Mollohan's a pretty positive guy, and his attitude about the proposed ban is surprisingly good-humored. "Yeah, you hear all this garbage," he chuckles. "What are they doing now, they're saying you can't be on private property? It's public property? I mean, I can understand like doorways and stuff like that — I can understand that. But my thing is, they say you can't sleep on public property, my question is, what does the American Civil Liberties Union have to say about that?"
The ACLU is indeed opposed to this proposal, but it could be fighting a losing battle; dozens of cities around the country have bans similar to the one that's now on the table, as Assistant City Attorney David Broadwell has pointed out. Since 2005, Denver's so-called "sit-lie" ordinance has ruled the 16th Street Mall during the hours of dawn and dusk, basically unchallenged, dictating that no one sit too long or lie down during those hours. For now, though, all bets are off at night.
Britt Chester
Related Content
More About
Midnight, 16th Street Mall at Stout
Mike Eigsti has been homeless for fifteen years, and he doesn't really give a shit if the city passes the ban. "I'd just find somewhere else to sleep," he says. The only reason he sleeps downtown now, he explains, is "the suburbs are kind of barren."
The densest concentration of homeless folk is between California and Champa, where the doorways have been filling up and many people are already bedded down for the night, although a few remain on the move. A guy hanging around in front of the Walgreens tries to hustle a few bucks when I ask questions, as though he's some kind of informant. A few doors down, another guy strumming a battered guitar in front of a closed sandwich shop gets pissy when I stop to talk. "I'm trying to make my living out here," he snaps. He strums a few more chords for an audience of nobody.
12:30 a.m., Market Street Station
One frat boy sleeps on a bench, ignored by security. Otherwise, the bus station is deserted. We head all the way to the far end of the mall, into the construction past Union Station, then turn around and start working our way back to Civic Center. A paddy wagon rolls by and the deputy inside eyeballs a homeless guy sleeping upright on a bench in a coat so puffy it obscures his face, but the vehicle keeps moving.
1:45 a.m., 16th Street Mall at California
A couple of rickshaw hustlers are lounging in their pedicabs outside the Appaloosa Grill, waiting for closing time. About twenty feet away, a shockingly large pile of still-steaming pink vomit provides evidence that the trickling-out of drunks is already under way.
"I don't blame them for sleeping here," says Carrie Lander, a compact twenty-something in a T-shirt and messenger cap. "It's so patrolled. I think it's ludicrous to say they're going to kick them out of here and then not give them a place to stay."
That's not entirely true. Denver's Road Home, the organization that administers the city's ten-year plan to end homelessness, which then-mayor John Hickenlooper started seven years ago, has tried to present the ban in terms of compassion, arguing that it would provide another mechanism for making contact with homeless people and then getting them into shelters, detox, even motels in some cases — all with the eventual goal of getting them off the street for good. The Denver Police Department, through Chief Robert White, has committed to not issuing a citation or making an arrest under a no-camping ordinance without the approval of a supervisor — at least for the first year. (According to the city, there's never been a citation issued under the "sit-lie" ordinance.) That would leave the bulk of the work to the DPD's four officers who work with the homeless, as well as Denver's Road Home outreach workers. On the other hand, even Denver's Road Home executive director Bennie Milliner admits that the city simply does not have the resources to help every homeless person. Not even close.
"I know a couple of these guys down here got my back if I ever got into trouble," Lander says now, turning to Tony Guise, her fellow rickshaw driver. "Don't you think Dingo would have my back?"
Guise nods thoughtfully. "These guys don't cause me any trouble. The most trouble I ever get is when my drunk-ass passengers want me to let them out so they can go fuck with these guys: 'Oh, let me out a minute, I want to go talk shit to this homeless dude.' It's like, fine, get out, ride's over, dickhead."
Across the street, a bum walks by belting a fairly impressive rendition of "I've Got a Feeling" at the top of his lungs. No law against that — yet.
Down the mall, two girls stumble past the Sheraton. Inside the hotel, eighteen TVs are all showing the same channel in the empty bar.
3:30 a.m., Civic Center Station
Denver City Councilman Albus Brooks, sponsor of the proposed ordinance, has said that it was inspired by a walk he took with his wife along the mall last summer, when they counted more than a hundred homeless people (the number seems to vary). At this moment, I do not see a single upright soul anywhere on the mall, so the time looks right to make my own official count. I retrace the sixteen blocks to Union Station, counting along the way. I tally 44 people asleep on the mall.
