A Holiday Catalog of Bumming

Best street Zen: Music is tough any way you go. Even if you play in clubs, it's tough. Be patient. It's just like fishing. Sometimes you can be having the worst luck you ever had, and something will happen.

Age: 49

Tenure: Seven years

Distinction: Beggar

Tools: No cup, just a straightforward question, "Can you help the homeless today, sir?"

Hangout: Slumps against the garbage can near Tommy Bahama on the Plaza

Smells like: Garbage

Odd detail: Wears perfectly white sneakers.

Previous gig: House painter

Claim to fame: "I was already written about by The Kansas City Star [in 2004]."

Best street Zen: "I just got here, so I'm usually stressed when I first start."

Name: Ron Johnson

Age: 61

Tenure: At least three years

Distinction: Beggar

Tools: Curious George doll strapped to a white basket

Hangout: In Westport and in front of Cinemark Palace on the Plaza movie theater

Odd detail: Often receives coupons and gift cards for McDonald's — "One guy bought my shoes off my feet. That was bizarre."

Formal education: High school

Previous gig: "I was a crash test dummy. No way. I'm making a joke. I sold plasma."

Average take: "I don't think there is such a thing as an average. There are too many variables, too much fluctuation."

Best take: $160 in one night — "I don't know. It just happened. There is no rhyme or reason."

Trade secret: "They acknowledge me first. Then I acknowledge them."

Secret weapon: Carries a copy of City Ordinance 50-151, which states the rules for panhandling. "I've been run off this door before by public safety. 'Public safety,' by the way, is a misnomer."

Justification: "I just don't put myself in the same category as these street people. I live by a value system. I don't take money under false pretenses. I don't sit here and pretend I'm crippled or I need a cheeseburger. I don't consider what I do panhandling or soliciting or begging. It's quite simple. I sit here with my monkey, and when people see the monkey, they smile. They laugh. I'm giving them something. And if they are so compelled, they give me something. I call that fair exchange. It's no different than people who come down here and throw money in the fountains. In a way, it's a form of entertainment for them. I just sit here and let people react. It's all about the human condition."

Side biz: "I'm a poet." He says his work has been displayed at the Starbucks outlets on 39th Street and in Westport. "Unfortunately, that's not a steady income. Right now, I have writer's block."

Claim to fame: Made enough to rent a room for the winter.

Best doggie bag: "I've had people bring me steaks as thick as a book, pork chops that were tasty. The Plaza has some really good food down here."

Best street Zen: There are people out here who think they are more important if they can keep other people beneath them. The thing about power is everyone wants it, and people who get it abuse it. But some of them wouldn't survive one night out here.

Best street Zen, part two: "If a man slaps you on the back with one hand, he's picking your pocket with the other. That doesn't just apply to beggars. It applies to corporations. There is no shortage of treachery."

Name: John Cook

Age: 45

Tenure: One year

Distinction: Sign flyer

Tools: Cardboard sign inth red marker: "Food."

Hangout: North side of the intersection of Main and Emanuel Cleaver II Boulevard

Smells like: Exhaust fumes

Odd detail: Sign requests food, but he will take money.

Formal education: High school

Previous gig: Unknown

Average take: $4 a day

Best take: $30 on Christmas Day last year — "They left dollar bills instead of change."

Trade secret: "I'm 5 foot 8, I weigh 240 pounds and I'm running a food sign. Now if you can't figure that out, I can't help you."

Justification: "The guys on the Plaza aren't really homeless. You ought to be writing about that."

Claim to fame: "I'm the only one that needs food. I got diabetes. That's why I run a food sign. The women bring me bananas and candy."

Best street Zen: "If it's home food, you don't touch it. You get razor blades. If it's Wendy's or McDonald's, you check it anyway, because they have put broken glass in there."

Name: Carlos Trejo

Age: 31

Tenure: Three months

Distinction: Sign flyer

Tools: Camouflage jacket and cardboard sign that reads "Home-Less Vet (311 MOS). Needs-Help. God Bless. Food Food." 311 MOS stands for his military occupation specialty; he says he was an infantry rifleman at Camp Pendleton in California.

Hangout: Intersection of Roanoke Parkway and Ward Parkway

Smells like: Brush Creek, because he sleeps under a nearby bridge.

Odd detail: He stands near an orange construction placard with an arrow pointing toward him.

Formal education: High school

Previous gig: Restaurant worker

Average take: $5 every 30 minutes — "Down here, I usually don't make money [to save]. I make money and then go eat."

Best take: $35 — "I was done for the day."