Out of Focus

What followed was a series of surgeries, none of which succeeded in ending the pain. Today Dore must follow a special diet. He needs to stimulate his bowels with warm water to pass stools and has to use the shower as a toilet. While there are specially designed bathrooms for people in his situation, he's never had the money to pay for one.

The other target of Dore's ire is Colorado's workers' compensation system. In fact, his case is often cited by critics of the state legislature's 1991 "reform" of workers' compensation, which saved Colorado employers millions of dollars by making it much more difficult for injured workers to collect on claims ("Still Hurting," March 28, 1996).

Under the no-fault workers' comp system, a person like Dore cannot legally sue his employer after suffering an on-the-job injury. Instead, the employer is required to maintain workers' comp insurance coverage, which is supposed to cover all of an injured employee's medical expenses and reimburse him for the loss of his ability to earn a living.

However, Colorado's workers' comp system now makes it extremely difficult to prove disability. Under the pre-1991 law, Dore would likely have been found to be permanently and totally disabled and probably would have received $220,000 over the course of his life. But because the new law has made it extremely difficult to prove permanent total disability, on the advice of his attorney, Dore chose to settle for $120,000, a figure that included a $40,000 cash payment and disability benefits of $1,126 per month for a limited period of time.

Those monthly benefits will run out in the year 2000, and Dore--if he's not in prison--will have to scratch out an existence on welfare. Because he worked for many years as a self-employed mechanic, he's not eligible for regular Social Security disability.

Many of those injured in the workplace in Colorado find that they have to do battle with their employers' insurance carrier, and Dore was no exception. He says one adjuster suggested that he might be faking his symptoms. "How do you fake a colostomy bag?" he asks.

Even more disturbing to Dore is the fate of his four children, who range in age from six to fourteen. The kids, who live with their mother near Canon City, are on welfare, and Dore weeps as he talks about his inability to provide for them. "If I think about my children, I get so mad," he says. "I can't do anything for them. I owe $25,000 in child support. I've gone through so many Christmases without being able to give them anything."

Dore is able to visit his kids on weekends. On those occasions, he tries to do what he can for them by fixing their bicycles and helping around the house. He says he gave much of the $40,000 in cash he received to his ex-wife to help with child support. However, he often can't drive down to see the children, since he can't afford to pay for car insurance. Before the Colorado Springs incident, he served a ten-day jail stint in Salida for driving without insurance.

Although Dore's ex-wife told him she wouldn't mind if he stayed with her and the children, welfare authorities said she and the kids would lose their benefits if Dore moved in. So Dore has been staying with his brother and sister-in-law in a Federal Heights trailer park. To see his children, he usually has to hitch a ride or arrange for them to be brought to Denver. The ultimate irony in Dore's view is that his family has paid the price for an accident at the headquarters of an organization that says it is devoted to preserving families.

A few weeks before he stormed into the Focus on the Family building, Dore says he met with Paul Hetrick, the group's vice president for media relations, and asked for help for him and his family. "I said, 'This is a joke--the sign says you're dedicated to the preservation of families, and I have four kids, and you haven't done anything to help me,'" recalls Dore.

Dore says Hetrick responded that Focus on the Family had sent a minister to see him in the hospital and had delivered a bouquet of flowers. "I said, 'Paul, get real. You have a sign on I-25. You have political pull. Call Denver and tell them to help me.'" (Hetrick did not respond to Westword's request for comment.)

Dore still seethes over Focus on the Family's refusal to assist him financially. He points to the group's luxurious headquarters building, with its handcrafted woodwork and abundant art, as well as Focus on the Family's multi-million-dollar budget. "With $108 million a year, why can't these people help me?" he asks. "I don't have a place to stay, and I can't see my kids because I don't have insurance on my car. Who could possibly be more deserving recipients than me and my family?"

Two independent psychological evaluations of Dore performed at the request of his attorneys both say he suffers from depression and post-traumatic stress disorder because of his injury. The symptoms include nightmares, flashbacks, insomnia and overwhelming anxiety. The reports also note that he went for more than a year after his injury with no psychiatric care, a period during which he rapidly deteriorated.