the top.

How much money Daugherty has made or saved from his sales is a mystery. When asked how much money he must pay to buy the papers from Spare Change, Daugherty answered, "no comment," although Springman and Moore both gave a price of 35 cents a copy. He also would not divulge an average of how many copies he sells a day, or how much money he makes in his endeavors However much he makes, it is not enough to enable Daugherty to secure a place to live, as he acknowledges he is still homeless and has been throughout his five-year stint with Spare Change. However, he says he has saved up enough money for him to get a place, and he is looking for one at the moment. Daugherty also says this will be his last year selling Spare Change. "Spare Change was good to me, but it's time to let another group of homeless people come in and do something with themselves. To me, right now, it's time for me to move on," Daugherty says. He says he doesn't know about what he plans to do next year. Although unsure about future plans, he reveals his deep passion for sales. "I don't know; it's going to be selling something. I don't know. I want to sell brand new cars," Daugherty says, almost whimsically. Then, the daydream look in his eyes is replaced by a determined one. "I want to try something new, to see what I've got. It's time to move on from Spare Change, though, I know I've got to move on. You can't stay out there for too long ... you put some time behind you, you can get anything you want from Spare Change."

PIERCINGS GIRL

Regardless of what Store 24 shoppers are after, on the way to checkout no one can help but notice the girl behind the counter wearing a sweatshirt, a smirk and a whole bunch of piercings. Some might escape unscathed, but odds are that at some point or another, Stormy Erisman, affectionately known as "the piercings girl at Store 24," has poked some fun at all.

Erisman moved to the Boston area nearly a year and three months ago, and has been working at our Harvard Square Store 24 since the beginning of the school year. Although she works the midnight to 8 a.m. shift five days a week, she claims that "it's not that bad." The obvious question to someone working these hours, "What do you do during the day?" received the obvious answers, "Sleep. And drink a lot of coffee. It's like a whole different lifestyle, like, living on this shift." Citing really good managers, Erisman insists, "I have fun working here, I can do my own thing." And she does, spending a lot of her 8-hour shifts reading, drawing and writing. Unfortunately these are also the hours that the store must be cleaned--and work comes before fun.

Her personal favorite item in the store is the coffee, "without it I've got no personality." During her shift, Erisman says that the most popular foodstuff is "by far Ben and Jerry's. There's like Ben and Jerry's junkies at Harvard." In terms of entertainment, the Store 24 and it's customers are all Erisman needs, "I have my own little fun here." Playing mind games with tired late-night customers is one of her favorite pastimes. Erisman explains that "I work here because I'm allowed to say what I want, within boundaries." This comes into play during condom sales. "I love making the condom-buying experience very exciting for everyone. I'm really loud." She wants everyone to know that yes, "We do make fun of every person that buys condoms after they leave." There's one customer who comes in every weekend to buy condoms. "I make his life hell. I was so bad, that he brought his girlfriend in last weekend to prove to me that he really had a girlfriend. Because I was just like, 'you probably don't even have a girlfriend, you probably just have a pile of condoms stacked up at home.' I guess I get really mean, but because it's not an 'I hate you' mean, but more an 'I love to fuck with people mean.'"

But it's not all fun and games. Erisman harbors certain customer-pet-peeves. Her tone is vehement when describing them, "whoa boy, this is where it starts. I hate it when people, like, put the stuff up on the counter, and I'll have like a zillion people in the store, and they'll be like, 'oh...oh wait, I gotta go get like a couple more things,' and I've already got 'em all rung up on the register. I hate that." Going on, Erisman claims that "There's a lot of things I hate. I just hate people in general. I guess I don't really hate them, I just like to make a lot of fun of them, because it's easy." And as many customers know, she doesn't keep the insults to herself but "makes fun of [shoppers] right to their face...I think it's part of my charm." Justifying her attitude with "I'm a Store 24 worker," Erisman hypothesizes that "people come here to get made fun of...that's why the store is so successful." Other pet-peeves include general sloppiness and people asking stupid questions ("what time do you close?").

As must be expected, the issue of the 39 piercing all over Erisman's body had to be addressed. "Aside from my ears," she begins, "I got my first one when I was 13. This one," she says, fingering the ring through her right nostril. "Some stupid boys I hung out with were like, 'you won't do it,' and I did. I used a safety pin and did it myself." She blames rebellion for the first few, but that has since worn off. She is now heavily into the history and significance of piercings. "Aside from Native American stuff, piercing has only existed in America for like 50 or 60 years," she explains. Erisman hypothesizes that "It stared as an underground gay thing."

All of her piercings have some sort of significance. "This one," pointing to the bar between her eyes, "is the same thing New Guinea tribesmen get after having killed in battle." She quickly cleared up the issue as to whether she felt any connection to the tribe, "No [I don't feel any connection], but I like to know where these things originated." At this point, it's a spiritual thing, a sort of cleansing for Erisman. "When I feel dirty inside, I'll go get another tattoo or piercing." Some "Mark a change in my life." She wants to make certain that everyone understands that she's not trying to fake anything, like so many latter-day piercers--she doesn't get pierced because she read about in some magazine or saw it on TV. She's "into facts, not trends." She urges anyone considering getting anything pierced to check out the place first--"Massachusetts has few laws regulating [piercing]." She's more than willing to advise anyone thinking about taking the plunge, as long as the questions aren't stupid, "Stupid questions get stupid answers."

When asked if she has any advice for Harvard students, she smiles. "You all take life so seriously. You need to lighten up." Apparently people come in and are so worked up over whatever is on their minds that they can't handle her humor. "You have to be able to laugh at yourself," she insists. But is quick to add that "you're all interesting. Smart." Yet, regardless of the intelligence of the Harvard student body, few get homework done before 12 a.m. So, up late? Hungry? Looking for some entertaining if not very deep conversation? You know where to find it--your local Store 24.

THAT BARBER THAT WORKS AT LA FLAMME

What do many Harvard students, past and present, have in common, besides potentially astronomical SAT scores, the absence of a social life and an intense hatred of all things pertaining to Yale? Many of them get their hair cut by George Papalimberis, owner of the LaFlamme Barber Shop. Established in 1898, it's been a part of the Harvard community even longer than John Kenneth Galbraith.

Papalimberis hasn't been there that long, though--only since 1984, when he bought the store from an Italian family that owned it previously. They in turn, bought it from the store's founder and namesake, a mysterious French Canadian named Arthur LaFlamme. Yes, the name is real.

Papalimberis hails from Greece, as the several pictures of his native homeland on the walls of the shop would suggest. He emigrated to Cambridge when he was 30 years old in 1965, for the "same reason every immigrant comes here: to become rich," Papalimberis explains. "I haven't gotten there yet," he adds, and shares a chuckle with the customer in the chair. For his first three months in America, he worked in a factory making storm windows; he quickly realized that he dreamt of better things and switched to what has been his life's work ever since.

Papalimberis isn't modest about his popularity with the students. He confidently claims that more than 50 percent of the students, including the graduate schools, frequent his shop. "I've been going to LaFlamme ever since a barber--I won't say from where--nearly van Gogh-ed my ear freshman year," says Kwak. "My favorite day of the week is the day I go to see George. You come out looking like a million bucks, and you pay only $10." Another student claims that Papalimberis is too good for him. "Basically, I have little or no respect for my head," says the student. "So, if my blockmate doesn't cut my hair for free, I just go straight to the [barbers] in the back [of the shop]. I don't want to wait in the special line for the two old maestros in the front." These "two old maestros" are Papalimberis and his brother-in-law, Bill. Papalimberis claims to get a large portion of famous Harvard professors, too; but when asked for names he doesn't want to play favorites. "I'm going to offend the others," he explains.

Papalimberis isn't too shy to talk about other famous clientele of his, though. Two pictures of Papalimberis with former Massachusetts governor and Democratic presidential candidate Michael Dukakis adorn the walls of the shop. He claims he's been the Duke's barber for 20 years. "He comes in every three weeks, once a month," the barber matter-of-factly states. Even when Dukakis was running for president he couldn't stand to have his locks trimmed by anyone else except Papalimberis. When asked if Dukakis would give Papalimberis an update on the campaign, Papalimberis replied, "well, I knew it myself, what was going on. In some cases I knew before he knew, because I hear from the people." Papalimberis even once gave the hapless candidate debating tips, urging him to be tougher with George Bush. "The American people want a tough guy, not set-back guys," Papalimberis told him. Too bad for the Duke that he didn't listen.

Other famous regular customers that reap the magic of Papalimberis's scissors are Yo-Yo Ma '76 and former Kennedy School professor and Labor Secretary Robert B. Reich. Papalimberis didn't disclose whether Reich uses the booster seat.

Papalimberis is grateful to the Harvard students, not only for providing him with a huge clientele base, but also for being nice, decent people with whom doing business is a pleasure. He unequivocally denies that any unruly and disrespectful students frequent his store, and has only good words for his customers. "They're good people, good customers, good kids. I see them come in like kids and finish and live like grown-up men, ready to face the world," Papalimberis states.

Papalimberis employs seven other barbers in LaFlamme, and he points out that many customers each have their own favorite barber. One thing Harvard students have never seen behind the chair, though, is another Harvard student or former Harvard student. One of Papalimberis's unfulfilled desires is to someday have a Crimson man or woman wielding the razor and scissors. "I get business from Harvard; I'd like if I can help somebody pay tuition," Papalimberis says. Harvard students should sharpen their scissors; the barber says that "if someone knows how to cut hair, and he's got a license in Massachusetts, I'll hire him."

THAT HARVARD YARD MAIL CENTER GUY

Many students may remember the face of the Harvard Yard Mailing Center, Sam McClary Jr., from their first year. Even if they don't, chances are he remembers them: McClary recognized this writer and remembered his name and four-year-old HYMC box number. He always has a flair for entertaining students. "He told me he'd gone to China," says Anne H. Charity '98. "I was buying my sourcebook for Chinese Bx, and he said to me, 'ni hao ma (hello).'"

McClary was born and raised in Boston and has worked for Harvard in some capacity for almost all of his adult life. "I think I had one job before I came here," he says, but he can't even remember what it is. He came to Harvard in 1961 and worked as a technician in the Physics Department. He moved to work at the Science Center in 1973. At that time it was only a shipping and receiving area for the Faculty and various administration buildings.

Back then, first-years didn't have to make the tortuous two minute walk to the Science Center to get their mail--in the glory days of ordered choice and a legal drinking age of 18, those carefree pampered students merely had to step out of their room to the entrance of their dormitory, where each student had his or her own mailbox. Finally the postal workers got tired of all that trekking and ordered the University to build a central mailing center.

McClary thinks in terms of only one thing--packages, when comparing Harvard students to those of decades past. "I guess the major difference is what was necessary to bring to Harvard is a lot more than what it was in the '70s. I think the computer is a major part of it," McClary says. He recalls that in 1977, the mail center received an average of 40 to 45 packages a day for first-years. Now, 20 years later, the average is 125 to 150 a day, and that's after move-in period. During move-in period the mail center can receive up to 300 packages a day. Between the approximately 1,700 mailboxes (don't forget proctors), the mail center receives about 30,000 packages over the course of a single academic year.

Of all the packages McClary has seen come in and out of the Science Center, there's one in particular he remembers (aside from the harp in a seven-foot-tall wooden crate, delivered to a student in the orchestra). Back in the mid '90s, during the Unabomber scare, "we had a package for a freshman delivered here, and it was ticking," says McClary. He immediately called the Harvard police, "because this was when we were getting all these warnings about bomb threats and everything." HUPD subsequently called the Cambridge Police. After trying unsuccessfully to reach the student to whom the package was addressed, the police exploded the package purposefully, right outside the Science Center, on the loading docks on Oxford Street. "You know what was in there?" McClary asks. "A musician's metronome." Surely the police should have known that the Unabomber wouldn't bomb his own alma mater.

THAT SEATTLE'S BEST COFFEE GUY

Many students, after receiving a pitiful grade on a paper or problem set, go to the Seattle's Best Coffee Cart in front of the Greenhouse in the Science Center to have their spirits buoyed by an Italian soda or espresso. After meeting the infectiously friendly employee Wernher Prudent, they usually leave with a smile on their face no matter what the coffee tastes like.

Thirty-nine year-old Prudent has been working for Harvard since 1991--it is his renowned friendliness that brought him here. He first came to the United States from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, in 1981 to attend Northeastern. After graduating with a degree in electronics in 1985, he could not find a job in his field of study, and so ended up working for the flagship Au Bon Pain in Harvard Square. He worked there for five years, and every morning, Harvard University administrator Patrick Elridge, of the Human Resources department, came in to get a cup of coffee. "He was observing me, and he told me that 'coming here every morning, seeing you, makes me happy,'" Prudent says. "He said to me, Wernher, one day I'm going to give you a job."

The promise came true and Prudent began working for Harvard in 1991. Initially, he served food and drinks at the Observatory Cart, a coffee cart similar to the Seattle's Best Coffee cart in the Science Center. Then after a year he was assigned to the newly renovated Greenhouse Cafe. He worked there mainly as a cashier, until 1994, when the SBC cart was installed. Prudent was sent to Seattle for training for 10 days and when he returned he was put in charge of the SBC cart. Since then, he's been impressing students with his speed and expertise on the job and the outgoing, jovial manner in which he does it. "I like the way he says 'short mocha, no whip,'" says Triada Stampas '98. "I just like the phrase, and I like how it comes out with his accent." Michele M. Lee '99 says that "He's entertaining. He seems like a really good businessman." Matt S. Caywood '99 adds, "He's very upbeat. He's one of those people who turns a repetitive job into an outlet for creativity." All of this praise is no surprise to Prudent. "They say, Wernher, you are the best, because you work very fast," he proudly admits.

Prudent credits his mother for instilling in him three rules that have led to his friendliness, and thus, his success. "Since I was a kid I was told that there are rules you've always got to use, say hello to someone and say thanks...this is basic in my life," says Prudent. Also, "if you want to get along with someone, remember his or her name. When you remember someone's name, you can always relate to them." In fact, while elaborating this point, a student who graduated in 1994 approached Prudent and greeted him warmly--Prudent remembered her name right away. He says this happens often. "Sometimes faces I don't even remember, they come all the time, to make me understand that they appreciate my way of treating them," Prudent claims.

Prudent's rosy demeanor can also be attributed to his religion; he is a Jehovah's Witness. He is an elder in his congregation and spends much time preaching, counseling people and proselytizing door-to-door. Besides his job, most of his time is devoted to his religion. "It helps me in many ways of life, knowing what to do, what I don't have to do...it helps me know my limits, and how I should treat my peers," Prudent says. "The general outlook of myself is soundly related to the Bible...because knowing Jehovah, it's a source of joy." His religion also contributes to his outgoing manner--since childhood he been trained to greet and speak with people. "I consider dealing with the public one of my strongest points, because as a Witness, I always face the people, all the time," says Prudent. In fact, he still goes door-to-door in Cambridge, Waltham, Watertown, Belmont and Brighton.

Sadly, Prudent has never returned to Haiti, where his parents and siblings still live. "Politically, things are not the way they were before I came here. It is a chaotic situation back there now. I think it is much wiser not to go."

THAT "SPARE SOME CHANGE, MA'AM" LADY

What could be nicer than a calm, slow stroll down Mass. Ave on any afternoon? Only a block away from the Square, amidst the scenery and intent upon the hum of traffic...wait, what's that noise? Faintly audible in the distance, a sound at a piercing frequency invades the ear of every passer-by. You keep on walking, hoping the sound will relent and let you go, but still it persists--over and over and over. And then you see her. As her lips open and she begins again the punishment, you understand..."Change? Sir, ma'am, please?"

There are few people on campus more recognized by name and none more recognized by sound. Yes, there is no question that this woman is an indisputable landmark in Harvard Square. Her presence elicits varying sentiments--"She's a pillar of Harvard Square," Jay S. Chaffin '01 comments, while Adela Acevedo '01 insists "She's annoying as hell." No one really knows much--it had come high time to answer the often-voiced question: "What's her deal?"

Though rumors abound based on personal interactions, sightings and just plain hearsay, it was decided that before the students had their say, this woman would get her chance. However, despite a polite, straightforward introduction, a handshake and an offer of food and hot beverage at ABP, the 'Spare Change Sir Ma'am' Lady refused to be interviewed. Explaining that she "only leaves [her] spot to use the bathroom and use the phone," she could not be coaxed to warmth and coffee, nor could she be persuaded to tell all right there on the street. Smiling throughout the encounter, she spared few words but stuck to her guns--no dice. So without a primary source of facts, this segment took a turn towards the infinitely less journalistic, yet infinitely more entertaining, world of student gossip. And when in search of gossip on the 'Spare Change' Lady, what better place to go than to her neighbors: Wigglesworth.

There exists a lot of animosity towards the Spare Change Lady within the Western entryways of Wigg. From fact to fiction, these students have plenty to say and are happy to share all. However, the most pressing on everyone's mind was the issue of her voice. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Tim D. Deardourff '01 explains that "It permeates through our walls...not cars, not tourist buses with millions of people, but her voice..." Acevedo, when asked to explain why it bothers her, exclaims "you don't live here! Her voice bounces off of Boylston and into our room--it's hyper-loud, and you can't get away from it." All have their own versions of "the voice," but it's always the same quote--"Spare Change? Sir? Ma'am?"

There are firsthand accounts about the woman known as "Spare Change Lady," "The Spare Change Sir Ma'am Lady," "Nancy" and most unaffectionately, "Spare Change." Tim T. Daub '01, in an attempt to brighten her day, offered her "liberated" food from Annenberg. While she accepted a bagel, an orange and a grilled cheese sandwich after inspection, much to Daub's disappointment, she refused an apple and a Chickwich.

An anonymous Wigg resident once gave her flowers, "because I felt like it." Much to his dismay, her only reply was "It's not food you know," followed promptly by a demand for $20. Another first-year explains a confusing encounter. "I walk by her all the time," the student says, "I don't give her money, but I have no problem with getting her food." The student asked 'Nancy' what she wanted, "'Spare Change' gave a very detailed order: a chicken sandwich on wheat with lettuce and tomatoes." The student picked up the sandwich at ABP, but upon delivery received a shock: instead of a "thank you," Spare Change "glared and said 'where's my drink?'. There's certainly nothing subtle about her. Although 'Spare Change' apologized later," the student was quick to add, "Can beggars be choosers?"

On top of these first-person accounts, rumors abound. Some of the best are that Nancy makes between $75 and $200 a day, she lives in her friend's father's basement, she takes the bus home and goes straight to the bank. Apparently she's saving up for something. By other accounts she has a son, a husband and a father. Her hours are a steady "nine to nine," though Acevedo insists that "she's always there. She's a fixture."

Despite the hearsay and rough stories, 'Nancy' has managed to endear herself to many Wigg residents. Deardourff explains, with only a hint of sarcasm, that "she's kind of like my mom--she wakes me up every morning." With a roommate, he's also writing a song he plans to call "Spare Change Lady," though they only have one verse down ("Dear sir ma'am/ Could you spare some change?"). Ted Wright '01 claims "It's comforting. You're lying in bed, her voice is reflecting off of Boylston...it's comforting." Regardless of their emotions, however, a majority of Harvard Students would have to agree with Acevedo when she says "I don't think I'll ever forget Spare Change."

MENU MAN

Menu Man: the question of "Fact or Fiction" never came up, because anyone can call 5-5700 any time, and there he is, talking about the "egg option" or "spiced oatmeal!" Obviously a man, obviously reading a menu. Obviously Menu Man. But simply knowing that "option number one would be the daily menu" has ceased to be enough, and the question has arisen: What's up with him?

The answer has always been that "No one knows." No one. Here's what students and reporters have had to go on for years--you call, he tells you the menu. One HDS employee divulged that "Menu Man" is not his sole employment; he also works as a regular dining service employee--a chef, a card-swiper or maybe even one of those guys that changes the big bags of milk. A sort of double life, if you will. Reportedly, some of the HDS managers have guesses, but no one know for certain who is living the lie- who is the Menu Man?

Unfortunately, the secrecy no longer creates the campus-wide wonder it is undoubtedly designed to stir. While a few do check the menu on the Internet, most simply take the que sera sera approach--whatever will be for dinner, will be for dinner. Most first-years, it turns out, have never listened to Menu Man, or have come to appreciate his discovery of enjoyment in the simple task of reading the menu. The shroud of mystery, therefore, is very rarely noticed by a large percentage of the population, which is unfortunate, because "they" actually do a really good job of keeping the secret.

Calling the HDS Director's Office in search of Menu Man proves to be quite an ordeal. A woman uses the tried and true "they'll have to get back to" method. That's fairly normal. A two-hour wait ensues and there's been no word from the Director's Office. Another call leads to another excuse--"they're all in a meeting." Who are "they"? And why are "they" in a meeting? What happens at Dining Services meetings? Who is General Wong? Who is the captain of the "Steamship of Beef"? For some reason, the words "secrecy" and "Dining Service" don't seem like they should ever appear anywhere near each other. Bad connotations, and everything.

Hours later HDS calls back, and tersely declares "I understand you want to meet the Menu Man...You can't. However, the Menu Man has agreed to speak with you, but only on his terms." There is no crack in this stoic facade, "You get seven questions. They must be presubmitted to the Dining Services. After that, you can talk to him, when he wants." This must be a joke. But, according to HDS's interlocutor there are no jokes, at least, "Not now. Not about the Menu Man."

Dear God, what twisted plot is this? Forget a double life as a Dining Service Employee. It sounded like the Menu Man's "other job" was more along the lines of a Mafia Boss or "Miami-Vice" style bad guy. Stereotypical images come to mind--phone taps and recorded conversations, telescopic lenses and hidden cameras and men in suits with skinny black ties kicking in the bedroom door at 3 a.m. demanding names, names dammit! All this intrigue is generated from the calming voice that tells students that they can expect "feta sauce...no, I'm sorry, feta sau-tay" or "dried pruuuuunes," and of course "sour cream and lemon poppy cake--oh!" Keeping this in mind, there is nothing to worry about... right?

Seven questions, inquiries that must spread over all aspects of his existence, from profession to his innermost feelings. Seven questions were submitted, and Menu Man did call.

Do you consider yourself a role model? Why or why not?

No, I mean, I'm just a voice, just an entity. How could I be a role model?

Is it hard to keep your secret identity secret? Do you want to tell people?

No, not really. The people around me wouldn't want to know--why would they care? Everyone thinks they know who's the Menu Man, maybe a couple do know. Several used to know, but they're gone now--moved away from Harvard.

What is you favorite dish to read, and how does it compare to your favorite dish to eat?

They're all interesting--there are a bunch of new dishes this year. And we're on the four-week instead of the six-week cycle of dishes. But they're all real interesting. Really my favorite is "chicken pahm," mmm. I love saying some of the veggies, they all seem to flow very nicely.

What is the motivation behind your moving and stirring menu renditions?

What's that supposed to mean? I don't do anything special--it's not like I sit in front of a mirror and say "you're the greatest, you're a rock star" and get all pumped up, then run to the phone and yell "chickwich!" Really it just comes naturally, I guess.

Have you ever met and do you know the specific whereabouts of General Wong?

General Wong and I go way back. I knew him in the "Great War." General Wong was a lactose-intolerant vegetarian. I showed him chicken, and now he's a meat eater. What a nice guy. He's on the West Coast now. Chicken's cheaper out there.

What would you use your celebrity status to change around campus or the dining halls?

Use my celebrity status? I don't know. I wouldn't wait in line at Loker Commons or the Greenhouse for that pizza and those burgers. Maybe I'd like to use my status to get into the Faculty Club without reservations and stuff like that. I guess.

Do you ever think about the people out there counting on you? How does that make you feel?

It's...I don't know...I like it. It used to be the thing to do, calling the Menu Man. There was a fan club in the past. There was a President and a Vice President and everything. Everyone listened to Dial-A-Menu, I guess I liked the attention. That was before the Internet and everything...I've been the Menu Man since the beginning, you know. The Dining Service has a negative past, and I think we've shed that. I like to think that the Menu Man played a small part in that. I mean, we're not a mystical machine just pumping out food.

Has the myth of the Menu Man, or of any of our beloved characters, been penetrated? Maybe a little, but how much can ever be known about these individuals, reminding us of anything from characters of a WB sitcom to featured figures on the "MacNeil-Lehrer News Hour." There is, however, one certainty--these personalities stand alongside more traditional Harvard memories. And just like the bells of Mem Church, the horrors of Expos and the rebirth of Loker, they will never be forgotten.FM