Published Monday, May 10, 2004
Harvard Square Homeless Share Stories of Survival
By Jamie Schultz
APPIAN STAFF WRITER

So many of us do it.

We walk through Harvard Square and either stare or avert our eyes. Maybe we give change, maybe we just walk on by. We think to ourselves, “Who is this person?”

We may wonder if the dented cardboard signs with scrawled black marker tell the truth. Did that man lose his job, or is he a drug addict? Is that threadbare teenager going to buy a sandwich—or a beer? Is that girl really pregnant?

All year, these thoughts have plagued me. I have felt an intense emotional response upon seeing groups of homeless people as they slept in the doorway of the COOP when it was raining, or as they walked aimlessly in a miserable frost without warm clothes. “What happened in these people’s lives?” I have thought. “Where are their families? Their friends?”

Then, one day in March, I realized I needed to subdue the inner monologue--the questioning, wondering, over-analyzing--and get up the courage to ask. That’s exactly what I did. Below are the stories of four men, four members of our community. There are no statistics. No policy statements. Only a glimpse into the lives of four people--four people whose voices need to be heard—because in those four faces and voices are the shadows and silence of hundreds.

Ken

Ken is a face most of us have seen walking to the T or trying to make a class in Larsen Hall on time. As long as it’s not raining or bitterly cold, Ken and his two adorable pals, Penny the pooch and Charlie the cat, will likely be seated along Mass. Ave. across from the T. Now 50, Ken explained to me that he has been living in Harvard Square all his life; in fact, he grew up just a few blocks from the path many of us take to and from class each day. Ken tells me he doesn’t leave Harvard Square much because he has a heavy cart and, more importantly, Penny and Charlie.

I ask him about life on the streets, trying to see what answers I can get. But apparently I am the one in the hot seat. Ken unleashes a string of hard-hitting questions about government and economics that would rival a professor’s “cold call” on a student at the Business School. He challenges me to think not just of the plight of the homeless but of the larger, more complex web of unequal systems in society. Here I realize that his pyramid-shaped cardboard sign, which reads, “Please Help Need to Eat,” serves a purpose other than fundraising. It represents the pyramid of social stratification, and he uses it to teach me a hands-on mini-lesson in economics. Ken gestures to the top and explains how the rich and powerful few control the masses (the bottom of his pyramid). “The separation between the top of the pyramid and the bottom becomes greater, and the foundation begins to crumble,” he explains. He questions me about supply and demand, about policy and structure, about Haves and Have-nots. For many of his questions, I do not have answers.

While Ken views governmental collapse as imminent, explaining that he believes things are too far gone to fix, he still believes shelters, policymakers, and the community can help by teaching self-sufficiency. He quotes the eloquent Chinese saying: “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” With all his wisdom now, I ask Ken what he would have told himself if he
could go back to his 17-year-old self. Ken replies, “Nothing.” When I press him to explain why, he tells me he would not have listened to anyone, even himself back then, as he assumes is the case with many other people living on the street.

When I query Ken on why he has been living on the streets for so long--why he didn’t go to shelters or seek help--he provides me with a simple answer: I got good at it.” “The worst thing is becoming successful at being homeless.” Simple answers; profound implications.

Bob

You can usually find Bob, a 43-year-old man, drinking his cup of coffee and smiling (and sometimes singing jovially) at those who pass by. Bob was very honest and forthright about his life as he took time to tell me about it. Although Bob lives in a group home in Bedford (about 40 minutes northwest of Cambridge), he comes to Harvard Square most days to get away from it all, or “hide out,” as he put it. The friendly staff and the support he receives in the home in Bedford are near and dear to his heart, but Bob told me that sometimes life there becomes overwhelming. There is a lot of anger concentrated among the people there. Fights are frequent. To take a break from this, Bob comes out to Harvard Square, a place he has been coming to since the age of 17.

Bob enjoys being in the Square. He can talk to people there and even help them with their own problems sometimes, as truly impoverished as he is. This connection to the community is important to him. His strong faith in God, and his ability to “heal” people, as he put it, are the things that put a smile on his face. Bob struggles with depression himself. However, giving the very little he has to give – his time and concern – to the people surrounding him keeps Bob afloat. It is remarkable to note that many of his beneficiaries are Harvard students, who, of course, have plenty to give. When I asked Bob what we, the Harvard community, could do to help, he said we should help with food when he needs it or just stop and talk.

Currently, Bob is awaiting Section 8 housing, so that he may move in with his fiance and his two young daughters, ages 4 and 5. So, when you see him, wish him luck.

Bubba

Standing on the corner of Church and Brattle is a quiet man. Although he requested not to have his picture run in the paper, which I have honored, Bubba did give me permission to describe him. A 64-year-old African American man, who does not ask for donations, but merely stands with his right hand outstretched (encased in a manila-colored mitten), Bubba shared his situation with me.

After his wife of 25 years died, Bubba found himself unable to “keep up with the house and my job.” Currently, he is staying in a room in Roxbury, awaiting news of his social security benefits. Bubba tells me he usually eats in Roxbury (about 30 minutes south on the Orange Line) because it is cheaper; he can “find soup for $1.30 and other stuff cheap.” He describes how difficult it has been trying to find a job at his age; after a while, he just stopped trying because there weren’t any jobs to be had. When I ask Bubba what the shelters can do to help, he says, “They’re doing as much as they can, but they are not getting the donations and the funding they need.” Building more low-income housing, and creating more jobs for people who need them, top Bubba’s list of priorities for addressing the homeless situation in Cambridge and Boston.

Tony

Before I describe him, I just want to tell you, the readers, that I learned more about the homeless situation in Cambridge/Boston in a 30 minute interview with Tony than I could have learned in days of interviews with government personnel and long hours of research.

Although I did speak to Tony briefly about his struggle with alcoholism and homelessness, Tony spent most of the time telling me about being homeless in Boston, not only with his personal accounts but with factual knowledge about shelters and services as well. Unfortunately, there is too much to share here, but I have included some references to outside information for those who are interested.

“Most of the shelters have closed down,” Tony tells me. St. Francis House, where he and approximately 100 other people used to reside, closed its doors. When he needed a new place to sleep, Tony found the Long Island Shelter in Quincy, Massachusetts, where he is living now (although he has been to many). He mentions that many of the homeless people opt to stay in the Boston Common when the beds fill, which, he adds, they always do. The Pine Street Inn van brings blankets and hot coffee around 2:00 a.m. to the homeless in the park most nights, which helps, but Tony has experienced frost bite firsthand and knows of many others who have experienced it as well. Without the free care at the Barbara M. McInnis Health Center, he doesn’t know where he would be.

While it is critical for people, in many cases, to be able to escape the elements for a few overnight hours, all shelters are not the same. Tony explains to me that there are “wet” and “dry” shelters, wet shelters accepting those who are drunk and high, and dry shelters turning them away. In his 2 1/2 years on the street, Tony has experienced frost bite, having his shoes stolen, watching drug addicts shoot up and sell right in front of
him at the shelters, and a bevy of other calamities he would rather forget. Having just had his wallet stolen (although there was no money in it), he laments that many of the homeless steal from the homeless. Many of them are afraid to sleep at night, only to awake without their things in the morning.

Right now, Tony awaits Section 8 housing as well, but doesn’t hold out a great deal of hope. “The pregnant mothers and women with families get bumped up the list. And then there’s victims of fire and natural disasters. They get housing, and I get pushed to the bottom again.”

Tony has applied for work many times, but no one will hire him because he has a shelter address, and “people don’t want to hire you once they know that.” Tony longs to work and to earn an honest living. He tells me he would like to help clean the shelter and run its programs, which he explains would be good for many homeless people; they could take pride in their surroundings. The way things are now, “shelters are more like prisons." Tony reveals that many of the shelters claim they have provided services that they have not, such as clothing homeless people or providing AA counseling, in order to keep government funding or even obtain more.

Still, a shelter roof is better than no roof. The best thing we can do, according to Tony, is to push for more shelters. Tony tells me of the filled-up beds and of waiting in lines for hours to get a meal at a soup kitchen, only to find out all the food is gone and the only other kitchen is across town and closing in 10 minutes.

Conclusions

What can we do as a community? Well, first and foremost, we need to stay informed. Write the Massachusetts legislature and let them know your concerns about budget cuts in not only education but social services and low-income housing as well. Use your voice, politically and personally. Take it upon yourself to tell just one other person about the current homeless situation. Share a piece of fruit from your lunch or a half sandwich you aren’t going to finish on occasion. And, most importantly, remember that for every face we do see, there are hundreds we don’t.