You might remember Lovee Underhill as a regular 300-club vendor on the 16th Street Mall over the last couple of years. Lovee always talked of her home in Florida and the nostalgia she had for her time there.  She celebrates sobriety and the positive friends she made there. So, in 2009, she decided to move home to Tampa. We wished her luck and health—and missing her dearly, off she went. She called us shortly after her arrival letting us know she had had what she called a mild heart attack, but something she still has to actively tend to maintain her health. We didn’t hear much back from her, but did catch wind of her struggles to stay afloat there.

In Tampa, the legislation is much more difficult on people living on the streets. There is no paper as a means of income, and Lovee even tried flying a sign for money—which is also illegal. She reunited with one of her friends, reconnecting after years, and on a dolphin boat he got on his knee and asked her to marry him. So fairytale!

So, in came “Beach Bum Bob.” Bob was originally from New Jersey, but had moved to Tampa over 15 years prior. He owned a trailer and their life seemed to be starting out together beautifully. But, even though he owned his trailer, the park where he lived had a no felon rule, and in Lovee’s previous life she carried that moniker and was not allowed to stay. Bob had a friend that had a truck and let Lovee sleep there. Bob sold his trailer and they lived in the truck together. Lovee truly disliked having to panhandle just to maintain.

It was a panicky time. No way to earn income,and being more and more marginalized from housing, the couple used the money from the trailer to get bus tickets back to Denver. It was a hard and bittersweet decision and a hard, four day bus ride back. They returned in May, spent the end of their money on a hotel for the month and both began selling the paper.  As an article in this issue talks about, finding family housing together is extremely difficult. The couple has had to use the last of their money for the more expensive option, a hotel, just to stay together.

Bob used to work in computers and also struggled with addiction, but alongside Lovee celebrates sobriety. He was a staple in Florida, and jokingly said, “My time there was the longest vacation in history.”  It was just over 15 years. He is a quiet and shy man, but never underestimate his humor and intelligence glimmering through those blue eyes. 

Lovee plans to officially change her name to Kaufer soon, and the couple’s love for each other is apparent. The beauty of this relationship is so simple in the fact that they’re together. But in the context of the obstacles they have faced, it is breathtakingly astounding. They take care of each other. They keep each other going as the fear of being on the streets is immanent without income from the paper. The Denver VOICE is a vehicle for them to succeed. Of course, it isn’t guaranteed, but with this couple’s conviction, they have a fighting chance. Lovee has expertise in selling and a history of a successful clientele base. Bob loves Lovee and will do anything to keep them together. •

by Gretchen Crowe

You can’t miss Manny walking around with his red Denver VOICE vendor vest, with his pony tail and cane, and if you get the pleasure to meet him, he’ll remind you of the nice, lost uncle or brother you think you should have known before.  Born in Denver on May 25, 1950, the last of 11 siblings, Manny still regularly visits his brother, who is 85 and lives on the West Side, as well as his sister, both of whom celebrate their successful efforts to quit smoking.  Manny is set to get housing in June. He vends the paper and patiently stays outside until he is able to move into his residence.

Manny’s family history is unique and interesting.  His mother’s father was from Spain and owned haciendas and ranches in Zacatecas, a city in the silver mining district in Mexico. His mother’s mother was from Chihuahua. They met in church in a very Cinderella-esque story, where his grandmother grew up with very little, and married this very wealthy landowner.  During the Mexican revolution led by Pancho Villa, all his grandfather’s lands and haciendas were taken.

In 1916 Manny’s father, a Mescalero Apache, walked over the border and met Manny’s mother in El Paso, in church.  They were married in Denver.  In a family twist, Manny’s father had actually ridden for Pancho Villa for four years beginning at age 22 before he crossed the border.  He tended the horses and the wounded, and was honored for his service with the same moniker, “Pancho,” a name of respect, earned through brave deeds.  Manny shares his father’s love of horses.

Manny moved to East Los Angeles in 1966, and in 1969-1971, proudly served in the Navy, completing two tours in Vietnam and working in a fuel refilling center for aircraft carriers and their escorts.  Two of his brothers served and all made it home. 

Readjustment was difficult and Manny said he had his last flashback in 1995.  He was in East L.A. for 13 years and then Pasadena for 17 years.  He was homeless a couple of times in California, and said “If you’re going to be homeless, Santa Monica isn’t that bad.  I was beach front for about a month.”

Back in Colorado, Manny became homeless in November 2008, having injured his hand while waiting to start a job at Star Sausage, and by the time he healed, the job was gone.  He couch-surfed for a while, making sure not to overstay his welcome at any given place and he utilized shelters on and off. 

Manny has become a staple with the VOICE. “Since I’ve been involved,” he said, “it has helped me with my self-esteem, my dignity and I haven’t been broke one day. When I get my own apartment, I’m still going to vend the paper; it makes me smile and gives me something to do.”

Manny would like to dedicate this profile to Marguerite Dantico.  Marguerite passed away March 23 and was Manny’s girlfriend of nearly four years.  “She had a heart as big as Texas, and she didn’t even get an obituary,” he said.  Not having a phone, Manny did not know about her passing nor her service.  “The Lord didn’t want me there.  He must have had some work for me to do, but it still hurts,” he recalls.  “I would have done anything for her.”  Please take a moment of silence and remember Marguerite Dantico, and by doing so, celebrate Manuel Ramirez.

Published April 2010 Vol. 14 Issue 4

by Gretchen Crowe

November 11, 2009 was a normal day at our vendor office. After we conducted vendor orientation, we heard a vehement and forthright, “I got the job; I actually got the job!” It filled the room with sound and sincerity. “You don’t know how long I have waited to be able to say those words.” Anita Rios, nearly in tears, had become a vendor. Having been denied for more jobs than she could remember, she has taken the VOICE and created her own job and means to income.

Born in Schweinfurt, Germany, she was adopted into an army family while her father and mother were stationed on base. Her mother is Australian. Anita talked of being a typical army brat, moving and growing up in more than just Germany, but in Chicago, Oak Lawn, Ill. St. Louis, Culver City, Calif. and on and on. Anita went to high school in Los Angeles. She finished high school, and entered Santa Monica City College, but as her father’s heart began to fail, she dropped out to help take care of him.

Anita was soon married, and although she worked hard as a waitress, after a breaking her arm at work, she found herself accessing public assistance for the first time. She had two children, Janet and Scott, and was a housewife, waiting tables when she could. She even had to walk out of one job where people were doing and selling drugs from the restaurant. Money was never easy; State and Federal assistance were a part of making ends meet. Somewhere in there her marriage slipped away. She found another partner, and was married again.

They moved to a successful co-op in West LA, and she continued waitressing when needed. It was 1994. Her children were raised and were on their way to their own lives, and she overheard an unfortunate conversation between her husband and another woman on the phone. She couldn’t sleep that night. Around 3:30AM she felt something odd and woke her husband up to tell him there was an earthquake. It didn’t feel that serious at that point, and he went back to sleep.

Anita knew it was an earthquake and things were about to change. There were over 100 aftershocks in the Jan. 17, 1994, Los Angeles 6.7-magnitude earthquake. She didn’t know as she felt those early morning tremors that the quake would take 72 lives; she just knew things were changing.

As the aftershocks rocked LA, she packed up a bag—weary of her cheating husband and the city around her—called a taxi, and when the roads permitted later that day, she headed to the Greyhound Station. She booked a ticket to Denver, and has never looked back. She got a job at Sun Café, now Tom’s Diner, on Colfax and Pearl, working there for nearly five years. When Tom’s took over, she began to look for work. Like so many, Anita has worked telemarketing, fast food at Wendy’s and other odd jobs. “It’s been hard and you get caught in it.”

Anita’s strength is evident, and you will find her vending on the 16th Street Mall. “My impression of the VOICE is that there are nice people. I like the way they approach me. Plus, I like the articles.” Although she still keeps her eyes open for full-time positions, she is making the best of her hard times. Anita is a beautiful woman, loves to style her hair and try on new clothes—not so different than any of the rest of us.



Published March 2010 Vol 14 Issue 3

by Gretchen Crowe

Juan walked into our doors on December 9, 2009. This seemingly quiet man with the miraculous smile has quickly become a member of the 300 club.

Juan was born in Juãrez, Chihuahua in 1970, moving to New Mexico around six or seven years later. He has seven sisters and two brothers, who all remain close today. When asked about his work history, he flashed a grin and said he started working very young, in fact, while he still lived in Mexico. “My mother used to get mad because I would just take off and go downtown as a kid.” Juan sold Chiclets to the tourists. “When I started doing that, it was for Christmas and I brought lots of groceries and presents for my little sisters.” They weren’t so mad that day.

Juan’s approach to vending the Denver VOICE is unique. He vends to Denver’s Spanish speaking communities, which is a break through for the VOICE. Juan is humbled by the helping nature of this community, and said most people don’t read English, “but they take that paper home, and someone there will.”

Juan hasn’t had it easy. His struggle seems to fuel his faith in God, and his unyielding belief in other people is inspiring. Since Thanksgiving day, Juan has seen three acts of violence that aren’t uncommon for people living on the streets. The first on Thanksgiving was as he walked next to a bridge. A couple of men came out, cutting Juan’s cheek like a smiley face, simply to steal his coat.

The second was in an alley where he was sleeping. Some bar patrons left a bar and kicked the back of his head, pushing his teeth through his bottom lip and knocking him out. Did they steal anything? No, it was a hateful act.

The third attack broke Juan’s nose. Some younger kids stole his backpack. It’s hard to fathom the love that Juan emanates after incidents like these, but when asked about how he isn’t bitter, he answered, “I’m trying to clean my own self, and when I see my inequities, I start my day thanking God for another day and another day. I don’t want to hate anyone.” Juan is currently struggling to get housing and to not have to sleep outside. He moved here from Albuquerque two years ago to follow a friend. He had encouraged Juan to move, stay with him and hinted of a job. Juan had been working in construction and restaurants since he left high school, and was searching for a new leaf after his parents’ deaths. But, when Juan got here, his so-called friend had given him a fake address and disconnected his number. Juan’s first step was to touch base with the Catholic Church.

He began taking care of the grounds of the church in exchange for a small room. He still volunteers regularly at Father Woody’s. In fact, while waiting to do this interview, Juan spent an hour translating our vendor orientation and training for a new recruit who knew very little English. Perhaps the glimmer of selflessness is beginning to come through. For those of us who know him, it’s unmistakable.