Clara takes a seat in one of three comfy chairs in the lobby, next to a side table stacked with Aristocrat Motel postcards that look as if they were printed in the mid- to late 1970s, judging by the color tone and the cars in the photo on the front. The back lists the Aristocrat's many desirable qualities: "AAA rated Friendship Inn; Large, Luxurious Rooms; Heated Pool; Close to Bronco Stadium; 2 min. from St. Anthony's Hospital."
Propping her feet up on her duffel bag, Clara unfolds a Denver bus map and begins to memorize the major routes. "That's the first thing I do in any new city," she says. This morning she intends to catch a bus back to Samaritan House, where she's been told there is a caseworker on staff today who specializes in helping out homeless veterans.
Mark Andresen
John Johnston
As the project manager for the VOA Aristocrat, Rochelle Bowles helps people like Charles Davis.
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The woman in the credit-card shirt hangs up the phone for the seventh time in ten minutes and mutters, "Oh, this crazy system."
Clara nods in her direction and whispers, "Her having a hard time is making me nervous, like maybe things aren't going to be working out today."
Bowles and Buxton do their best to see that things do work out. One or both of them meets with every guest who stays at the Aristocrat on a voucher before the guest checks out.
"We always ask them, 'Where are you going to go now?' and a lot of times, they don't know," says Buxton. "The problem for a lot of them is they just don't know where to go or where to begin, and we try to provide them some guidance in that area, to make them aware of what resources are available to each of them based on their individual circumstances."
Those resources range from a free room for ninety days in a public housing project to a one-time cash allowance to cover the first month's rent and a security deposit on an apartment. The latter is available to homeless families who agree not to apply for TANF (Temporary Aid for Needy Families) in the next year.
"It's basically them getting their TANF money all at one time to get them into their own housing," says Buxton. "Every case is different, but a lot of the people who come here on vouchers are either working or able to work. And if a person is working, eventually they're going to get paid, and then they'll be able to afford a motel. Hopefully, staying in a motel, they can save up enough money to put down first and last month's rent and a deposit for an apartment. We just have to somehow get them to that first check."
Bowles, the ex-cop, says the Aristocrat "gives people a place to take a shower, to wash their clothes, to sit down and collect their thoughts," but she fears the voucher program is "too often a short-term solution to a long-term problem.
"People have four days here, and that's it. Four days isn't enough to help a lot of them, and the truth is, some of the people we're able to place in shelters or other programs, but a lot of the people who leave here are going right back out on the streets. The bottom line is we need more long-term transitional housing for women and families in this city. People say they don't want new housing projects and shelters in their backyard. I say to them, 'Well, the homeless problem is damned well going to wind up in your backyard, one way or the other, if you don't learn what time it is.'"
The phone in the lobby rings, and the woman in the credit-card shirt starts to grab for it, then checks herself, eyeing a sign that warns guests of the Aristocrat not to answer the phone under any circumstances.
The phone rings again.
The woman clenches her fists and dances in place.
The phone rings once more.
Buxton emerges from the back office she shares with project manager Bowles, picks up the receiver and answers, "VOA Aristocrat Family Hotel." She listens for a moment, then shakes her head at the woman in the credit-card shirt. The gesture hits the woman like a sucker punch to the gut. She hunches over, says, "It's not for me," and then crumples into a chair. Buxton hangs up, asks her what's wrong, then picks up the phone again and dials the number of the Brandon Center, a VOA shelter for women and families that has ninety beds and is located a short walk from the Aristocrat. In less than a minute, Buxton has a bed on hold.
The woman in the credit-card shirt looks at her as if she were a genie that just popped out of a bottle, then snatches up a knapsack and rushes out the door to go get her pearl.
