Milton Floyd

Published Novemvber 2009 Vol. 13 Issue 11

by Gretchen Crowe

If I could assign one word to Milton Floyd, I would say, “coy.”  But then again, I am a woman and Milton tends to be a flirt—in a good, benign way.  When asked about defining his most distinguishing feature, Milton giggled and answered, “I’m always smiling and that’s what they all like about me.”  With a name out of Western fiction and the eyes to melt a sunrise, we celebrate Milton’s one year anniversary with the Denver VOICE on February 2nd. 

 Born in Boise, Idaho in August 1951, Milton began working in construction in lieu of finishing high school.  He worked on a crew building new houses.  Leading a relatively smooth life, he married his beloved wife, Debbie, and had a daughter, Annie.  Milton lived and worked construction in Boise until he was 33, packing up his family to move to Denver, so they could be near his brother, Pastor David Thompson with the Activation Ministries in Evergreen.  Every Sunday, Milton still heads up to the church to see his brother.  He goes up there alone now.  In memory of his wife, “Debbie,” is tattooed on his right arm.  As he smiles, yet acknowledges his pain, he says, “the tattoo’s a little faded now, but hey, it’s just like me.”  He lost his wife to a brain tumor in 2008.  They were married 30 years.

 While living in Denver, Milton continued to work, but he worked with a day labor group doing construction clean-up until a month or so after his wife’s death.  He was laid off, and had the sense to know he was going to be on the streets.  He applied with the Coalition for the Homeless for housing, anticipating his homelessness.  That’s also when he found the VOICE, having met several vendors on the 16th Street Mall.  The Coalition’s application process took approximately three months, and by the last month, Milton was homeless.  Not being accustomed to shelter life, he reluctantly lived at the Denver Rescue Mission.  “I am real glad I got my apartment,” Milton says.  “After all that, it affected my nerves and my self esteem, and the VOICE really helped with that…That’s what I like about vending the VOICE, I meet so many nice people and everywhere I go, people seem to like me.  It’s about the people, and of course, the money too.”  Milton shares the 16th and Tremont block with another vendor, Manuela Shaw.

Looking at only his smile, it would be hard to tell that 7 months ago Milton was diagnosed with prostrate cancer, which has spread.  He just finished radiation and by the time this profile is printed, he will know if he will be in chemotherapy.  “When they took me off radiation, I told the nurses, ‘look, I’m now my own night light!’”  That’s a great example of Milton’s humor and unique way to positively shed light on his environment—after all, he is a self-proclaimed night light.  So, for February, let’s celebrate the past year with Milton, and here’s to many, many more! 

Chris Schoenberger

Published October 2009 Vol. 13 Issue 9

by Gretchen Crowe

When picturing Denver VOICE vendors, one conjures ideas of hard work and dedication to self advancement, but do we truly think of success—that kind of success seen as a broad and universal term?  We should. 

Meet our deep-voiced, sports fanatic hailing from Wapakoneta, Ohio, Chris Schoenberger.  An only child who is a U.S. Air Force veteran and Ohio State University alum, Chris came to Denver to be near his son four years ago. He began vending September 2008 after losing contact with his son and ex-wife.

Chris is a picture of evolution.  He is that success story in the vending program, accomplishing substantial growth.  After claiming he didn’t have a business model, a three-step tier began to slip out as he talked about working with the VOICE.  He started vending by working corners, and after three months, he attempted to vend at a parking lot of a large, retail store.  He was thrown off, and began asking, “How do I get permission?”  After some meetings, he got that permission at a local store.  From this move, he tripled his paper sales, and for six months remained the second highest in sales each month.  Around three months ago, Chris began to put out Denver VOICE information tables outside a local mall.  He can man several tables at the same time. And, by evolving, his successes continue to grow.  His next step, a more personal one, is to re-establish a relationship with his son.

When asked his techniques to engage people while vending he says, “Stay in the conversation when you’re talking to someone. Don’t ask someone else for a donation while talking to another.  People respect their time, so should you.”  

Richard Wolfe

Published September 2009 Vol. 13 Issue 8

by Gretchen Crowe

“You just might be screwed, Denver’s street paper just closed up—you can’t move there!” said a fellow Portland vendor to Richard Wolfe around 2006, as he made plans to move to Denver. 

Thoughtful and gentle, Richard stands uncomfortably as I snap his picture for the September Vendor Profile. He is part of an emerging group of vendors that don’t just claim one paper or one city, but many. These are vendors that tour the country, mapping their adventures through cities with street papers—sometimes they hop locations, but some, like Richard, use the papers to help create a new home. 

Richard has vended in Chicago, Seattle, Portland and has been a vendor in Denver for over a year. His personal interest in studying psychology certainly makes his job intriguing. When asked if the climate of vending varies geographically, Richard replied, “absolutely!” Denver residents will only talk in passing about the concept of the paper, while Portland natives aren’t afraid to pick up the whole conversation. Seattle’s multitudes of tourists are ripe to ignore vendors, and Chicago’s big city mentality leaves vendors open for frequent off-hand comments. But all in all, “the best part of the papers is helping poor people get on their feet. Vending used to be my secondary means to make money after having a job, but now it’s my primary. One thing I can tell you is I do best with common people. Too rich or too poor and I don’t do as well. I like the common person.”

Born in Danville, IL into a coal mining family, Richard smiled as he reminisced on his life story. “And you know what I’m looking forward to now?!” Saving up for a 55-gallon aquarium for his new apartment.

Stanley Michael Jackson

Published August 2009 Vol. 13 Issue 10

by Gretchen Crowe

Born in Oakland, CA in 1954, Stanley Michael Jackson—and yes, it’s his real name—grew up in a family with eight brothers and five sisters.  He began his life on the streets around age 14, when he moved away on a bus to Los Angeles, which he calls, “the time I began traveling around.” He has always been transient—never married, no children. He found he made money as a pool shark and continued this for over 20 years, visiting over 40 states. He also ran a bingo hall.

Stanley talks lovingly of his siblings, and shockingly, only one of his seven older brothers is still living. Life in Oakland was rough. He lost three brothers to guns and three to natural causes. But, when meeting Stanley, it’s not obvious. He is a powerhouse of joy with an unforgettable and contagious smile.  He often breaks out in song, like, “I’m just a guy, that learned to get by, on the streets…  I’m a street genius!”  Stanley’s faith is outward and strong, and he is often caught helping others on the street by giving coats or sack lunches. About the resources in Denver, he says, “A lot of programs are there if you just walk in the door.”

His gift for gab is nearly legendary, and he’s honed in his paper vending skills by vending Street Sheet in San Francisco around five years before coming to Denver. He laughingly said of the Denver VOICE, “I think the paper is beautiful, lets people help themselves and you can talk to a person on the street without breaking the law!” And his favorite, original tag line is, “What’s the greatest NATION in the world?”  “It’s a DO-nation!” To find Stanley, visit the 16th Street Mall between Champa and Stout Streets. 

Belinda Cotton & Victor Bowie

Published August 2009 Vol. 13 Issue 7

by Gretchen Crowe

Meet Belinda Cotton and Victor Bowie.  They’ve been together six years, and are quick to say they’ve had a lot of ups and downs; but love is obvious as these two work together as vendors.  “This is my baby, we work as a team.  We have a real good time with the VOICE, and it actually strengthens our relationship just working together.  Even when it’s so discouraging, I found the right person and I can turn to her and she makes me smile.” 

Victor was laid off earlier this year as a forklift driver and joined Belinda in the vendor works program.

Belinda and Victor approach their work like they did with their successful construction cleaning business in Atlanta:  well-thought out and professional.  They pack up decorated donation buckets, lollipops and helium balloons for kids, alongside the energy to work for eight or more hours.  These two have a strong understanding that not all people they encounter can donate for a paper, and they are the first to refer people back to the VOICE and offer their knowledge of resources for people without homes.  During the interview, Victor talked a lot about the positives of the VOICE, when he said, “This provides homeless people with a sense of dignity.  It may not be for everyone, but if you want to better yourself…”  Belinda let out a sincere chuckle, “The VOICE is like a lifeline!”

These two are getting ready to move to Atlanta, but they have an amazing goal up their sleeves.  They are taking steps to start their own paper based on the Denver VOICE’s street paper model.  And what’s it going to be called?  “The Voice of Atlanta.”