Spare Change?

It's a freezing-cold Sunday afternoon, and a fight is breaking out in Harvard Square.

After working the door to the Mass. Ave. CVS for several hours, frenetically calling out to pedestrians and firing rapid compliments to passing ladies, panhandler John Jones vacates his spot at 4 p.m. sharp, leaving the coveted position open for fellow-panhandler Alice to walk up and begin working.

"Hey!" exclaims Michael Shorey, watching with a cup in hand from the entrance of the nearby BankBoston, "I've been waiting for that spot all day. What...is up with that?"

Exaggeratedly shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head, Alice grins and begins asking passersby for spare change.

Angry and impatient, Shorey complains, "CVS is the best spot on this side of the Square, even better than Store 24."

Shorey says he usually stands in front of CVS or at the bank for eight to ten hours a day and makes "nothing less than $60 a day."

New City, No Home

Shorey says he has been working the Square for a couple of months, after leaving his dishwashing job in Maine to help a friend move.

"We got in a fight and so now I'm staying with different people," Shorey says.

When asked who these people are, Shorey looks down and confides "I meet them in bars."

"I would say, yeah, I'm an alcoholic," Storey continues. "I usually go to a bar every other day."

Explaining his daily routine, Shorey says he eats breakfast at McDonald's every morning after leaving his apartment and then grabs a midday snack from C'est Bon while working, unless a passerby gives him food instead of money.

The best days are Thursdays through Mondays, Shorey explains, because Thursday is payday, and the tourists help on Saturday and Sunday.

Shorey complains that "a lot of people don't think I need the money 'cause I dress too well, 'cause I shower and dress nice."

"What do they want? Should I sell my Nautica jacket?" Shorey asks. "Do they want me to freeze to death?"

Still, Shorey is generally approving of his patrons. "I think that the people in Cambridge are pretty nice in helping us out," he says. "I plan to move down here eventually."

A Family Affair

Alice, her amiable grin and firm stance persuading Shorey to return to his post at the bank, is also eager and faintly amused to talk to a reporter scribbling down everything she says.

"I don't work every day, just a couple of times a week--when we're short on money and food stamps." "We" is Alice's live-in boyfriend of four years and her seventeen-year-old son.

Alice claims to collect $35 to $40 during four to six hours of panhandling.

She says Saturday nights in the Square are the best since "people out drinking are in a joyous mood and give money."

Alice has been panhandling for supplementary income for years, although she says, "The first time, it was hard to do."

"I was embarrassed," Alice says. "I started just `cause I needed the money, and I saw other people doing it who looked like they were doing okay."

Alice says her boyfriend is currently between jobs.

"We're trying hard to stay afloat, to get money for my son," Alice says.

Alice says she has a high school diploma, but declares that she has no skills and cannot find any sort of job.

"I was thinking of working for Spare Change," she explains, referring to the newspaper sold by homeless vendors, "but they only get 65 cents for each dollar they earn, and they're forced to work regular hours in an assigned spot."

Alice seems happier just panhandling, idly rauling her cup as she engaged in shoptalk with Shorey, discussing new spots and places other panhandlers have been working.

Bragging proudly to her listeners, Alice announces, "I've got Section Eight subsidized housing. We're living in a three-bedroom apartment that normally costs $1062 a month, but we're only paying $240 for it."

Alice's boyfriend, Jerry, looks on silently, but refuses to answer any questions posed to him, only shaking his head and cryptically declaring, "I'd better not say."

The Silent Treatment

Farther down Mass. Ave., Daniel takes a different approach to panhandling than the outgoing Shorey and Alice.

Sitting sullen and silent on the ledge of a BankBoston window, Daniel sits before a cardboard box with a couple of dollar bills in it, moving only to crack a happy smile and nod enthusiastically to passersby who stop and drop him some change.

Daniel's only communication is a sign resting against his knees, which reads "Hello, I'm Dan, US Veteran, Sick with Adv. Viral Illness, Homeless."

Totally oblivious to questions at first, Daniel breaks his silence with a long, angry rant. He says he's "not a panhandler or person of the street" but has recently lost his job.

"I'm down on my luck, got AIDS and just looking for some help right now," he explains.

Daniel works three days a week for a couple of hours at a time, but instead of the cheerful grins of Alice or the earnest persistence of Shorey, Daniel displays mostly bitterness to the people of Harvard Square.

"One in every...200 gives something. Most people act as if you're invisible, they just ignore you," Daniel says.

"That's what hurts the most," he explains, "It's a hurting thing when you ask another human being for something and they ignore you. They would treat a dog better than they treat me."

Living on the Street

Several blocks away from Daniel, as elderly gentleman with a neck-brace, cane, and knapsack sits on a bench outside the Harvard Square MBTA station entrance.

Straightforwardly introducing himself as Dennis Cooper, the panhandler shares his bench and declares that he is on a break from the couple of hours he spends each day in front of Store 24, collecting money for coffee, cigarettes and the T.

The rest of his money comes from the $545 he gets each month in welfare, of which, he bitterly adds, $350 goes to child-related court costs.

Cooper says he sleeps on the street unless he can find space in a crowded shelter and plans his daily routine around the free meals offered by churches andshelters.

When asked why he has no job, Cooper's demeanorsuddenly becomes angry. "I got shot nine years agoon the red line at Park Street, twice in mydominant arm," Cooper says.

After demonstratively flopping his left arm, helifts his pant leg to display a cracked androtting shin, and complains about his bone cancer.

Cooper says he is also HIV positive, and has abroken neck from an old bone infection that heclaims "doctors ignored because they thought I wastrying to get more pain medication out of them."

The articulate and well-spoken Cooper claims adegree from Newbury Junior College, but declaresthat he is too physically disabled to get and holda job.

Cooper also has much less financial successthan the other panhandlers, claiming only $10-12 aday.

"I hear people talking about $100 a day. I'dget a room if I made that much, but I guess Idon't fit people's criteria for homelessness,"Cooper says. "My clothes are too clean."

"I'm old, people think their dollar is betterspent elsewhere," Cooper continues.

On the Corner

Pausing at the corner of Mass. Ave. and ChurchStreet, about to leave, Jerry finally strolls upand spontaneously begins talking about panhandlingon Mass. Ave.

"Most of the panhandlers here are scams, justlike me," he confides.

Jerry says he works in front of Store 24 everyday, but "makes nothing from panhandling, it justfills in for the drugs and food."

Jerry admits that he and his girlfriend aredrug addicts, and claims that he has been a dealersince he was 13-years-old.

However little he makes panhandling, Jerrydeclares that he cannot get a real job, becausehis accumulated child support payments and owedincome tax would ensure that he would getvirtually nothing.

"I could get a job," Jerry claims, "but it'd belike being a slave."

Instead, Jerry says he works at temporaryunderground jobs including lifting boxes anddriving a florist truck.

He says his employers pay him no overtime orbenefits, and do not report his income to the IRS.

As Jerry walks off to find his girlfriend andgo home, Daniel continues to stare disconsolatelyat his cardboard box, and Cooper limps off to finda meal and shelter for the night. Outside CVS,Shorey finally gets his post, and the panhandlinggoes on

When asked why he has no job, Cooper's demeanorsuddenly becomes angry. "I got shot nine years agoon the red line at Park Street, twice in mydominant arm," Cooper says.

After demonstratively flopping his left arm, helifts his pant leg to display a cracked androtting shin, and complains about his bone cancer.

Cooper says he is also HIV positive, and has abroken neck from an old bone infection that heclaims "doctors ignored because they thought I wastrying to get more pain medication out of them."

The articulate and well-spoken Cooper claims adegree from Newbury Junior College, but declaresthat he is too physically disabled to get and holda job.

Cooper also has much less financial successthan the other panhandlers, claiming only $10-12 aday.

"I hear people talking about $100 a day. I'dget a room if I made that much, but I guess Idon't fit people's criteria for homelessness,"Cooper says. "My clothes are too clean."

"I'm old, people think their dollar is betterspent elsewhere," Cooper continues.

On the Corner

Pausing at the corner of Mass. Ave. and ChurchStreet, about to leave, Jerry finally strolls upand spontaneously begins talking about panhandlingon Mass. Ave.

"Most of the panhandlers here are scams, justlike me," he confides.

Jerry says he works in front of Store 24 everyday, but "makes nothing from panhandling, it justfills in for the drugs and food."

Jerry admits that he and his girlfriend aredrug addicts, and claims that he has been a dealersince he was 13-years-old.

However little he makes panhandling, Jerrydeclares that he cannot get a real job, becausehis accumulated child support payments and owedincome tax would ensure that he would getvirtually nothing.

"I could get a job," Jerry claims, "but it'd belike being a slave."

Instead, Jerry says he works at temporaryunderground jobs including lifting boxes anddriving a florist truck.

He says his employers pay him no overtime orbenefits, and do not report his income to the IRS.

As Jerry walks off to find his girlfriend andgo home, Daniel continues to stare disconsolatelyat his cardboard box, and Cooper limps off to finda meal and shelter for the night. Outside CVS,Shorey finally gets his post, and the panhandlinggoes on