Mack McLaurin

Mack McLaurin at the Denver VOICE vendor office

By Gretchen Crowe

There’s a mystery in the air when Mack McLaurin walks in the room.  The well-groomed, smiling man was born and lived most of his life in uptown Manhattan, near 45th Street. He always shows up with a good attitude and enough professionalism to run the program. Mack vended for around two months a little over a year ago, and recently came back through our doors.

In New York City, Mack and his brother were raised by his mom who worked in a major grocery store chain. He tried the “street thing,” but that didn’t really take. He went to high school at Charles Evans Hughes, and left early to start working.  Over the years, after many jobs, Mack found he had a knack for cooking.  When asked his favorite restaurant or palette to cook, it was the food at Bennigan’s, since he truly enjoyed the food and he cooked there right at their height of their popularity.  Mack tried a lot of jobs, but found cooking and sales his strong suits. 

In 1979, at age 20, Mack traveled for the first time. His brother, now a minister, went into the military and Mack followed him to Topeka, Kansas. It was complete culture shock for this New Yorker, but he stayed for six months. He returned to NYC with the bug to travel. That same year, Mack met his soon-to-be-wife and they were married two years later, having six children including two sets of twins. They lived both in Kansas and NYC.

During his divorce, Mack began researching more cities and moving around the country, staying in places based on the jobs he found. In Phoenix, he cooked for a restaurant and in Las Vegas held several jobs, including sales. When asked the roughest city he’s ever lived in, “it was definitely Vegas.”

We met Mack a little over a year ago, when he came to vend. He said he found the VOICE when he spotted vendors on the street. “I saw a guy on the street and he broke it down,” Mack said, “and I thought, ‘I do sales anyway.’ I had a good impression [about the VOICE]. It was really helping people and it was a true opportunity.” 

Mack had moved to Denver to stay with a friend, but found that didn’t work and ended up in the shelter system. He moved back to Vegas to work as a “club pass” vendor, getting tips for passes that negated cover charges at clubs for Vegas partiers.  “The party scene will run you down. It’s good money, but good money isn’t always good for you, especially if you aren’t grounded.” So, Mack returned to Denver to vend the VOICE.

Mack says of the VOICE, “I like what it does. The stories are about us, not some person on Wall Street.” He is currently staying in a shelter, working to get into permanent housing and hopes to continue with the VOICE even if he gets another job. “I’m having some issues with the move [from Vegas], but I do see the benefits.”  

Mack stays involved with church and loves to go out to eat.  He stays fit by playing basketball. He often takes the bus to the mall and likes to walk around.  You can usually find him vending on the 16th Street Mall.

James “Patrick” Simms

Think of a John Hughes film filled with character archetypes of jocks, cheerleaders and nerds, and then, picture vendor Patrick Simms in that fictional realm with his self-proclamation, “I am the quintessential nerd.” Born here in Denver in 1964, Patrick is a computer language expert, having advanced skills in around twelve languages, particularly in C++ and Java, which are widely used today. He talks wisely of calculus theory and where it intersects with physics, in regard to understanding change over time. He exalts the benefits of fiscal responsibility, while always wearing a button-down shirt and tie with shorts and suspenders. With his wit and sly sense of humor, Patrick was quick to say, “I was born the day before St. Patrick’s Day; my parents weren’t that creative,” in regard to his given name. Patrick was educated in Catholic schools early in life, and in 1982 graduated top of his class from North High School.

By midterms that year, he had already procured enough IT contracts to start his own business after graduating. He remained in business for around 10 years, when the computer market began its first decline. So, he went to work for Video Professor as an analyst, and worked there for another 10 years. The dot com bubble burst and he was then laid off. To make ends meet, he said, “well, I lived on plastic for about four months and then became homeless.” He began staying at shelters, and that is where the John Hughes character ends.

Patrick decided it was time to start a new path in life and enrolled in college. He was accepted to the Salvation Army’s Safe Harbor shelter, a place conducive to studying. After nearly two years, Patrick battled a financial aid issue and finished his quest for the degree.

For the next two and a half years, Patrick “was in denial” and lived between shelters. “It’s not exactly a place to go to meet people; it’s just a place to sleep on a mat.” During his days, he sat reading at the library or visiting the St. Francis Day Shelter. “It was a form of escapism, while I was able to keep up on things.”

In an amazing twist, St. Francis connected him with subsidized housing, where he would have to pay modest rent for an apartment. He had lost his state ID, so he decided to walk in our doors, since vendors are independent contractors and do not have to show ID up front. Patrick has been a vendor for the Denver VOICE for one year now.

Patrick uses his income to pay for his rent and to support himself. He discusses his vending success being possible because of the low overhead cost for vendors. “The paper is a real simple way for people to help without a huge obligation, and I don’t have to give a big sob story. I always approach it positively…and try to enjoy each morning on my corner. I am surprised how truly generous people are in this economy and they never belittle or judge. Because people in the nicest clothes, you never know their real story.”

We often wonder who slips through when the economy plummets, and sometimes it is our best and brightest. Patrick has rebounded from forces outside his control, and although he doesn’t have a computer right now, he hopes to get one soon, because (and of course?), “computer programming is an obsession.” Patrick vends at 16th and Glenarm in the mornings. Take the time to stop by and say hello; you can’t miss his suspenders and tie. 

Bob Kaufer & Lovee Underhill

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. •

Manuel Ramirez

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.

Anita Rios

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.