Robert T. sometimes looks around his apartment in amazement.
He has his own reading chair, a small TV, a bookcase filled with paperbacks, plants, a comfy bed, even an air conditioner – a world of difference from last year, when he lived in shelters and on the street.
He’s a former heroin addict, an alcoholic, and he suffers from anxiety and physical health issues. People like him are hard to treat because of the layers of chronic problems, but they are exactly the kind of person Denver Housing First wanted for its inaugural program.
In February 2004, the Colorado Coalition for the Homeless put Robert T. and 74 other homeless people, all of them dually diagnosed with a mental condition and a substance-abuse problem, in apartments.
The agency wants to show locally a theory proven in other cities: that providing homes for the homeless first, then offering treatment, works best, even for the toughest populations.
This is the centerpiece of the Denver Commission to End Homelessness’ 10-Year Plan. The commission expects to expand the program by about 100 people each year.
John Parvensky, president of the Colorado Coalition for the Homeless, says he can’t promise those in the program will become productive citizens, but at least it gets them off the street.
“Only 20 percent of people who go into any treatment program, whether it’s the Betty Ford Clinic or Arapahoe House, are likely to recover,” Parvensky said.
The odds are against them, Parvensky said, but it’s better for the community because people “are not stepping over them in alleys,” and the health of the formerly homeless improves.
That’s what makes this issue so heartbreaking. Agencies can’t force people into treatment, and even those who want it typically end up failing.
“Relapse is a common part of the recovery process,” Parvensky said.
Robert T. should know.
At 53, after more than two decades on the street, Robert says he’s finally off heroin and resists the temptations he encounters when he strolls out of his apartment building a few blocks from East Colfax Avenue, an area he calls “crack city.”
“Walking from here to the King Soopers, I get hit four or five times by drug dealers,” said Robert, who asked me not to publish his last name. “I finally grabbed one and said ,’Look, you (expletive), don’t ask me no more. I got off that (expletive).’ ”
Robert admits he still drinks “once in a while” and smokes marijuana on occasion. Still, he’s considered a success story.
But then there’s the unmarried couple that lives in an apartment complex in Glendale. They go to food banks so they can save their Social Security money for liquor and beer, according to a source connected with the program.
Several times a week, the couple get drunk and fight, said their downstairs neighbor, Shirley Hammons.
“They get pretty violent up there,” Hammons told me. “She’d come down here to hide. I couldn’t keep her here because then he’s banging on my door, and my nerves can’t handle that.”
If they keep it up, the couple may wind up back on the street. Caseworkers can’t force them into treatment. But so far, just five people have lost their housing in the 16 months the program has been in operation.
Many of them are like Robert T., whose health is better and who takes antidepressants and anxiety medication. He still drinks, but he’s no longer putting away a fifth of vodka every other night. This, sadly, might be as good as it gets. But at least he’s not on the street.
Cindy Rodríguez’s column appears Tuesdays and Thursdays in Scene. Contact her at 303-820-1211 or crodriguez@denverpost.com.
