Homeless at Harvard: Finding Faith and Friendship on the Streets of Harvard Square

Homeless at Harvard: Finding Faith and Friendship on the Streets of Harvard Square

John Christopher Frame

Language: English

Pages: 208

ISBN: 031031867X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Harvard Square is not only the business district around Harvard University, it's also a gathering place for some of the city's homeless.

What is life like for the homeless people who live in Harvard Square? Do they have anything to tell others about life? And God?

While finishing up his degree at Harvard, John Christopher Frame stepped outside the walls of academia and onto the streets, spending a summer with this homeless community.

During those ten weeks, John better understood a world he had known only from the outside, becoming even more aware of not only what the homeless did, but who the homeless are.

In this unique book, the author's narrative is blended with the words of four of John's street companions. They share their own stories, offering first-person-insider perspectives of life as they see it.

Homeless at Harvard shows how John learned with, from, and about his homeless friends, sharing an unforgettable story--told together--of life on the streets.

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magazine, and Jesus was totally covered in blood. That’s the way it was. He was tortured. He was almost dead even before they nailed him to the cross. And the whips they had — I read stuff about it by theologians — they had leather straps with little nails sticking out, and they whipped him — front and back and legs, everything. I know he suffered for me. I’ll never forget that. In the Words of DANE If you are homeless, and you’re in need and at the behest of the good graces of

had learned in elementary school: “Listen my children and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere…. One if by land, and two if by sea; and I on the opposite shore will be.” A number of people from Harvard Square gathered for a Fourth of July party at someone’s house, and George invited me to come along. When Neal wanted to leave to go to the party, I helped him put his cart on the bus; it was too heavy for one person to lift, and almost too heavy for two people, but we got it on the

help with their free weekly meal. But when I arrived at the church with my fellow colleagues and talked with the person in charge about my interest in learning more about homelessness, the leader assured me they had enough volunteers for the evening and invited me to take a seat next to someone whom I could learn a lot from. That person was George. As a result, rather than helping serve at the dinner, I was among those being served. I wanted to be able to apply my interest in homelessness to my

San Francisco. I had no money. I was dirty. I was hungry. I was so depressed I wanted to kill myself. And I saw this street sign, and it was all crooked and bent. It said “Jessie Street.” I looked down the street and it was just a dead end — all big, old brick factory buildings, with boards over the windows. It was the most depressing street I ever saw. It had an old, beat-up sidewalk. There wasn’t one bit of wind. It was perfectly still. And all of a sudden, this warm breeze came out of nowhere

of friendship to those on the streets, I distributed some of the goodies among the homeless community, handing out the boxes of treats from the garbage bag as if they were gifts at Christmas. After a week in the woods at Chubby John’s camp, I decided to begin sleeping in Harvard Square. At fifteen dollars a week, my subway pass to get to the tent in the woods was a cost I didn’t wish to bear. And I wanted to begin sleeping in Harvard Square, since that’s where I had chosen to be for the summer.

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