Denver police officer Ed Valerio’s worst fear is that one of the blanketed lumps won’t stir – ever again.
With temperatures in the predawn hours dropping to 7 below zero early Wednesday, he had reason for concern.
“Hey, Elvin, wake up. Time to get moving,” Valerio told a snowy bundle lying over a hot-water manhole cover on the Stout Street sidewalk across from the Colorado Convention Center.
Like a turtle, Elvin’s disheveled head slowly emerged from under a tarp.
“OK, Officer Ed, I’ll get up,” he said politely. “Just give me five minutes.”
As the sky began to lighten just before 7 a.m., Valerio had already checked dozens of dark alleys, hidden loading docks and preferred doorways, finding surprisingly few campers who were willing to brave the bone-chilling weather.
Even the steamy, chlorine-smelling doorway at 14th Street and Glenarm Place, where the Denver Athletic Club’s swimming pool is vented, was empty.
“This is good. It’s so cold that most of them went inside last night,” Valerio said.
About 100 hard-core homeless throughout the metro area forsake the shelters to sleep outside, even through the coldest nights.
Valerio is on a first-name basis with about 35 who inhabit the downtown area, the Cherry Creek bike path and the banks of the South Platte River.
Very few are loners. Almost everyone pairs up, at least for protection, he said, and their friendships can last for years. Some can be violent, particularly the ex-cons. Life on the streets is tough, and they always settle their differences without help from police, he said.
“The rich kids come out of the LoDo bars and throw stuff at the grate sleepers at 18th and Arapahoe. Sometimes they even walk over and kick them,” he said.
Most are alcoholics, he said, and some use drugs, which they pay for by panhandling, usually along Speer Boulevard. Most prefer McCormick whiskey, Wild Irish Rose or cheap vodka, Valerio said. He knows them so well, he can tell if someone is drunk on mouthwash.
“It gets them crazy, a lot more volatile. The only good thing is their breath isn’t so bad,” he said.
Valerio, 61, said the homeless are “like my children.” He has seven grandchildren, and his son, Josh, is also a Denver police officer.
“I really care about them,” Valerio said of the homeless, “but I can’t do much to help them, just watch them deteriorate. They’re a different breed.”
He frequently gets calls from all over the country, from families hoping he can find their loved ones. While eating breakfast at Sam’s No. 3 on Wednesday, he received a call from Arkansas.
The death two years ago of Samuel “Rick” Burrier, 54, hurt Valerio. Burrier was really something, Valerio recalled, saying Burrier was upbeat and doing exactly what he wanted. His death, however, was credited for opening the city’s eyes to the plight of the homeless.
“At least some good came out of it,” said Valerio, who must retire in September after 30 years.
Angie, the cashier at Sam’s No. 3, looked over toward Valerio while ringing up a customer’s check.
“We’ve just got to find a way to keep him down here,” she said.
Staff writer Mike McPhee can be reached at 303-820-1409 or mmcphee@denverpost.com.
