The Colorado Coalition for the Homeless estimates there are nearly 3,000 vets homeless in the state on any given day, including Veterans Day today.
This means that in the metro area, there are nearly 1,800 veterans roaming the streets, trying to get their lives back together. On any given night, at least 80 of them sleep under bridges, in cars or on concrete.
Even the Veterans Affairs Department admits things could be better for returning soldiers. The VA estimates as many as 131,000 veterans will be homeless on any given day and twice that number may be homeless at some point this year, according to coalition president John Parvensky.
In hopes of stemming some of those numbers in Colorado, the coalition this morning will announce the establishment of a new Homeless Veterans Housing Fund. The money will be used to help get homeless vets into housing quickly and help them access support services, including treatment for war-related trauma.
“A lot of vets come back with trauma issues,” said Heather Beck, who runs the coalition’s outreach teams that seek the homeless who refuse to come in from the cold. “The trauma doesn’t go away if it’s not addressed early.”
Parvensky said other vets are at risk for homelessness because of poverty and lack of support from family and friends. And accessing VA services can be tough.
The VA “tends to be difficult and complicated,” Parvensky said. “It tends to move very slowly.”
He said the new fund should help the coalition — in concert with the Denver VA Medical Center, the Denver Street Outreach Collaborative and emergency shelters across the state — reach the goal of doubling the number of veterans served next year.
They may include people like Gary Baumann, 62, who said he had a promising career as a jockey when he graduated from North High School in 1965. When he was drafted at age 19, the 85-pounder had three wins at Centennial Race Track in Englewood.
He said he was sent to the central highlands of Vietnam in 1969-70. Although he was trained as a mechanic, Baumann said he worked as a tunnel rat — the toughest of all assignments — crawling through the Viet Cong’s underground labyrinth armed only with a flashlight and a .45-caliber pistol. Many didn’t survive. Baumann was never even wounded.
“The Army took away my career. I couldn’t get a contract (to race) when I came back,” he said during an interview at the Broadway Motel. He and his brother had managed to cobble together enough money for a room, plus a few beers. Usually, they sleep under bridges along the South Platte River.
When he returned from Vietnam, he found a job as a printer for the Rocky Mountain News. More jobs followed, but gradually his demons led him to drink.
Baumann survives on the state’s old-age pension program, which pays him $674 a month.
“I fought for my country, and this is the best they can do?” he asked.
Reuben Tacoronte, 50, spent three years in the Army as a communications specialist, getting out in 1984 just before his father died.
“I couldn’t get going, I started drinking hard,” he said over a free lunch at Father Woody’s Haven of Hope at West Seventh Avenue and Lipan Street.
Family problems and friction seem to have dominated his life, except for the birth of his daughter, Gina Garcia, who’s 30. She arrived for lunch to check on her father, saying she was shocked when she first saw him homeless.
As Tacoronte told the story of sleeping on concrete Monday night, waking up at 3 a.m. to find something to keep him warm, his daughter chimed in, “I was in your camp this morning looking for you.”
“It hurts out there, it’s hard,” she said. “But he’s a survivor.”
Mike McPhee: 303-954-1409 or mmcphee@denverpost.com
