For a decade, Doyle Robinson has offered help to homeless kids at Sox Place, a sprawling room in downtown Denver that is equal parts retreat, counseling center and raucous family den.
And it all began with Robinson handing out free socks from a plastic bag — plus respect and kindness from deep in his heart — to street kids most folks treated as pariahs.
“I don’t do it as a penance for a bad life, and I don’t do it for the money, because I’m a volunteer,” says Robinson, whose son, Josh, helps out at the facility. “This is a calling, something I felt drawn to.”
For the teenagers, nearly all of them saddled with various degrees of trouble, Robinson offers an ear and an embrace. His no-guff approach mixes benign acceptance with zero tolerance for bad behavior.
Talk with these kids, and many will say Robinson is the first adult to ever tell them, “You’re OK. There is worth in you.”
He has to deliver that message to far too many teens.
The National Alliance to End Homelessness estimates 50,000 teens sleep on America’s streets on any given night. Up to 1,500 youths and young adults ages 12-24 are homeless in Colorado, according to the state’s Department of Human Services.
Christine Atkins used to be one of them.
“It’s kind of hard to break down what he did for me,” says Atkins, 24, who was on the street at age 12 and didn’t get off it until she turned 18. “He was like a father to me when I didn’t have one. This was a warm place to go, a place I could get food or a jacket if I didn’t have one.”
Atkins still pops in to visit Sox Place, which is wedged between Marquis Pizza and Step 13 at 2017 Larimer St.
The center moved into the space two years ago from its original location a couple of blocks away. With an annual budget of about $160,000, Sox Place runs on private donations and grants, and doesn’t take state or federal funds. Robinson, whose wife is the family breadwinner, is unpaid.
Sox Place’s main floor is 2,000 square feet. A loft is reserved as a playroom for the small fry that sometimes accompany their youthful parents. Upholstered sofas and chairs dot the wooden floor.
About 60-70 young people pass through Sox Place on any afternoon. They hang out, talk, trade war stories from the street, shoot pool on the donated table, watch DVDs on the big-screen television and surf the Net on one of the four aging computers.
How socks became “Sox”
Ask Robinson how he came to found Sox Place, and there’s a long pause.
“A friend of mine brought me down here about 12 years ago and introduced me to the whole street scene,” says Robinson, an Arkansas native who spent more than 35 years as a youth minister before moving here from Missouri. “It was strange. The kids and I had nothing in common. There was no way to connect.
“But I noticed they all needed socks to keep their feet warm,” he says. “So I just started buying them and passing them out. After two years they nicknamed me ‘Sox.’ “
Hence Sox Place.
At 56, Robinson projects the vibe of a burly hipster. His hair has gone gray — he cracks wise about how it happened during his tenure running Sox Place — and his luxurious goatee could shame a billy goat. He sports chic, black-framed eyeglasses.
Sox Place is open from noon to 4 p.m. most days. It’s a drop-in facility with no overnight quarters, but Robinson and his staffers serve as mediators that line newbies up with social-service organizations, including drug-and-alcohol counselors as needed.
“We get them into treatment centers or housing,” Robinson says. “We’re just trying to get them to the next level.”
That journey can be hard.
On Thursday afternoon, a young woman wearing an Insane Clown Posse T-shirt walks up to Robinson.
“My sister called me,” she announces. “My mom just died of a heart attack in Texas. I’ve gotta figure out a way to get back there.”
Robinson tells her to go to the bus station and tell them her situation. “Ask them how much the fare is and let me know,” he says.
A half-minute later the teenager is complaining about another girl who has somehow disrespected her. “I want to punch her in the mouth,” she says. “She’s had her chance.”
Robinson tells her to cool her jets. He pulls a staffer aside and gives him the lowdown. “Keep an eye on both of them,” he says.
This is par for the course anywhere teenagers hang out, what with the roil of hormones and emotions that are worn as loosely as a pair of baggy pants. Many of the kids harbor deep-seated anger and resentment, which happens when the adult world tells you you’re no good. Stir in the consequences of their own bad decisions, and it can make for a volatile mix.
Giving and getting respect
Dave Truzinski, a senior vice president at Cricket Communications, has served on Sox Place’s eight-member board for 4 1/2 years.
“I can’t imagine what Doyle has given up personally to do this job,” Truzinski says. “I see what he gets out of it emotionally and spiritually, but it still must take so much out of him.”
Robinson and his six part-time staffers don’t brook alcohol, drug use and violence. Kids are told to take arguments at least two blocks away. A sign on the wall informs all: “Be nice or leave.”
“Doyle gets respect because he gives respect,” says Holly Miles, a volunteer drug counselor at Sox Place who was on the street for a decade, starting at age 11. “But he makes us accountable for our actions. He makes us responsible for our junk. You can’t make excuses for dumb mistakes.”
Miles’ take on the appeal of Sox Place: “I think for most kids whose life is on the streets, the goal is to belong to a family,” she says. “They come from no family or from a less than desirable family.
“This place offers a sort of family.”
For some, it’s the first functional family they have known.
“We tell them they’re not who they’ve been told they are,” Robinson says. “I want them to know they’re loved.”
William Porter: 303-954-1877 or wporter@denverpost.com
