In her storage room-turned-office, Jennifer Baum works under an expanding leak that is causing the ceiling to turn brown and crumble. Mold grows in the buckets positioned to catch the water. She shrugs it off. Outside her office she has taped up a clear plastic suit, and a sign that reads, "All employees must don protective gear before coming in." Such is life in limbo. Nearly a year after Sept. 11, the Legal Aid Society-the lawyers for New York's poor and homeless-remains, well, homeless. The nonprofit has been barred from returning to its 90 Church St. headquarters, across from the World Trade Center site, because of environmental concerns. Legal Aid has uncomfortable company. More than 11,500 New Yorkers continue to work out of temporary space, according to analysis by Manhattan-based real estate brokerage TenantWise.com Inc. and Crain's New York Business. That's 8% of the 137,000 workers who lost their offices or access to them when the Twin Towers collapsed. Legal Aid's 450 displaced attorneys and staffers have spent the past 12 months spread among previously unused spaces-some unused for good reason-in the nonprofit's other offices. It could be another year and a half before they return to their old desks. They have contended with difficult working conditions as demand for Legal Aid's services is on the rise because of Sept. 11 and the deteriorating economy. The civil division is spread among a few boroughs. Their papers and documents, some 20,000 boxes worth, are stuck in a storage facility in Linden, N.J. "I am counting the days till we can have all the parts back in one place," says Steven Banks, Legal Aid's associate attorney in chief. In the memories of the exiled workers, the old office has achieved mythical proportions. They say the wood paneling and rugs had the ability to cool emotions and lift spirits. The Legal Aid office on Montague Street in Brooklyn Heights, where 65 displaced workers have cobbled together space amid the faded and scratched walls, looks more like a bargain basement.
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QUESTION: What division has some 20,000 boxes worth of papers and documents in storage?

One look at Fred Rooney, and you just know he's the good guy. A trace of childish innocence in his face gives the lanky Bethlehem lawyer a Jimmy Stewart-like quality of quiet trust. In black jeans and button-down shirt, he's a kind of folk hero in the south Bethlehem melting pot where he's crafted a law practice catering to working-class families - mostly Latino - in the shadow of the hulkish remnants of Bethlehem Steel. A two-hour drive away, at City University of New York Law School in Queens, Rooney spends several days a week helping upstart lawyers develop storefront practices that, like his, provide legal representation to folks who can't afford a $250-an-hour legal counselor. Kristin Booth Glen, the law school's dean, took one look at Rooney and knew he was the right person to head the innovative Community Legal Resources Network. ''Fred's so low-key, he's Midwestern in effect,'' says Glen, a former New York Supreme Court judge. ''He captivates people, he inspires loyalty.'' For bringing legal representation to the poor and a host of other social causes, including finding medical care for seriously ill children in Latin America, the Moravian College Alumni Association has chosen Rooney for its prestigious Haupert Humanitarian Award. The award, given to only a select few alumni, will be presented at 7:30 tonight at a reception on Moravian's Priscilla Payne Hurd campus. Moravian, where he was an undergraduate in the early 1970s, inspired Rooney's deep sense of social justice. The son of a Bethlehem Steel executive in New York, he came to the Bethlehem campus from an affluent upbringing on Long Island. The young Rooney might have set his sights on Washington, D.C., like his uncle, former U.S. Rep. Fred Rooney of Bethlehem. After all, politics run in the Rooney family. His brother, state Rep. T.J. Rooney of Bethlehem, is a power in the state Legislature and the Democratic Party. But on a trip to Colombia when he was a junior at Moravian, the child of privilege saw human suffering, malnutrition and poverty the likes of which he had never imagined. ''I couldn't understand why we live this way and they live that way,'' Rooney recalled. ''It's been the guiding light of my life ever since.'' After graduating in CUNY Law School's first class in 1986, he took a job with Lehigh Valley Legal Services.
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QUESTION: Who has a Jimmy Stewart-like quality of quiet trust?

Tim had always a red bike. His birthday party was coming up and he hoped that his parents would finally get him the bike. When his friends came over for the party, Tim was very worried that he wouldn't get the bike. He looked at all the presents and none of them seemed big enough to have a bike in them. Tim was sad. When it was time to open the presents he opened them one at a time. The first present was not a bike. The second present was not a bike. The third present was the biggest one. Tim knew if the bike was going to be in any of the presents it was going to be in this box. Tim opened it and there was no bike inside. Just as Tim tried not to look too upset, his Dad brought in the biggest present of them all. His Dad had been hiding the present all along. Tim opened it and his new bike was inside the box. Tim put the bike together with his Dad's help.
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QUESTION: Why was Tim sad?

Joey got a German Shepherd for his birthday present. He had never had any pets before, but was always excited to see the other dogs and cats in his neighborhood. Since his birthday was in June, he spent a lot of time playing outside with his new puppy, which he named Max. Max and Joey would often run through fields in a game of chase. They also liked to go through the small forest behind the house, making a game of hide and seek. They never went near the lake because Joey was afraid of water. One day, Max hid a little too well and Joey couldn't find him. Joey spent the afternoon looking for his German Shepherd where they often played, like the field and forest. Joey was a shy boy who often read by himself, and Max was his best friend. After dinner, he went to look for Max one last time before he had to take a bath and go to bed. He heard some barking on the next street, so he ran to see if it was his puppy. Sure enough, he saw Max playing with a poodle. The dogs were having so much fun. Joey brought Max home, happy that he had his puppy back. Max seemed to be happy to have his human by his side as well as a new doggy friend. All summer long, Joey took Max to the poodle's house so they could play without having to worry about losing his present.
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QUESTION:
What did Joey name the German Shepherd?