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.