AT BOTTOM, A HANDOUT-SEEKER DESERVES SOME RESPECT

If you live or work downtown, you've probably come across a street
person asking for money.

What to do? You don't want to be an enabler. You don't want to feed a
drug or alcohol problem.

But you don't want to be like my friend Spike, who says, "Sorry, pal,
I got no spare change but I have some advice. Get a job."

Or maybe you do want to be like Spike, who's never been caught
saying, "The measure of a civilized society is how it cares for its
less fortunate members."

Nor will he be confused with one of George Herbert Walker Bush's
"thousand points of light." Remember that? From the 1991 State of the
Union address?

"We all have something to give," said the kinder, gentler, older
Bush. "So if you know how to read, find someone who can't. If you've
got a hammer, find a nail. If you're not hungry, not lonely, not in
trouble -- seek out someone who is."

You can't count on the government, he was saying, to hold everyone's
hand. Private citizens must extend one of their own.

The truth is, Spike's panhandler pal might not be able to get a job.
He might be a person with "multiple barriers."

That's homeless-shelter-speak for mental illness, destructive
behavior, drug addiction, what have you. A person with multiple
barriers can't afford most housing and couldn't get a decent job if
he were the only applicant.

With all the new construction downtown, the gap between housing costs
and wages keeps growing.

About 200 low-cost housing options have been eliminated or converted.
The Randolph Hotel is probably next in line.

The waiting lists at the shelters continue to grow as the government
cuts back on low-rent housing subsidies.

In the months ahead, the "visible homeless" will become even more
visible. So don't be alarmed.

Cathy Denny of Ankeny is more concerned than alarmed. When she sees a
street person, she thinks of Brian, her 30-year-old son.

Brian was in a car crash when he was 17. In a coma for six weeks, he
suffered traumatic brain injury and hasn't been the same since.

Physically, he's fine. Mentally, he's a sixth-grader.

He doesn't drive. He works as a dishwasher. He gets a disability
check that helps pay the rent. But what does the future hold?

"What happens when I'm not able to assist him?" his mother asks. "I
shudder to think that my son could be walking the streets in
20-degree weather, or less, asking for help from uncaring passers-by
who label him a drug addict or an alcoholic."

Earlier this winter, Cathy Denny was downtown on a cold, windy night.
She ran into a homeless man, Joseph, who asked for a "donation."

Joseph showed her a plastic bag filled with boxes of macaroni and
cheese bought with earlier donations.

"There must be help for these individuals," she says, "but where? I
think we could serve them better by educating the public on how to
help them. These are not all drug addicts and alcoholics. Many are
someone's son or daughter who have fallen on hard times or don't have
anyone left in the world who cares. Honestly, what do you do to
assist the homeless population? Please educate me."

There's probably a course for this, but I couldn't find one. So I
called Amy Knudsen of the Iowa Coalition for Housing and the
Homeless. Knudsen gave me a few suggestions.

Denny can bug her favorite public servants. She can ask them for more
affordable housing, higher wages, better support systems. Something
called "permanent supportive housing" seems to work in other communities.

She can do volunteer work for any number of churches, charities and nonprofits.

But here's the question Knudsen gets most: What's the best way to
respond when someone asks for a handout?

Answer: There is no best thing.

You can politely decline and point him (rarely her) to the nearest
safety net. But don't expect a heartfelt thank you for the
wonderfully clear directions.

Knudsen rarely hands out money. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

"It's a personal decision," she says. "If people aren't comfortable
with that, there are a couple other things they can do. If I'm close
to a place where they can buy a sandwich or a cup of coffee, I'll
offer to take them there."

You can keep a supply of bus tokens in your pocket.

Certain convenience stores in certain communities sell dollar
vouchers, but few if any shops around here offer them.

The main thing, Knudsen tells me, is this: "They're still people who
should be treated with respect and dignity."

That's the part Cathy Denny can't get out of her head. They're still
people. Maybe even somebody's kid.