Features+News

The American Jukebox

2011-08-09T00:06:31Z

The Library of Congress recently opened a website for the general public making available thousands of recordings that were previously out of print. The recordings, ten inch platters that could only be found at flea markets or in ancient attics, consist of musical performances and spoken word made for the Victor Talking Machine Company at the turn of the century. With a huge range of obscure work, the National Jukebox, as the archive is being called, is a boon for audiophiles. “[Listeners] can hear operatic selections, vaudeville routines, popular songs of the day, songs from musical shows,” said David Sanger, an archiver for the National Jukebox.

The National Jukebox began as an idea of Sam Belawsky, former head of the recorded sound section of the Broadcasting and Recorded Sound Division of the Library of Congress. Belawsky wanted to provide mass public access to the recordings. Sony Music Entertainment, which owns the rights to the Victor catalog, allowed the Library of Congress to use acoustically recorded Victor records before 1925. “So we got that agreement and went ahead with selecting the material and having it digitized and all the electronic inputting of data,” said Sanger.

Digitizing the material was a painstaking process. All of the records came from the University of California, Santa Barbara. The work was done in Virginia where technicians pulled records from the vault and cross checked duplicate copies for condition. Oftentimes there were six to seven copies of the same recorded performance.

“A lot of times the talent was called back in to do a new version because the stamps had worn out,” said Sanger. The technicians pulling the records out of the vault would have to scrutinize the discs to make sure they had a unique performance. They had to pick out the best copies simply by eye-balling the discs.

The website also contains a slide show demonstrating how the records were processed. Listeners can also create and submit their own playlists. Coming this fall, the library will be releasing acoustical recordings from the Columbia and Okeh labels.

Visit the library at: www.loc.gov/jukebox/

The Making of a Record in 1900

Acoustical Era
All the recordings in the National Jukebox were made in the acoustical era of studio recording between 1900 and 1925. The acoustical era precedes the use of microphones; instead, performers played into a horn. “There was a gigantic horn that funneled the sound that was being performed to the small end of the horn,” said Sanger. The horn vibrated a thin glass or copper diaphragm to which a cutting needle was attached that cut a groove into the wax master. “It was a completely mechanical way of recording,” said Sanger.

Working the Horn
Just as a singer today works the microphone, singers for the Victor had to work the horn. Singers who had to hit a very loud note needed to back away from the horn. During a performance, the singer was constantly moving toward or away from the horn, and inexperienced recording artists had a studio technician pushing them away or toward the horn.

Back to Knee
Conditions for musicians were equally daunting. Players had to crowd around the horn so they were playing knees to backs in small chairs. “Sometimes a performer would have to come back several times and remake the selection if it wasn’t satisfactory,” said Sanger. Before Victor developed the means to mass produce records, the master wore out after producing up to 400 records. A performer might be asked to come back several times to re-record a selection.

Speed Control
Today, we would consider these records as “78s.” However, at the turn of the century there was no standard revolution. Early on, speeds could vary from 65- 80 rpm. Along with selecting the correct stylus, technicians converting these recordings to .mp3 for the National Jukebox adjusted the turntable speed by ear. “They had to get through this cart of records they had to transfer in a certain period of time. They didn’t have the luxury to sit and fiddle with the speed as much as they would have liked to,” said Sanger. •

Breakaway

2011-08-08T23:50:25Z

Denverites are no strangers to the “epic” vacation and adventure. A lot of Denver residents moved here for a smaller version of that—available in the proximity to the mountains, national parks, and other adventure attractions in the West.

Scott DeMoss, an IT manager for TeleTech, an outsource customer care firm headquartered in Englewood, lives in the Highlands and is an avid biker, runner, fisher and hiker. He recently found his epic trip in Africa. Through the organization Tour d’Afrique, which hosts bicycle tours around the world, he spent five months riding across the entire continent. From Jan. 15 to May 14 of this year, he rode from Cairo, Egypt to Cape Town, South Africa, passing through ready-to-erupt Egypt and the newly formed country of South Sudan along the way.

He sat down with the VOICE to share a bit about his bittersweet experience on the road.

When you were going through Sudan, what was it like? Did you hear any discourse because of the upcoming election?

I think there was a more palpable energy in Cairo. We left there and then [a few] days later, that total upheaval took place, so we got out of there just in time. For a while they thought we might have to leave Egypt altogether, but we had a security detail; not that we were ever [in trouble].

So what did you see in Egypt?

There were just a lot of people milling about in the streets. I wouldn’t call it an organized rally or anything like that. We were in the Vodacom shop, which is [a] mobile phone thing, trying to get sorted out on a phone, and they’d ask where are you from, and once they found out you were from America, ‘oh Obama this, Obama that.’

Really? In positive ways?

Yeah, for the most part. And [they’d say] ‘Hey, we want to be like America. We’re gonna get rid of this guy [then-Egyptian-President Hosni Mubarak], this has been going on too long.’ And you got the sense that [there was] very open speech about [the issue]. And these were mostly the 20-30-somethings, younger people.

So you didn’t really see much of anything happening in Sudan? There was no indication that there was going to be an election?

When we arrived, the vote had already taken place, and they said it would take anywhere from two to four weeks to tally the votes, so we were [there during] the holding period.

I think that country, of all of them, surprised me because people were so welcoming. From the people in the city to the people on the ferry to—ya know, I’m out in the middle of nowhere, probably 100 miles from the closest real town and there’s this cluster of grass and clay-mud huts over there. And I’m just sitting under the shade tree getting some water and this guy in a robe comes up and is like, ‘You! Tea.’… I thought he was inviting me to tea. He was. So he leads me back into the village and all these kids come out and we’re sitting in this hut and it was very shady and cool—so it was nice. It was probably about 120 degrees that day. He makes me tea and speaks a little bit of broken English and he brings other important people from the village over to meet me.

Ha! Did you feel like a king?

Well, it’s kinda weird because you are in your biking clothes and they are in these long white robes with headwear and the kids keep coming to poke their head into the hut, and everyone wants their picture taken with you. Yeah, you feel like a bit of a celebrity I guess.

Then he asked me if I wanted some water. And I said no, and he said, ‘No, you must drink this water,’ so I said ok, yeah, this is probably going to come back and get me. It definitely tasted a little off, and I did get sick a few days later, but I don’t even know that it was directly attributed to that water. Probably was. But I would say within 10 days of that little encounter, half the camp was sick anyway.

Oh, that’s rough—especially while riding.

Yeah, that did a lot of people in. That was the first point for a lot of people where they would end up getting on the truck. There’s a special award you can earn if you manage to ride what they call EFI—every F-ing inch—so that means you ride the whole way, every day. You don’t use the trucks ever.

Did you use the truck?

[The EFI] was my big goal going into that. I wanted to do that. And usually it’s only 15-20 percent of the people who can manage that.

We left the roads of the Sudan and had three or four days off road. That was pretty cool. Little dirt paths going through the villages and stuff, and I crashed twice on the first day. Really dinged my ribs up pretty good. … Then it started getting really hot and that was when we saw temperatures approaching like 135 degrees and you’re just riding through the middle of these vast tracks of emptiness.

So when we finally got back on the pavement, I started to feel pretty crappy. That was the day we crossed into Ethiopia and the whole first half of that morning— it was about 35 miles—I thought I was going to vomit the entire way. It should have been a nice easy stage and I’m suffering horrendously.

I got to lunch and my buddy Paul, he’s feeling the exact same way, and he said to ask them for this pill [because] it kinda helped him. So I take this pill, it kind of squelches the nausea, and I carry on, get to the border but by the time I got into camp I was steadily [going] downhill. The next two days, I think, were probably two of the more miserable days I’ve ever had in my life. Just waking up, can’t eat, don’t sleep at all, getting up to use the bathroom four or five times in the night.

Did you have bathrooms?

No, no, that means you hike into the brush with a shovel. No shower either. They are rationing water so you can’t bathe yourself. …[But] No truck riding for me. I am an official member of the “EFI Club”. There were only 12 of 62 who did it, so I am particularly proud of that achievement.

What would you compare the bonding experience to? I use examples like this trip or, more dramatically, like a traumatic experience, bringing people together.

Trauma’s a little strong, but I would say the first few weeks of that trip, you were continually hit, sometimes gently sometimes harshly, with doses of reality. … You just realize the tour goes on—you’re either with it or against it but it’s dragging you on. I think we bonded over that, if there was a particularly taxing day on the bike, or there were some bad things—like there was a hold up in Northern Kenya where there were some guns and shots fired. I wasn’t personally involved but some of the people were.

What happened?

We were in this area, didn’t seem particularly dangerous but it’s really been stricken by drought, so food’s not growing; people are desperate for employment and just water. There were two guys on the side of the road, and one girl [as part of the group] rode by and they kind of just acknowledged her. He’s got a rifle in his lap, actually an AK-47 assault rifle. They made a motion for her to stop; she decided that wouldn’t be prudent. They yelled and the guy fired some shots over her head. The other guy threw a rock at her and it hit her in the ribs and right as the thing hits her in the ribs, the guns going off so she doesn’t know if she’s been shot. …

I don’t think they were actually trying to hit her. I think they were trying to stun her into stopping so they could rob her.

Was she by herself?

She was. There was a group of people behind. They heard all that; they stopped and waited a half hour and didn’t see anyone down the road. One of the riders needed to stop to pee, she goes into the woods and two minutes later the guy whacks her in the side of the head with the gun. … So they had six of them on their knees, putting on a show, shooting over their heads, taking money out of their wallets. They drained the water out of the camelback hydration packs and the bottles. Left the packs behind and left their IDs behind.

You had talked about wanting and needing a change in your life, and that this was part of that.

Yeah, I mean look, we only get this one crack at life, and I’m only 36 so I’m not a sage or anything like that. But I think … you have a certain idea of what it means to be successful ... and I thought I’ll work hard and earn lots of money and get promoted. And the truth of it was I wasn’t really ambitious about being promoted. … But it’s like a lot of corporate America—you don’t screw up so you get rewarded.

… And that was all well and good, but it kind of felt like my days lacked a meaningful challenge. … And I certainly wasn’t getting that in my life. I largely felt like that at work, whatever I did largely didn’t matter.

I needed to know more about myself. … I was restless, a little unsettled internally. I thought [during this trip] you’re going to get to find out in a non-lethal environment, but definitely a very tough environment, what you’re made of. I think at the end of the day, that was the big take away.

Getting Ahead of Homeslessness Part II

2011-08-08T20:06:46Z

By Stacy Brownhill
Additional Reporting by Tim Covi

James Smith is a 53-year-old Portland veteran who used to have a job he loved. After a car accident left him with traumatic brain and neck injuries in 2005, Smith lost his job, ran out of money and wound up on the streets. When Smith tried to apply for Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI), he was denied three times because he was flagged as violent. He was loud, angry and high-strung—symptoms of traumatic brain injury, or TBI. For years, Smith sunk deeper into despair. This week, with the help of Portland law firm Swanson, Thomas & Coon and Central City Concern’s BEST program, Smith won his second hearing. The benefits he was awarded will give Smith a house, health care and a new life.

People suffering from TBI, the so-called invisible disease, can seem angry, forgetful, antisocial and disinterested. They may slur their speech, talk too loudly and walk crookedly. In other words, it’s easy to mistake people with TBI for being intoxicated, high, mentally ill, suffering from fetal alcohol syndrome or even averse to getting help. It’s especially easy to make those mistakes when the person is homeless and already burdened with stigmas.

In October 2008, Portland’s Housing Bureau partnered with New York City-based Common Ground Institute to survey 646 homeless people on the streets of Portland. The resulting “Vulnerability Index” found that about half were medically vulnerable. One of the medical conditions PHB was curious about was traumatic brain injury; however, because TBI can be so difficult to correctly diagnose, the field was left “To Be Determined.”

That same year, the city of Hamilton, Ontario awarded funding for a program that offered counseling and intensive case management to 176 chronically homeless men. Forty-nine of those men agreed to participate in a more in-depth pilot program that included advanced neuropsychological testing. A staggering 98 percent of men in the pilot program met the criteria for TBI.

Today, we’re as clueless about TBI on the streets of Portland as we were three years ago. But TBI is causing a stir among scientists, social workers, city officials, the military and the NFL. What they’re discovering is surprising. It can happen to anyone.

For Denver resident Giles Clasen, a freelance writer and photographer who has worked with the Denver VOICE since 2009, homelessness was only narrowly avoided after a severe brain injury. Looking at the resources it took for him to stay off the streets, his story illustrates how easy it is to become homeless after having a brain injury. One missing link in a chain of support and he would have been destitute.

In the summer of 2008, Clasen was preparing to finish his Master’s in Divinity at Denver Seminary. He was on his way to work pedicab, a bike taxi, when he was hit by a car on August 8. In the ensuing year, he passed out randomly while walking. He suffered from intense migraines, agoraphobia and was visually impaired. He passed out while urinating, once waking up to someone in a public bathroom kicking him because he ended up urinating on the person next to him. He couldn’t focus on work for more than an hour at a time. He lost control of bowel movements at night.

Ultimately, he lost his wife, his house, his ability to hold a steady job. Nearly everything.

Looking back, he observed, “During that time, I don’t know if it was too much for 25-30 year olds to deal with, but most of my friends stopped hanging out. Not because they were bad people, but because it was intense. The symptoms were intense. If I left the house with you, I was reliant [on] you to provide care.”

Having lost so much, Clasen was on a crash course with homelessness. If left on his own, he wouldn’t make it
day-to-day.

Cities that have done studies on how many homeless suffer from TBI report numbers that are scattered, but all statistically significant: 98 percent (Hamilton, Ontario 2008-2010), 53 percent (Toronto, Ontario 2008), 67 percent (Boston, Mass. 2006-2007), 48 percent (Milwaukie, Wis. 2004), 24 percent (Fort Lauderdale, Fla. 2003) and at least 50 percent (National Healthcare for the Homeless Council). Of those, 70 percent occurred prior to becoming homeless in (Toronto), more than half occurred prior to age 20 (Boston), and the average age for the first TBI was 17 (Hamilton).

Compared to an estimated two percent of the general population that gets TBIs, “we’re seeing an enormous medical crisis,” says Dr. Theresa Petrenchik, who helped lead both the Hamilton and Fort Lauderdale studies. Petrenchik’s research leads her to conclude that homeless people with TBI use more services, are homeless more often for longer periods of time, are more frequently incarcerated and have greater co-morbid risks than homeless people without TBI.

Dr. Stephen Hwang, leader of the Toronto study, is teaming up with Dr. Barb Wismer, board member for the National Healthcare for the Homeless Council and other researchers around the country to try to get funding for a national study on TBI and homelessness.

“We think TBI is under-identified among the homeless,” says Wismer, “and we think a lot of health care workers don’t know about it.”

The Balancing Act

Cheryl Coon, board member of the Brain Injury Association of Oregon and the Social Security disability attorney who represented Smith, says she has many homeless clients with TBI. She describes a common pattern with her TBI clients: first, they stop being able to focus in the workplace. Then, they lose their jobs. Their physicians may not recognize TBI. And then many become homeless.

In Clasen’s case, most of this happened, but his life diverged in two important ways. One, his brain injury was recognized immediately after the accident. Two, his mother was able to support him financially.

He couldn’t work for the first 8 months after the accident and in the spring of 2009, after his wife asked for a divorce, he was nearly penniless. When he landed a job at RAAP (the Rape Assistance and Awareness Program) that summer, he only managed to keep it for a few months. He was going door-to-door raising money for the organization and had to meet certain quotas. He passed out on the job, got sick while working and ultimately couldn’t raise enough money. He moved into an apartment with a roommate and said if it weren’t for his mom’s financial support, he wouldn’t have made rent most of the following year.

“I remember having to call my mom … I needed rent or I was going to be homeless, and if she didn’t pay my rent for a year I would have been homeless.”

Clasen said it was a dark time. When he found the apartment he was going to live in, he said one of the things that drew him to it was that it had a balcony on the 10th story. If he needed to end it quickly, he could.

“It wasn’t the suicide of depression. That wasn’t the thought,” he said. “It was—I’m so defeated and I’m such a burden to the world that the world’s a better place without me. That’s how I felt.”

He added, “I think the biggest problem with the ongoing effects of the brain injury, is it’s just always like—I have to ask people to forgive me for screwing up here or there. It’s like an asterisk on any relationship I have. I will be the best friend; I will be the best worker for you. I’ll be the best whatever our relationship is—but this is gonna interfere.”

Two years later, Clasen has recovered from most of the symptoms. He is able to lead a relatively normal life. He continues to deal with intense migraines and occasional dizziness, but is able to work and drive.

Giles’ case shows how delicate balancing life can be after a severe brain injury. Without his mother’s support, he wouldn’t have made rent for several months. Like many others, he would have lost everything and spiraled downward on the streets.

What a Disability Attorney Knows

Chart notes follow Coon’s clients whenever they come in contact with the system and sometimes these files “come back to haunt folks,” says Coon. If a past doctor noted that a client was inebriated or high, even if that client was also diagnosed with TBI, that can be enough reason to deny them, she says. In fact, Coon thinks of TBI as a “Catch-22 for getting disability benefits” because the symptoms of a TBI can be associated with so many other causes.

“The Social Security Administration is not eager to take these people on,” she says, “but disability benefits have become one of the few safety nets this country has.”

Winning Smith’s hearing was a personal victory for Coon, who says that around two-thirds of cases are initially denied in Oregon. “The number one piece of advice I give for any client is ‘you’ve got to hang in there and file for appeal,’ because the process is set up to weed out those who don’t have the perseverance to pursue it,” says Coon, who estimates that well over half of cases in Oregon are won when people keep appealing.

What a domestic violence shelter knows

Molli Mitchell, residential services director at Bradley Angle House says she “definitely” sees women coming to the shelter with TBI. In a study of 53 battered women, Dr. Helene Jackson found that nearly all reported suffering blows to the head while being battered; 40 percent reported loss of consciousness.

Mitchell and her staff are trained to recognize symptoms of TBI, but she says referring women to clinics doesn’t often work. Battered women who are candidates for TBI may have trust issues with counselors and doctors, lack of transportation to clinics, not to mention a host of competing problems. Mitchell says the link between PTSD and TBI is complex and often a fine line.

What the military knows

“TBI has become the signature injury of the current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan,” according to the Brain Trauma Foundation. About 320,000 American troops have suffered TBIs since 2001, with 7 percent reporting both TBI and concurring PTSD or major depression, according to a 2008 report by nonprofit research group RAND Corporation. Blasts are the leading cause.

With its massive budget, the Department of Defense provides arguably the most cutting-edge research around TBI treatment. Eye-tracking goggles, neuroprotectants, biomarkers and hyperbaric oxygen chambers are just a few of the superhuman technologies being funded by the Pentagon to explore TBI, to varying success.

But despite funding such gadgets, the Department of Defense has been notoriously resistant towards paying for cognitive rehabilitation therapy for the tens of thousands of service members who have suffered TBIs. A 2010 NPR and ProPublica investigation found studies by the military’s healthcare program, Tricare, “deeply flawed” and at odds with many medical groups. They cite the cost of cognitive rehabilitation to be as much as $50,000 per soldier—a daunting number even for the Pentagon’s budget.

How many end up homeless? The Department of Veterans Affairs conservatively estimates that 107,000 veterans are homeless on any given night, and that nearly one-fifth of the homeless population is veterans. PTSD, closely linked to TBI, is cited as a leading cause.

What the NFL knows

Just last year, former NFL doctor Ira Casson told Congress, “there is not enough … scientific evidence at present to determine whether or not repeat head impacts in professional football result in long-term brain damage.” The resulting outrage from players, doctors and sports reporters led to heightened investigations of TBI cases in pro-football.

Mike Webster was one former NFL player held in the spotlight. Doctors estimated that the former Pittsburgh Steelers star’s brain had been through the equivalent of 25,000 car crashes in his 25 years of playing football. The depression and profound dementia that followed contributed to Webster becoming homeless and dying at age 50.

As TBI-affected ex-players come forward, the $33 billion NFL is changing its position on TBI, albeit reluctantly. In cooperation with Boston University, the NFL opened a brain bank in 2010 to conduct post-mortem analyses of players’ brains. They donated $1 million to help fund Boston University’s TBI research, started by a former wrestler. They announced harsher fines (tens of thousands of dollars) for players who tackle above the neck. They explored advanced helmet technology.

High school sports (and the PTAs behind them) seem to be making the true groundbreaking steps on TBI. Oregon enacted “Max’s Law” in 2009—legislation that protects young athletes from damaging multiple concussions by requiring that all high school athletic coaches in the state receive concussion recognition training. It also prohibits any athlete showing concussion symptoms from playing until the next day.

The silent disease

All of the above candidates for TBI—homeless people, domestic violence victims, soldiers and pro-football players—are also conditioned to be silent about TBI.

Thirty of 160 NFL players surveyed by the Associated Press in 2009 said they have hidden or played down the effects of a concussion. “By the time a guy reaches pro-sports, he will not complain,” says Jane Arnett, wife of ex-player John Arnett in Lake Oswego. Together, the couple founded a nonprofit to help disabled ex-NFL players get health benefits.

A similar hush factor pervades the military. The 2010 NPR/ProPublica investigation found that, to remain with their unit, soldiers will often ignore symptoms of a blast and commanders might ignore such symptoms in order to keep soldiers on the field. Medics, forced to prioritize life-threatening injuries, may lack the time to recognize a concussion, the study adds.

Homeless people and domestic violence victims know silence better than anyone—lack of trust, resources and support prevent many from seeking help. Stigma certainly plays a role. And a 2007 study of homeless people in Denver found that homeless individuals are less than half as likely to be admitted to a hospital as non-homeless with similar conditions.

A 2008 report by The National Health Care for the Homeless Council said the following:

Many emergency departments have yet to implement screening and referral for (TBIs). As a result, many patients who are treated and released from ERs with instructions to follow up only if they experience dizziness, vomiting or difficulty waking may be experiencing cognitive changes that may never be evaluated. This is a widespread phenomenon and may explain the poor functioning of some persons who fall into homelessness without clear abuse or neglect histories.

Additionally, Theresa Petrenchik of the Toronto study believes there is willful ignorance on the part of local governments. “Some cities don’t want to survey for TBI because then you might uncover a real service need,” says Petrenchik. “When we talk about the intersection of social services and health services, no one wants to hear about the need for long-term support … but we pay for it one way or the other,” Petrenchik said.

“Being able to recognize that there is a true disability as opposed to willful noncooperation is helpful,” says Hwang. “It’s worth investigating.” •

Young Addicts

2011-08-07T18:01:06Z

I won’t claim to be a specialist on the subject of child drug addicts, and I don’t know any of the statistics (after a brutal course in college I will never again pay much attention to statistics). What I do know is what I see with my own eyes and what I experience when I travel and when I work.

I know that every country and every region has problems with drug addiction to varying degrees. However, I also know that in developing countries the problem is much, much worse than anything we see in the West.

During my recent trip to Uganda I spent a good deal of my time in the slums of Kampala photographing the lives of the children that live in the midst of poverty and chaos. In these areas, drug addiction takes on new meaning. There are literally hundreds of children living on the streets as drug addicts. Their drug of choice is the only one that they can afford—glue. The vast majority are battered and bruised from constant fighting, wearing filthy, tattered clothes.

Now add to this the fact that many of these children are missing hands and feet. You see, they can’t afford food; the glue they sniff is cheaper and it takes the hunger pains away. Of course, the glue is not free and some of the children have been known to steal in order to feed their addiction. In an area where no one has much of anything, the locals hide crude bear and wild animal traps to keep the children away. It does little to solve or help the problem, other than taking the child off the streets for a week or two after they have lost fingers, toes or a limb.

Like most things in life, the problem is complex. The simplest solution would be to make it more difficult for the children to get the glue that they sniff, as all they have to do is go to any one of the vendors on the street that will put some glue in an empty bottle for the children to sniff. Locals agree that the children should not be sold glue, but the public official of this area (basically the mayor of this district I am told) is the one who imports the drugs and supplies the street level dealers. His money and power keep him safe. •

Zoriah Miller is an award-winning photojournalist. His work has been featured in some of the world’s most prestigious galleries, museums and publications. With a background in disaster management and humanitarian aid, Zoriah specializes in documenting human crises in developing countries. He periodically works with the Denver VOICE or provides photo-essays related to local, national or international poverty and homelessness.

The Way Home

2011-08-01T18:13:18Z

When Jackie Gonzalez looks in the mirror, she sees a different person than she saw just a year ago. When Gonzalez, who is 16, entered the Bansbach Academy at the Denver Children’s Home, she was a runaway, admittedly nasty and raving. Today, she has grown into a confident and hopeful woman.

“My foster grand-mom says I’m a different person from what I used to be,” said Gonzalez.

Gonzalez is just one of many children who find respite and support at the Denver Children’s Home, a residential facility with a therapy program and school. Most of the students at DCH have been referred there by governmental systems. Unstable home lives, domestic abuse, running away and disruptive behavior are norms for these children, and the home caters to their problems in a way public schools aren’t trained to handle.

“Quite frankly, teachers are not trained to deal with kids with mental health issues,” said director of education Deb Huerta, who worked in the local public school system. “There’s a whole different gamut of interventions that need to happen with these kids and public school cannot cater to that…population.”

Most of the students that receive treatment at DCH have experienced some sort of mental trauma, said development director Shannon Lowe, which is why DCH is the best place for them. The teachers and staff provide what Lowe called “trauma-informed care” for the students, which means they are aware of the effects of trauma on a child’s development and mentality.

“So really what we focus on is helping kids identify what does it feel like to be inside your body and your brain, and how do we get you the tools and knowledge to be able to cope with what’s happening,” said Lowe.

They do so through a variety of programs. Since DCH offers varied services, from less-intense outpatient therapy sessions to full on boarding home and schooling, they can receive treatment based on the level of their needs. The students “graduate” from levels as they improve.

Gonzalez started at the Bansbach Academy in 2009 as a student, but when she ran away from her foster home last year and was arrested, she was put into the residential program.

“I got arrested and got taken to this other place called the Family Crisis Center, and I asked for them to bring me to residential here. … I felt like I had already worked through a lot of things, and a lot of those kids [at the FCC] needed more attention.”

Now, about a year later, she lives with the foster parents she ran away from.

For Gonzalez, who is entering her junior year and plans to attend CSU for forensic science, the experience is priceless. “I never sat down and said, ‘well I need to change.’ It just started happening,” said Gonzalez. “[The teachers and staff] have always said I was a good student here, since the beginning, and they see my potential, and I said what are you talking about? … But now I do see it. … I feel like people trust me a lot, and I trust them.”

DCH, which started as an orphanage in the 1880s, transitioned to its current function in the 1960s. The children, ages 10-18, are sent to the home from various county human service agencies and mental health centers, which have acknowledged the students need some type of support and help outside the realm of what a public school can offer.

In the end, the whole goal is to get the student back into their regular, normal life.

Denver Children’s Home 10th Annual Gala
Thursday, Sept. 22
At the historic Mile High Station Event Center,
2027 W. Colfax Ave. Denver
Dinner, Wine, Hors d’oeuvres, Entertainment

Tickets: $150 per person, or $75 for first-time attendees, gets you sit-down dinner and unlimited drinks.

www.denverchildrenshome.org, 720-881-3346

Colfax

2011-07-22T17:36:26Z

Dear Readers,

Before I get into the meat of this project I need to come clean about something. The reason we are only addressing a single part of this at the moment is because, well, my feet hurt. It is not because of page count or other editorial decisions. It is the result of blisters.

“The longest, wickedest street in America.” I’ve heard this line mangled, contorted and paraphrased. It is pulled from an old issue of Playboy Magzine, describing Colfax Avenue. It fits what a lot of people think about the street, at least in part. I know that growing up in the south suburbs I learned I should be wary of Colfax, long before I could even drive. As I grew up and the city shrank and became less intimidating, my perception changed. Even still, I would see enough strange ladies and arrests that part of that perception persisted.

When you start to consider the street and its context, though, its ability to intimidate does fall apart a little bit. It is nearly 30 miles long, and spans pretty much the entire metro area. Not now, not ever, did Denver have enough wickedness to populate this street. Playboy Magazine would want us to think that this road was wall to wall rumpus. I took a walk and discovered this just isn’t the case.

I decided to hoof it across its entire length. It seemed like a good way to get a feel for the street, to engage the city in a new way. I planned to walk from Heritage Square to Colorado and Colfax, about 15 miles, the first day. On the second I would walk the rest of the way and quit at Gun Club Road. I imagined that I would gain a rare perspective, as I took in the width of our town.

It was surprisingly boring. Which—really— is interesting.

As I walked that first 15 miles the sun came and went. Even its occasional company was more consistent than the pedestrians. Throughout the entire walk, even with effort, I spoke to very few people—some at bus stops along the way, and since I hit downtown at quitting time there were a few people heading to their cars. My interactions with this street were mostly limited to the quiet, absent moments that I inevitably find everywhere.

Walking, or even driving, a thoroughfare is a strange proposition regardless of any supposed sordid past. It is, in a sense, the very definition of scratching the surface. It may or may not describe what lies just a block in either perpendicular direction. Even worse is when you don’t give yourself more than just a few minutes to absorb what is there. So, these photos represent scratching the surface of a surface.

I should point out I’ve only done the first half of the walk so far, as I alluded to earlier. Maybe things change dramatically east of Colorado Blvd. My blisters have healed and I’ll be following up shortly. I plan to— after I finish the 2nd half—return (by car) to the most interesting blocks along the whole stretch and dredge up some actual wickedness.

Dry Bones: A different look at life in Denver

2011-06-02T19:57:04Z

By Sarah Harvey

We began just north of Union Station, in the shadow of Coors Field, and made our way southwest along Delgany Street; it was a small stretch of land near the railroad tracks that development had missed (for now). We walked past a warehouse, past dirt lots just waiting for the right buyer. We stopped for a few minutes near an empty lot, where Robbie and Matt, our tour guides, reminded us to think about the meanings behind things we saw. At one point during the walk, Robbie pointed to an orange bottle cap in the dirt, explaining that he knew the group that handed out orange juice with just that color bottle cap. That piece of plastic on the ground was litter—but it was more than that too. It marked a place where someone had received help.

The Lunchbox Express

2011-06-02T19:00:00Z

by Kristin Pazulski

Photography by Adrian DiUbaldo

It’s a new spin on the ever-so-popular food trucks—a food truck with a higher purpose. Allen Levy and his wife, Hannah, have launched a summer lunch program to bring food to children of families that struggle to find a meal everyday.

The Lunch Box Express is a short, decorated bus which will visit the parking lots of four schools in the Englewood neighborhood in a pilot program that brings food to children who need it most. “Our goal is to feed hungry kids. … We’re trying to reach out to them to find out how many will respond,” Hannah said.

During the school year, Allen said, about 1,500 students in the Englewood School District receive free meals Monday through Friday. In the summer months, that resource is gone. “At these schools, 50-70 percent of the kids receive subsidized lunches. Then you think about it—they don’t get anything in the summer. It’s pathetic,” Allen said. Allen, a retired architect who has worked with nonprofits for years to help feed the hungry in Colorado, and Hannah, a retired corporate executive, created the Lunch Box Express to fill that gap.

Englewood was chosen because it’s a summer lunch desert. There are no school district summer programs to offer lunch to participating students, said Hannah. And even if there were, not all students would want to participate, or could because of time and cost. The schools on the Lunch Box Express route are those where more than half of the student population receives federally subsidized meals.

The Levy’s target is to serve 200 students a day, though they expect more may come as the summer goes on. They will be at the four schools Monday through Friday between 10 A.M. and 3 P.M. for about 45 minutes at each location (locations can be found by calling the Hunger Free Colorado Hotline). The program runs from May 31 to August 15.

No students will be turned away, nor will they have to present proof of need. Even if a friend or cousin is visiting from another neighborhood, they can get a lunch.

Hannah said the entire project has cost them a lot less than they expected, and they hope their program can be a pilot for similar programs in other areas. The only challenge has been finding enough volunteers. They need at least two or three volunteers to help them per shift (one hour a day) because of the paper work and the need to make sure the students eat the food in sight of the bus to avoid students not eating the meals themselves.

“If it wasn’t for government regulations, two people could do this,” Allen said.

The Levy’s have had help from the Colorado Children’s Campaign, Share the Strength and Food Bank of the Rockies, but for the most part it’s been a labor of love for two dedicated people, who found a gap in the hunger prevention effort and worked to fill it themselves by filling a school bus full of lunch boxes. •

Canyonlands

2011-05-30T19:19:00Z

Dinosaur tracks stretch across the former basin of the Purgatoire River in southern Colorado.Text and Photography by Robert Hurst

About 50 miles south of the Arkansas River, my dad’s Toyota was blasting across the washboard, rock-strewn surface of County Road M at a highly inadvisable velocity, throwing up a space shuttle-esque rooster tail of dust while hurtling straight into a black storm of tumbleweeds and swirling haze from multiple out-of-control wildfires. It was about that time that I started to question the wisdom of the whole adventure.

“We’re sure getting out here,” I said, becoming convinced we would never make it back. I imagined opening the spare tire compartment and finding nothing, or just a shriveled prune. Baby head-sized rocks slapped and crashed against the unprotected oil pan as the Toyota charged forward at highway speed. Are you crazy dad? Do you think our phones will work out here? Can you hear me now? The incredible volume of tumbleweeds pouring over the road and piling against the fences was at once frightening and mesmerizing, like some sort of biblical event. Where are they all coming from and how could there be any left? Where the hell are we going?

But dad knew exactly where he was going. Suddenly we were cruising into Picture Canyon, protected by improbable walls of sandstone. He stopped the car. Instantaneously our ears were filled with the deafening silence of gravel not pummeling the undercarriage.

The Second Life of Tyrone Braxton

2011-05-30T03:28:16Z

By Tim Covi

Photography By Ross Evertson

For anyone who followed football through the 1990’s, Tyrone Braxton, or “Chicken” as he was known back then, is a household name. He played for 13 seasons (12 with the Denver Broncos) and was a star on the defensive line. He lays claim to the 4th all-time interception return record and two Super Bowl rings. For a 12th round draft pick, he defined perseverance, and he’s still doing it.

Since retiring in 1999, Braxton hasn’t dallied. He started two companies, finished his Bachelor’s degree, and is now going back to Metro State in the fall to start a Master’s of Social Work degree. With his eyes turned toward his legacy and what he can do to help others, Braxton is working with incarcerated youth in a Colorado Detention Facility. We talked to him about his second life since football and the changes he’s working to create in society.