bob-shea

[bob-shea]

A Lost Father

Maybe not a happy ending, but possibly a hopeful conclusion to the story of Bob Shea, a homeless man, friend, and citizen of Harvard Square who died in 2013 of blunt force trauma. As the news spread, there was an outpouring of memories and tributes, many of them captured here. Over time the notes slowed down to a trickle, but once or twice a year someone found reason to search for Robert Shea and stumbled on this blog. Some enquiries were dead ends – a woman searching for her father’s Vietnam War buddies. Some were homeless expats combing the web for signs of their former lives on the streets of Cambridge. One haunted me. An email from a man looking for his father, a Robert Shea who loosely fit the description of the Bob I knew. I followed up with a call but never heard back. Eventually I got a voice mail saying that he must have been mistaken. There are a lot of Robert Sheas, and so another dead end.

Then last January I received this email:

“Did anybody ever find any of Robert’s relatives or family? I am Devin Douglas Shea. My mother moved to New Hampshire and re-married twice and I became Devin Guyotte and now Devin Norton. I was born in 1974 to Sheryl Deas (Dorchester) and Robert J. Shea (Cambridge) in Boston, Massachusetts. I have spent half my life looking for my mysterious father that I never knew. He came back from Vietnam with PTSD and he and my mother split ways. I went with my mother and Robert disappeared. I’ve never seen pictures of my father so I don’t know what he looks like. I remember he left a book about bird watching for me. If anyone thinks our stories match and has knowledge of Robert J. Shea's possible children please feel free to contact me.”

Devin Norton

It would have been a pretty way to write the final chapter in Bob’s life, to find a living son. But the power of wishful thinking can fuel delusions, and there’s the often misdirection of coincidences. We all look like someone else and our histories can oddly align with those of strangers. That I can remember, Bob only made one mention of a son. We were sitting on the steps of Saint Paul Church on Arrow Street and Bob was free associating: his days playing guitar with Paul McCartney, the flights of birds, the captaining a boat in Boston Harbor, a son. Do you have a son, I asked? Bob continued with his reverie.

In fact, Devin was the same person who had contacted me earlier but had been put off the track by his mother. “She kept his identity secret from me out of fear that I would be ashamed of having a homeless drunk for a biological father,” he wrote. The only facts she had shared was that his father had gone to Vietnam and came back having flashbacks and suffered from delusions brought on by PTSD and alcohol. “That’s why we moved out of Boston to New Hampshire.” When his mother died this past year he took up the search again.

Devin’s mother

A lot of facts started lining up. The Bob I knew was in fact Robert J. Shea. Devin’s family’s memories aligned with dates and places. But the evidence wasn’t conclusive. I knew from Chuck McLaughlin, the detective that I worked with after Bob’s death, that there was no record of family that we could find. There was no aha moment.

Devin and I started a correspondence that went on for most of the year. He proved worth knowing. He’s the owner of The Other Guys Tattoo shop. He’s a DJ and music producer. He likes to dance and sing. Like Bob he expresses a strong protective streak for others. Regarding children, he has “six of his own and another two that I raised.” Side by side, I see a resemblance between Devin and Bob. “My mother was half black and half Native American” he explained. “My father was Irish and I'm the product.”

Devin Norton

Bob Shea

After his mother’s death Devin began to share this blog and photographs of Bob with his aunts and uncles who agreed. He was the same Robert that had been married to his mother, Sheryl Deas.

From his Aunt Noelle: 

“Hi honey! Yes I do remember Robbie. That’s what we all called him. We always liked him. I think you look like him a lot. You do definitely have his eyes. I love my sister Sheryl, God rest her soul, but she really should have been more open with you about Robbie. After they split she didn’t want anything to do with him. I am sure over the years he tried to reach out to her to see you! He just seemed like that kind of guy! Much love, Auntie.”

After looking at pictures of Bob, Devin’s uncle Paul Deas, wrote: 

“Well me and my wife agree it is Robert. I have known Robert since the 1970s. I visited them many times in New Hampshire in the 1970's. Robert even stayed with us after he broke up with your mother. So many things match - your mother and your father lived in many places near Harvard Square, his age, being in the army, height and eyes match. It is Robert.”

Well, what if it is I asked Devin?

“The fact that he was a drunk and homeless doesn’t mean shit to me” he wrote. “I am proud to know that:

My father defended his country…

Had a whimsical step to him…

An unmistakable look…

Was a protector of his homeless peers…

And could be kind to people while being so torn inside.

He did not die alone…and without family…he was just lost...and I didn’t find him in time. His name and blood live on as my 22-year-old son is named Devyn Irie Shea-Norton.”

Devyn Irie Shea-Norton

I try to picture Bob and Devin sitting on a bench talking in Harvard Square. I think they would like each other. That’s all the truth that I know.

[bob-shea]

The Long Arc of a Human Life

It has been over three years since Bob Shea, a homeless man who lived on the streets of Cambridge, passed away and this blog has been very quiet. Then today I had the most amazing email exchange with an old friend of Bob’s named Alex D. If you take the time to read this thread, I think you’ll see a glimmer of why Bob left such a mark on this world. That’s not to mention the amazing journey that Alex has traveled. This is a slightly edited version of our conversation:

HI, Don’t know if this is still a live address … I was a friend of Bob’s back in the day. I found the wonderful tribute you put up in the blog; thanks for that, and for helping him out when he was in prison. I can confirm the complimentary things people say about him, especially the loyalty to his friends and protectiveness (hard to come by on the streets!) Alex D

Hi Alex, Thanks for the note. It has been several years since anyone sent an email to this account but it’s always gratifying to hear from people who remember Bob. I’m always curious to hear stories from people who knew him, so if there are any memories that you’d like to share I’m interested. Best, Phil Johnson

Hi, Phil, I was a drinking buddy of Bob’s in the early 90s–at the time, I was also living on the streets in Harvard Square (and sharing the yellow and/or blue listerine, too!). Bob had a certain amount of respect among the homeless guys; he had a definite charisma in spite of the fact that he was obviously not always completely present mentally. I’ve heard the phrase “thousand-yard stare,” and I think it applied to Bob very well. it seemed as though he were looking off into the distance, as if calculating the a path over the next mountain range, or something. And he had an air of command, partly due to his height and piercing blue eyes, and partly because he very rarely engaged in any of the wheedling, complaining, or manipulating behavior that was commonplace on the streets. many of the homeless had stories of him helping out in times of danger. We called him “jumping Bob” because of the little hops he would do every now and then. I heard that once when some drunks had stopped from the bar to hassle the homeless guys sleeping on the grate, Bob did one of those jumps, but followed it up with a kick that sent on of the men’s beers flying out of his hand and over his head … I don’t know if that one was true, but I can tell a slightly less dramatic story of my own. I was walking with him, stumbled, and hurt my hand on a wrought-iron fence, with a little bit of blood on my palm. What strikes me about the memory is how fast Bob’s attention snapped away from “wherever” it usually was, right to the present–“Are you all right?” and when he asked, he was absolutely and completely there, totally focused on my injury and whether I needed help. Because when one of his friends needed help, he would snap to the present moment, with as clear a gaze as any sober, mentally healthy person around. Then he’d be back to wherever it was that his brain took him. He was basically taking care of a buddy named Patrick at the time, who was very far gone in alcoholism, could barely talk or function with booze or without, and would have faded away much sooner if Bob hadn’t had him under his wing. Bob also looked out for me, calling me “Kid” (in my early 20s, I was much younger that most of the vodka drinkers out there)–in retrospect, this probably kept some of the less savory characters at bay. At any rate, it does my heart good to see the care you put into the blog. I wish he could have escaped that life, as I did, but I will always remember him, and I’m glad others do to. Best, Alex 

Hi Alex, Wow. Thanks for that story. It certainly fits the pattern I heard over and over. Two questions for you. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get yourself off the streets and are you still a Cambridge guy? Thanks again for the note. I’m also curious how you found that blog because I don’t think many people ever get to it. Best, Phil

Phil, The short answer of how I got off the streets is I quit drinking (i’m in AA now). Slightly longer–at the time the courts were sending us to the prison in Bridgewater for 30-day “drying out” periods, if we were known to the court as being a danger to ourselves and others as a result of drug and alcohol abuse. The second time I went for 30 days I decided to try getting sober again–both my parents were still alive at the time, and agreed to take me back in (in Ohio) as long as I didn’t drink. I got involved with AA, got a GED, and enrolled at the University of Akron with some help from a state program. College kinda clicked and I ended up getting a doctorate, and now I work for a music publisher in Madison WI. I found the blog while web-surfing about homelessness in Cambridge and Boston, an issue that I still try to follow a bit. Thanks for letting me know about the Memorial Fund-certainly a worthy cause. I remember many of those guys from the street–all people like you and me, but suffering from addiction and mental illness. There were other guys, like Bob, who went out of their way to help me when no-one else wanted to. Which is also how AA works, actually! Best, Alex

[bob-shea]

Bob's New Grave Stone

Thanks to Barry Hughes from Bourne National Cemetery, we were able to add an inscription to Bob's grave stone. Should someone happen to walk by, they will now know that here lies a true friend who will not soon be forgotten.

[bob-shea]

Bob Shea, a Vietnam War veteran, didn’t have a home, per se. But many would say he was quite at home on the streets of Cambridge ...

[bob-shea]

The Hull Connection

I was aware that Bob had strong connection with Hull and Nantasket beach, but I didn't know the extent until this week. I got a voice mail from Celeste Johnson, who had seen the Cambridge Chronicle story online, and followed up. Celeste and her husband Don Johnson, who live in Hull, had formed an attachment to Bob over the years. They are big-hearted people, and Don sent me the following memories about his friendship with Bob.

Celeste and one of her friends, Deb Crandell Bzdula, also started sharing information about Bob on two community Facebook pages: Hull Happenings and Today in Hull. Close to 100 people responded with their respect and appreciation.

***

Don and Celeste Johnson

I met Bob while he was “canning” the trash along Nantasket beach before there were recycle barrels about 12 years ago. Although he looked a bit rough, bushy hair and a long scruffy beard it didn’t stop me from saying "hi, how’s it going." You wouldn’t think it, but he looked me right in the eye and said “it’s a good day.” He didn’t ask me for money which I thought he would if I said anything to him.

I was waiting for the waves to kick up to surf early that morning. It was before 8:00 am, the beach was empty, the tide was coming in with that fresh sea water smell. The sun was just starting to kick in and I was talking to…the homeless guy.

I didn’t know his name at the time. I had often seen him panhandling outside of the Cumbies across the street. He continued the conversation with a how bout them Red Sox…hope they kick ass again tonight…and went on about his morning ritual. A suit and tie guy walked up to Bob and handed him $10 and that morning's paper which he took with a soft hand and a wink. It was a good day for the both of us.

I didn’t run into Bob again for about a month, even though I was at the beach almost every morning. We had something in common, we were both unemployed!

One day walking across the street to grab a soda at Cumbies there he was in the same clothes and a spring coat even though it was nearly 90 degrees. We exchanged eye contact for a quick second as I walked passed him holding out a used coffee cup for change. His eyes were bright blue and he had a smile on! At the time I had no money, just a food stamp card which I had recently got. Bringing my soda up, I asked the lady behind the counter if she knew the guy’s name outside. She said that his name was Bob, and I wouldn’t give him any change, he just drinks it away. I told her to hold off checking me out. I went back and got 4 sandwiches, 2 waters and 2 Gatorades to share lunch with Bob. As I brought everything up to the counter the lady just smiled as I swiped my EBT card. Walking out Bob shook his coffee cup looking at me. I said this won’t fit in the cup so you wanna sit down and have lunch with me. We sat, talked and ate for about an hour. He didn’t eat much saying he would save the rest for later.

I remember thinking this guy's really intelligent, what’s he doing homeless…so I asked. He said he chooses to live outside and just wished people would stop trying to get him help even though he isn’t getting any younger. I asked him where he lives in the winter. He said the beach is cold but he can dig a hole in the snow and put his sleeping bag in it and be warm.

On went our friendship from summer to summer. I would worry about him when I didn’t see him for long periods of time. Everyone has low periods in their life and I have had my share of them. I think it was 2007, I met Bob at MASAC ( Mass Alcohol and Substance Abuse Center) where he was picked off the streets and sectioned for 30 days. His first night there a bunch of guys picked on him because he was scratching all over and no one wanted bugs! He just pulled the blanket over his head. The next day the same if not more guys pushed him around telling him to take a shower. I told them to back off, I know this guy, and he’s OK. I sat with Bob on his bed and told him I would have his back if he would take a shower. The next morning he got up and showered…and the next and the next. Everyone left him alone. He even shaved his beard a little and combed his hair…impressing even me!

He got out and I would see him at Nantasket year to year looking skinnier and more hunched over as the years were showing. We talked every time we saw each other. The last time I saw him, he told me the Vets got him housing in Hull but he lost it for fighting with his roommate and just got out of jail. He looked more fragile than I had ever seen him. I gave him a few bucks and we parted not knowing we would never see each other again. It hurt to find out Bob was gone and the way he left this world. May God bless him with a new life full of happiness!

[bob-shea]

Today, the Cambridge Chronicle ran a front page story about Bob written by Sara Feijo. I got an email from Richard Cambridge, a local poet with the following tribute that he wrote after reading the article and this photo of Bob taken on April 4, 2012.

***

Bob Shea appeared to me today in Harvard Square, staring up from the street on the windblown front page of the Cambridge Chronicle. I knew he was dead as I picked up the paper, and sat down right there and read that he was. I had been worried about him for some time, living near the center of his neighborhood where Remington and Arrow Streets form a bent angle at Mass Ave.

I had seen him nearly every day in every season since the early 80s when I moved here, but last winter, he was gone. I feared he had died—what other reason could it be? He had seemed indesctructible: raging blizzards, heat waves, he was simply there, or, rather, here.

A veteran, he brought the war home to us. He was our living witness to the ravages of that terrible war.

He was not homeless, but at home in his beautiful Self, in the temple of all his familiars. He was our Desolate Angel. We loved him, and he cared for us.

—Richard Cambridge

[bob-shea]

Bob the Protector

A couple of people have told stories about Bob’s protective instinct. This one from the wonderful and extremely funny designer, Virginia Cox, who used to work in Harvard Square.

***

Thank you for sharing Bob’s story. I always thought I’d see him again, or hoped to. I only had one conversation with him—about his preference for Fritos over other chips.

We made eye contact daily—multiple times per day—on my way to PageWorks, the old Bob Slates, the Garage, or that Thai restaurant by Putnam. He was kind and gentle to me always and he had a twinkle in his eyes. I was young and completely captivated by his hopping. I remember him as ‘Bruce’ or ‘the Hopper.’

One night as I was walking to my car after working at the office early into the morning hours, three extremely drunk students, delirious and belligerent, followed me aggressively down Bow Street, and just as the thought of dropping my bag and sprinting crossed my mind, from the darkness appeared Bob, jumping and waving his hands—abruptly and intentionally. The college students freaked out and ran. While I wasn’t sure if Bob had intended to scare them away, at least on my behalf, I thanked him. What would have happened had he not materialized out that dark doorway!? He nodded and looked away. I felt safe.

I tell my kids that story. I’ve looked for him on my rare visits to the Square and haven’t run into him. Now I know I won’t see him again. But he has made a lasting impression

[bob-shea]

Old Friends

Out of the blue, I got a voice message from Paul Coogias, who wanted to talk about Bob. Paul found me through this blog while searching for Bob on the Internet and was quite broken up by his death. The two of them had met in 1977, and through 1982 spent time together on the street. "He was someone I would trust with anything," Paul told me.

Paul shared a little bit about himself. Born in 1954, he was raised in Cambridge and lived at 88 Putnam Avenue. If you have been around for a while, you might remember the Gulf Station at the corner of Elliot and JFK Street. Paul worked there and at 2001 Plays, a pinball arcade on Mass Avenue, where as he put it, "my whole paycheck went for coke." He didn't go into great detail but during the years he knew Bob, they were doing a lot drinking on the Cambridge Common and down by the river. He got married at City Hall in 1982, moved to Ohio, and now lives in Kansas with his wife. He has suffered eight heart attacks and hasn't had a drink in ten years.

Paul last saw Bob in 1988 when he came back to town to bury his father. Then he returned to Cambridge again last summer and walked up and down Mass Avenue looking for him. It wasn't until he read the news here here that he learned about Bob's death, and in his words it made him "kind of emotional."

Like me, Paul never heard Bob talk about family. He told me that Bob didn't talk much but that he remembered everything and was jumpy to the point that "no one could sneak up on him. He was so protective."

The common thread of knowledge among all those who knew Bob was that he was a Vietnam Vet who had been devastated by the war. He touched a handful of people deeply. The known facts seem to end there.

[bob-shea]

Bob Remembered in a Poem

Marc Goldfinger, a columnist for Spare Change News and a poet, published this poem about Bob in his first book of poetry called The Rites of Wolves. Marc wrote this in 1996. "At that time," he told me, " I was a Spare Change Vendor and Bob used to come by and I used to throw him some coin when I was having a good day."                                                  

Jumping Bob From Cambridge

(written in 1996 on the street the year a sheep was cloned)

By Marc D. Goldfinger

  So the clone.  The humans spit God

from their fingertips, a sheep creeping

from the mystery of the shade.  It bleats

at the scar of the universe, rubs it’s nose

on the camera of life.  Miracles

  of science. The war hero, they call him Jumping

Bob, sits on Mass Ave in Cambridge, a strange

place where the order of things is just right

and people only use special words for the unspeakable.

The hero, they call him Jumping Bob, sits

on the curb.  The war still echoes

  in the ear of his mind as he sips a Listerine

generic, a clone of the real stuff, but what’s

in a name?  He cannot stand, he cannot stand

against the fire, the emerald cleanser douses

the ashes of his flickering soul.  Clone

  this, our world in tatters.  What is one sheep

if a man cannot stand?  The ovens of holocaust

still cast heat, the manuals of war are the recipe

books of civilization.  Clone this, our world

  in tatters.  Jumping Bob drinks generic Listerine.

He knows that the lamb does not negotiate with

the wolf.  The alleys are filled with those that have

tried, empty bottles and packed minds, they carry their

baggage in their heads from shelter

  to soup kitchen.  Jumping Bob shreds a napkin,

gets up to take another, shreds that one.  Stares

into the paper Au Bon Pain cup, can’t tell the food

from the garbage, flicks the damage away with his

fingers.  Away with his fingers, he does,

  then he stares at his hands for a long time.  Someone

else’s hands, a war clone, the hand of man has cloned

these men from war, the shreds of them drink

mouthwash in front of the Old Cambridge Baptist

Church.  Humans spit

  God from their fingers.  Jumping Bob spits

Listerine into the streets.  Ask him

about clones.  He’ll give you the taste

test; see if you can tell the generic

green from the real Listerine.  Then ask him

  which sheep is the clone.  Walk away

quickly before he answers.

[bob-shea]

A Surprising Revelation

Last night I received this note from Saul Roll, a friend of Bob's. It reveals information about Bob's early years that was a surprise to me. Hi Phil: I just got back from Spain and found this message from Louisa Solano, who owned the Grolier Poetry Shop for decades. I had sent her your posting. I thought you'd like to read what she sent me: Dear Saul. Thank you so much for sending this on. I met Bob Shea the first day he arrived in Cambridge. He did me the great honor of sleeping on the granite ledge that ran along the base of my shop. He had just arrived from San Francisco where he had been sort of a poet - this was confirmed by Jack Powers. He was a truly handsome, genial man who deteriorated over a short period of time. Once, when I was coming to work about 7:30AM, Jessie and I ended up having to pass through a group of the regular homeless guys; it grew very unpleasant with one man striking her - Bob was in one of his glazed eyes situations - but I appealed to him and he called them off. I've never been so grateful.

[bob-shea]

A Final Resting Spot

Bob's grave stone at the National Cemetery in Bourne, MA. A small consolation, but after half a lifetime on the street, his life is formally noted. My wife suggested that we add an inscription. I'm thinking, "Here Lies A Friend."

In fact after we returned home, I contacted John Spruyt, the Director of the Cemetery and asked if I could add an inscription to Bob's grave. He put me in touch with Barry Hughes, and through a mastery of federal bureaucracy Barry has arranged for a new grave stone that will include the above inscription and a Latin Christian Cross.

[bob-shea]

The Detective's Report

This just in from Chuck McLaughlin, the private investigator who I asked to help me find Bob. There's nothing good about this story. It's also a little murky.

Bob was found on a boardwalk behind the Boston Marriott on July 28, 2013. A cleaning crew heard moaning and found a person bleeding. They reported it to security who called the police. He was taken to Mass General Hospital where he was pronounced dead. He was initially identified as Ralph Alfarmoreo, and it wasn't until August 3 that he was positively identified as Bob Shea. Chuck couldn't say what caused the confusion about his identity and how it was resolved. 

The cause of death was also not completely clear. Mass General did an autopsy, and they listed pulmonary thromboemboli due to deep vein thrombosis, and blunt force injuries of head, torso, and extremities. It's unlikely these injuries were the result of a fall. 

Bob's death certificate lists his date of birth, that he was a veteran, and that he has no known relatives. His address was listed as 240 Albany Street in Cambridge, which is the site of CASPAR, a shelter. 

His body was first taken to the Medical Examiner's office and then to Lawler & Crosby Funeral Home in West Roxbury, which handles a number of homeless cases and is paid by the state. On October 7, he was buried at the National Cemetery in Bourne. He has a grave stone that includes his birthday, date of death, and years of service.

Chuck made some effort to track down any living relatives. That's a bit of a dead end. On the day of Bob's birthday, September 7, 1948, there was one male baby named Shea born in Massachusetts to a James E. and Mary V. Shea of Newton. He listed his occupation as an apprentice mason and she as a housewife. James died bout ten years ago and there's no further information about Mary. 

There's no guarantee that this is Bob's family. He could have been born out of state and moved here as a child. Chuck told me that he could continue to look for relatives but that it could turn into a wild goose chase with no guarantee of success. 

I'm not sure how much more I need to know. I would like to find someone, maybe in Nantasket, who knows more of Bob's story. I wish that I could find a living relative. I'd like to learn how they identified him. I'd like to talk with the detective who wrote the police report and hear what he thinks. I'd like to find a way to get word out to people in the homeless community who may have known him. 

I've never known why it was so important for people to know the circumstances behind a death. Isn't dead the final word? But I do want to know and I very much want to arrive at a final understanding of Bob's life.  

[bob-shea]

Not the Final Word

A criminal defense attorney that I know recommended that I speak to Chuck McLaughlin, a private investigator in Andover. He agreed to help me find Bob, and I shared his SS# and a few other details that I have collected over the years.

This morning Chuck called to say that he had bad news. A death claim was filed for Bob Shea on August 3, 2013. That's all he knows. I've asked him to find out the circumstances and to see if he could also find any family. If nothing else, I plan to make sure that Bob has had a proper burial and remembrance. 

[bob-shea]

Looking for Bob

It has been almost a year since I posted any news about Bob. That's because there is none. I saw him last summer and then he dropped out of sight. I didn't give it much thought for the first couple of months because Bob often disappears for weeks, or even months. In the fall, I started making enquiries with some of the homeless organizations in Cambridge. While everyone knows Bob, no one had seen him. 

In April I thought I might have a new avenue to explore. As a board member of the Cambridge Community Foundation, I attended a meeting on Emergency Services where I met one of the two Cambridge police officers assigned to work with the homeless. Eric Helberg knew Bob and said that he would ask around and thought that he could find out whether Bob was in the "system." A couple of days later he sent me this note:

I regret that I have no information to share about Bob’s whereabouts. Everyone that I have spoken with has said the same thing. That is, that he has not been seen for several months. I will keep my eyes open for him. Any news, I’ll let you know.

Eric also reassured me that if something serious had happened to Bob that we would probably hear, as he was well known to the police and homeless community.

I keep expecting to see Bob pop up one morning, but that's beginning to feel more and more unlikely. Occasionally, I poke around the Internet hoping to stumble on some information. Feeling stuck, and with a growing sense of dread, I've been thinking about what to do next. I should have thought of this sooner, but I've decided to hire a private investigator to help me look. Today I talked to a friend who practices criminal law and got a referral. I've just put in a call and am waiting to hear back. 

[bob-shea]

Summer time

Bob returned to the neighborhood today after a long hiatus. He got arrested in Brockton for public intoxication (section 35) and spent four weeks in detox. They woke him at 5:30 every morning and he had to attend ten meetings a day. Ten meetings! I told him I'd shoot myself if I had to go to ten meetings a day.

Bob said that he got something out of it and might even consider quitting drinking someday. He had a quart of beer with him, and I asked how long it took him to get a drink after he left detox. He said he went straight to the liquor store. There has got to be some information there.

What strikes me in this picture are Bob's eyes. Usually glassed over, they are clear and blue.

[bob-shea]

Four Seasons Hotel

Bob wearing a hat from the Four Seasons Hotel. There is something incongruous about living on the street and promoting a luxury hotel brand.

[bob-shea]

Early morning in Harvard Square