Shelter Finds Popularity By Doing Good Invisibly

When a homeless shelter was first proposed deep in the canyons of Wall Street, the idea inspired a barrage of opposition from residents and businesses in the area. There were leaflets and angry words and ultimately, a lawsuit.

Now, after 18 months of more or less invisible operation, some of the center's onetime foes boast about how well-run it is, and many are members of its advisory board.

''I have people who ask me, is that center still there, or did it ever open?'' said Joseph V. Cusenza, the chairman of the Coalition to Advance Lower Manhattan, the group that sued.

It might seem that the neighborhood has been transformed, from fearing the homeless to welcoming them with open arms. But many residents say it is the inconspicuous way the John Huess House is run that has made it a success to many - not all - of its neighbors.

'It Is Not Obtrusive'

Sponsored by Trinity Church, Heuss House is a drop-in center at which only a few homeless people stay the night. In contrast to other centers where homeless line up outside before meals, all of its services are provided inside. The center at 42 Beaver Street, named for a former Trinity pastor, is the only one providing services to the homeless in the financial district.

''It is not obtrusive,'' said Arthur Piccolo, chairman of Bowling Green Association, a group that promotes development on lower Broadway. ''It exists exactly in the middle of the Wall Street district, and nothing having to do with it creates any community or any street problems.''

Elyn Rosenthal, who lives in a Beaver Street loft one block south of the center, now chairs the center's advisory board. The board was created as part of a settlement of the lawsuit after some neighbors decided that since the center was inevitable, they should work to make it work.

She said the opposition had been based, in part, on fear. ''We thought there would be lines for food,'' she said. ''And they said it would be for substance abusers and the mentally ill, so that scared us.

''There's been a real evolution in the neighborhood of how people think,'' Ms. Rosenthal said. ''Or maybe it's a revolution.''

Complaints From Businesses

Not everyone has experienced the same epiphany. The owners of several businesses on the center's block, between South William and Broad Streets, said homeless people had frightened customers away.

''That's why I'm going out of business,'' said Ronnie Miller, the owner of Goldteller Jewelers at 58 Beaver Street, who had a big yellow sign proclaiming his state of affairs over the doorway. ''They're not only homeless, they're outpatients, so they're crazy, too.''

He said business had fallen by 70 percent within the last year, and that homeless people had broken his display windows more than once.

Next door, at Drago Shoe Repair and Shoeshine, Victor Faria had similar complaints. ''They broke that window two weeks ago,'' he said, pointing to a splintered pane in his front door.

A Place to Suggest

But Ms. Rosenthal said the jewelry store ''had been going out of business since before the center opened.'' She added that while homeless people may have broken windows, they were not the homeless people from the center.

And Ed Huber, the owner of Delmonico's restaurant, a few doors down from the center, said business had declined because of cutbacks by Wall Street firms, not because of the homeless. He added that the problem of the-homeless-as-nuisance had all but disappeared once the shelter opened.

''Before, people used to hang out on our doorstep and panhandle,'' he said. ''You could chase them, but they'd come right back. Now we at least have a reference. We say, 'Why don't you go down to the John Heuss House?' ''

Even some of the homeless say that being out of sight is the best way to be neighborly. ''We try to keep an invisibility, because some of the people look a little scary, you know?'' said Tony S., a brawny former Navy Seal who suffers from post-combat stress syndrome and has been homeless for a year. ''We have this place. We shouldn't be out on the street.''

Inside, Making Art

The Rev. Win Peacock, a Presbyterian minister whose leadership many residents say was integral to the shelter's success, acknowledged that ''the community didn't want our clients hanging out during the day.''

Inside, the homeless can play cards, watch television, sketch and paint or simply nap if they want to. Art by about two dozen clients is included in a show, ''Of the Homeless, By the Homeless,'' at 2 World Trade Center through the end of June. One artist, Leona Etheridge, has sold several of her works.

A few of the homeless help out in the center's kitchen, left over from the days when the building housed a French restaurant, and most meet with counselors and doctors who visit the center.

''It's certainly not a case of out of sight, out of mind,'' Mr. Peacock said. ''How does one provide services to the homeless if it's not in an indoor setting?''

Power-Lunch Leftovers

Most of the 100 homeless people served at the John Heuss House each day are drop-ins, meaning they come and go during the day. A combination breakfast and lunch is served every morning, followed by dinner at 4 P.M. Sometimes the menu includes food donated from neighborhood restaurants, like lobster bisque served to power lunchers at Delmonico's.

About 20 people remain through the night, Mr. Peacock said, sleeping on chairs because there are no beds.

''Our goal is to reaffiliate them with the community,'' Mr. Peacock said, while acknowledging that many of the people served by the shelter will never hold permanent jobs or return to mainstream society. A staff of six social workers and caseworkers assists those who find their own way to the shelter and others sought out by staff members around the area.

''My experience with homeless people was pretty limited,'' said Ms. Rosenthal's husband, Barry, a photographer. But as he was taking pictures of them for the shelter's exhibit, ''I got to know people's names,'' he said.

''I spent time with them. It wasn't just some person you step over in the morning, it was another human being, and I don't think most people in New York have that experience.''