![[Springs Rescue Mission Logo]](images/navlogo.jpg)
|
Publication:The Gazette; |
Date:Mar 21, 2004; |
Section:Section A; |
Page Number:1 |
MOMENT TO PRAY: Elgie Shaver, left, and Henry Ortega pray during a group counseling session at the Springs Rescue Mission. Chaplain Kerry Barnett told the group of men that their problems are trickling down to their children. “These kids are hurting, aren’t they?” he said. “Your getting help can help break the cycle.” In a moment of emotion, Barnett asked the men to pray for one another and for their kids. Ortega is no longer with the program.
By CARY LEIDER VOGRIN THE GAZETTE
OPEN DOOR: The tables fill at Springs Rescue Mission for chapel service and dinner. The mission hosts a “meal and a message” six nights a week. It gives food, furniture and clothing three times a week.
Just eight years ago, the Springs Rescue Mission was little more than a tiny office on North Spruce Street, where its founder organized sacklunch giveaways.
Today, the nonprofit runs four programs for the needy from its four-story headquarters on West Las Vegas Street, owns five properties and took in almost $2.8 million in cash and other contributions in 2002, the last full year for which its financial information is available.
Cash donations in 2002 were almost triple what the agency brought in during 1998.
Perhaps more surprising, however, is that the organization’s explosive growth comes during an uncertain economy — difficult years in which other nonprofits have suffered.
Unlike agencies that count on foundations and corporations for money, the Rescue Mission relies on small contributions from a large list of individual donors who back the mission’s work with the poor or support its conservative Christian message.
The mission eschews foundation grants and government handouts so its policies aren’t bound by bureaucracy.
“When most nonprofits are shrinking, we’re growing,” said Tom Perkins, an auto dealer, evangelical Christian and president of the mission’s board of directors. “We have grown a ton in a short time in existence.”
The growth, it appears, is not finished.
Perkins said plans are under way to open an auto-detailing business to generate income and teach job skills to the increasing number of men entering the mission’s residential program for the homeless and addicted.
During recent months, more and more of them have found their way to 5 W. Las Vegas, once home to the local FBI offices.
In late February, a record 43 men were in the mission’s New Life Program, designed not only to save lives but also souls. The mission does not run a women’s program.
Some would say the men are trading addictions to drugs and alcohol for another addiction — this one to Jesus.
Unlike many programs, the men pay nothing and aren’t expected to work outside the mission.
They are given clothing, meals, tutoring, counseling, a bed and a whole lot of the Bible.
Many come but leave within days — the draw to get high too great or the dose of Jesus too overwhelming.
Others, though, thrive in an atmosphere of daily devotionals.
Most human-service agencies reveal little or nothing about clients, citing confidentiality.
The mission, though, offered The Gazette access to the people in its program, its finances and its properties.
That candor revealed situations not likely found at other nonprofits or drug-treatment programs.
Some “graduates” of years past, for instance, live with and pay rent to some mission employees.
Bob Holmes, the director of Homeward Pikes Peak, a coordinating agency for homeless services, said the arrangement might be unusual, but if it keeps a man clean, so be it.
“The other side of that coin is a whopping recidivism rate that everyone is plagued with, and if that works, then I’d say — in their paradigm — God bless them.”
Men in the program live at a South Nevada Avenue motel the mission owns or at one of three homes it rents. One home is owned by executive director Joe Vazquez; another is owned by former director Paul Vyzourek, who is running a mission in California.
The mission has not sought city permits for the houses, required of some agencies that run group homes.
A Colorado Springs planner said city ordinance requires such permits depending on factors such as the number of people living in a house, why they’re there and how long they stay. It was unclear whether the mission would be required to obtain permits.
“We never went through any kind of zoning thing,” said Vazquez, adding only once in seven years could he remember authorities being called to one of the homes.
Maureen Christopher, co-owner of Tayco Screen Printing between the mission’s headquarters and its warehouse, said the mission is a great neighbor.
The industrial area was in worse shape before the mission moved in, she said, citing drinking and drug use. The mission cleaned up the warehouse, donated to the organization in 2002.
“If anything, it is much better than it’s ever been,” Christopher said of the area. “Honestly, the Rescue Mission has been a blessing. It has literally created an atmosphere where now we don’t have the quoteunquote ‘scary homeless.’”
Most men who wander into the mission come with nothing but an addiction.
Outwardly, they appear to have little in common. They are Hispanic, white, Asian, black, American Indian. Some are young, with a straight-laced college-boy appearance. Others wear the hardened, aged look that accompanies street living. Inside, though, they share plenty: broken hearts, regrets and bodies ravaged from alcohol or drugs.
At a time when other homeless agencies in Colorado Springs are reassessing how best to move people toward self-sufficiency, the mission’s philosophy is clear: The Gospel is the key to changing a life.
“People — addicts, alcoholics —need to experience a transformation at the core,” said Kerry Barnett, a former addict who counsels men in the program. “It takes a power outside of ourselves to do that. We really don’t have the power ourselves.”
The men’s days begin and end with prayer. They are required to attend church. Rules forbid secular music. Drug testing is random. They must participate in computer courses that cover math, reading and sciences — some with a biblical bent.
Phil Rydman, director of communications for the Kansas City-based Association of Gospel Rescue Missions, said the program here is typical of others nationwide, and those who seek out missions are usually “beyond the safety net.”
“They go to the Rescue Mission because we’ll take people that no one else will. If they don’t find help there, they’re not going to be around long.”
Rich Powell, an alcoholic who arrived at the Springs Rescue Mission in July, thinks that’s true. “I’d be dead,” he said when asked what he’d be doing if he weren’t in the program.
“I’ve never felt this way in my life. I have a new addiction, and that’s the Lord Jesus Christ. They don’t want you to substitute one addiction for another, but this one’s gonna stick with me.”
There’s no doubt the odds of staying clean are stacked against the men.
Last year, 119 men tried to get into the program; 76, or 64 percent, were accepted. Just two, however, “graduated” sometime in 2003, meaning they stayed in the program 12 months, according to mission statistics.
“The average guy who walks in the front door — the percent is low they’ll succeed,” said Perkins, who leads a spiritual discussion each week. “Some of the guys are here for three hots and a cot. The exciting thing is for the guy who really wants to change.”
As of last week, eight men had been with the program six months or more, and two were within weeks of the half-year mark.
“That means we’re meeting their needs,” Barnett said.
“The way you know if you’re being successful with these guys is if they’re sticking around.”
MAKING A U-TURN: Bryce Jimenez has turned his life around since entering the New Life Program at the mission. The one-year program is for men who have a desire to get off the streets and away from a destructive lifestyle. Jimenez, above, holds his Bible recently at the Springs Rescue Mission.
On a dry-erase board hanging inside the mission, employees’ names are listed in black marker. The first name on the board: Jesus, with an “X” marked under the heading “in.”
The board is one of several signs the mission is different from other programs.
Unlike many charities, it accepts no government money, which comes with strings that restrict how it does business.
Although President Bush’s Faith-Based and Community Initiative seeks to make it easier for organizations such as the mission to compete for federal money, numerous rules remain on how the tax dollars can be used.
“We can’t play by those rules,” said Vazquez, the mission’s executive director. “We could not promote Jesus Christ the way we do.”
To solicit donations, the mission and other charities are required to register and be in good standing with the Colorado Secretary of State’s Office. In early February, the mission’s registration was briefly suspended after it didn’t submit paperwork to the state.
When notified of the suspension, Vazquez said the problem was an oversight that would be corrected immediately; the problem was fixed that day, and the mission is conducting its Easter fund-raising blitz. It relies on such key solicitations to pay for a big chunk of its operating expenses.
Financial documents showed expenses totaled $912,000 for the first six months of 2003.
Holmes, the director of Homeward Pikes Peak, said although some might not agree with the mission’s religious zeal, it fills a need.
“There absolutely is a place for faithbased in serving the homeless. I think their treatment program is suited to certain individuals, and when these individuals click, it really works well for them. I don’t think it’s suited to everybody.
“A place like that — if you hit 25 to 30 percent (success), you’re probably doing pretty good.”
One morning early last month, a dozen men crowded into Barnett’s office.
Most were newcomers. Barnett — “the chaplain” to the men — wanted to talk about the “strife” some were experiencing with roommates.
He urged them to talk about the problems then and there.
“You find it hard to hate people you know,” he said to the men who sat in a semicircle around his desk. “Anger is not a profitable emotion.
“As we mature as a group, we’ll be talking a lot more about what we see with ourselves than what’s wrong with one another. Most of us are scared to death to look at who we really are. But that’s how we’re gonna grow.
“How many of you have thought about leaving?” he asked.
Two hands rose.
“Don’t leave. Give it an opportunity. Don’t use others’ behavior as an excuse, because I’m not listening to it. If you can function in this program with this group of guys, you’re probably going to be a success.”
Barnett bowed his head.
“Lord, most of us have never fulfilled any commitment. We’ve done what we want when we want. Lord, we want to be men of our words — people who will keep our commitment. Show them some other way than to run off.”
Barnett asked whether the men had other worries.
“Robert?” he said, encouraging one man.
Robert Butler had arrived at the mission three weeks earlier after living in a cave off the railroad tracks a few blocks east of the mission. In a quiet voice, head bowed, he talked of his two children in Pennsylvania — children he hadn’t seen in four years.
“I don’t know what they like. I don’t know their favorite color. I don’t know their favorite foods.
“I don’t even remember what they look like anymore.
“When I left, I was a drunk. I didn’t leave. I ran. I’ve been back twice but was too scared to see them.”
The room went quiet until Barnett spoke.
“The Lord’s purpose in your being here is to beef you up. Anybody else got kids? These kids are hurting, aren’t they? You getting help can help break the cycle.”
One by one, each man shared the names of their children and grandchildren.
“There’s more at stake here than what’s going on with you,” Barnett said. “That’s a real incentive.”
The mission only began keeping statistics about its men’s program last year.
Available figures show failure — at least initially — is normal.
“We have guys go through the program two to three times,” Perkins said. “For a guy to progress and fall backward is not unusual at all.”
During recent weeks, there have been numerous examples such as:
A crack addict who used the drug again — after five months clean and a fullride scholarship for community college courses. He is out of the program.
A methamphetamine user who came to the mission for a second time in February. He stayed less than two weeks.
Vazquez said it is “devastating” when someone leaves.
In mid-January, conversation stopped when one man came back for another try.
Alvin P. King walked in on a cold morning after having been gone drinking a few weeks.
Jill Gregory, who handles public affairs for the mission, choked up when she saw him. “I was praying and praying and praying I’d see you again,” she said, rising to give him a hug. “I can’t even tell you how happy I am to see you.”
King is back in the program.
Vyzourek, who founded the Springs Rescue Mission and leads the Victor Valley Rescue Mission in Victorville, Calif., said during the years, there have been plenty of success stories — men living clean, productive lives.
Among the mission’s 11 full-time workers, in fact, are three mission graduates.
Success, Vyzourek said, is more than numbers. Some men leave before their year is up but remain sober, he said.
“Every person who comes in I believe is touched, but that’s what the statistics can’t show you,” he said.
“I’ve seen changes in donors who see people as real people with real needs and not just con men and drug addicts and total jerks. That can be a real life-changing experience for people, and that’s what I want people to see. And that’s the whole point of a rescue mission.”
Vyzourek left the mission in July after a “mutual agreement” with the board. Neither he nor Perkins would discuss details.
“I’m a hard-charging kind of guy, and that makes me hard to work for,” Vyzourek said.
Although his leadership style may not have sat well with some, Vyzourek can be credited for much of the mission’s growth.
Vyzourek, though, said that’s not what’s important.
“It’s not really about buildings, properties. It’s really about the people — the human factor.”
CONTACT THE WRITER: 636-0236 or cary@gazette.com
Emergency Services: Three times a week, the mission gives away food boxes, furniture and clothing to those in need. Items are donated from the community. For the past two years, the mission has organized the annual community Christmas Eve Giveaway, founded by Bob Telmosse.
Meals: The mission serves a free dinner, along with a chapel service, to the public six nights a week. It hosts several large holiday meals for the community.
New Life Program: The residential program is aimed at getting men — most with severe drug or alcohol problems — off the street and into a productive lifestyle. The program is faith-based.
Samaritan’s Inn: The mission provides low-cost housing to families in a budget motel it owns on South Nevada Avenue. The goal is to help families transition to permanent housing.
Kerry Barnett said he saw death staring back at him in the rearview mirror as he drove toward his hometown of Palestine, Texas, powdered cocaine covering his face.
The day: May 3, 1982. He was 29.
“I saw what my wife was seeing. I saw what my dad was seeing.”
He threw the drugs out the window.
Barnett went home, prayed with his wife and tossed out his 15-year collection of albums and eight-tracks.
“I never got high again. I never drank another beer, never smoked another joint, never took another pill.”
Today, Barnett is 51. The men he counsels are much like the man he saw in the mirror 22 years ago.
Barnett, known as “the chaplain” at the Springs Rescue Mission where he’s worked for six months, thinks true change can’t happen without “selling out” to God.
“How many of you have been in other programs?” he asked a group of men dur- ing a recent counseling session. “Seek God. God will change you from the inside out.”
Barnett went the “secular” route, once at what he describes as “an expensive treatment center in the Texas hill country.” He graduated and said he was voted “most likely to stay clean.”
“I got high the day I got out,” he recalled.
He said God intervened the day he bought the cocaine in Austin and was driving home.
Barnett — a father of two and grandfather of three — since has devoted himself to helping addicts and others.
His resume lists counseling work in a Texas prison and missionary work in Brazil.
For five years, he and his wife opened their home in Palestine to addicts and parolees. “We really learned a lot about working with people with problems,” he said.
To pay bills, the family cut grass, washed windows and cleaned houses.
Barnett opened a counseling service in 1998 and often waived fees for those who couldn’t afford to pay. “Over the next four years, we about starved to death,” he said.
Acquaintances suggested he come to Colorado Springs to work in a grassroots ministry.
He came but decided instead to set up another counseling service. “I opened up an office in Woodland Park and again about starved to death. When I closed my office down, I didn’t have any money or any food.”
He sought help at the mission. “It was a real humiliating thing. I teared up,” he said.
He left his resume.
OVERCOME: Kerry Barnett breaks down during a counseling session as he talks about a confrontation he had with his son.
In September, he got a phone call: Would he like a job?
Many men in the program speak fondly of Barnett, and his office is always busy.
“If the guy does well, I’m his best friend. If he doesn’t do well, I’m his worst nightmare.”
One of Barnett’s roles is deciding whom to take in from the streets. He said he looks for humility, honesty and openness.
“People who come in and are passive don’t succeed here,” he said.
He picks those he thinks won’t negatively influence those who are there. “I have a shepherd’s heart. I’m real protective of these guys.”
The Springs Rescue Mission has grown considerably since it incorporated in 1997.
Three buildings were donated to the mission — a warehouse on West Las Vegas Street and two storage facilities on Boulder Street. Mission leaders hope to rent the Boulder Street properties, both in need of considerable work.
In addition, the mission owes more than $750,000 on its headquarters on West Las Vegas and on a South Nevada Avenue motel it bought for residential programs.
Donations have increased. The mission relies heavily on contributions during holidays. The following contributions are listed on the mission’s tax returns:
1998: $420,000 in cash
1999: $179,090 in cash
2000: $361,025 in cash and $64,476 in noncash contributions
2001: $867,763 in cash and $378,699 in noncash contributions
*2002: $1,184,268 in cash and $1,590,742 in noncash contributions
2003 (January-June only): $496,415 in cash and $423,654 in noncash contributions
*Year mission acquired warehouse to store donations.
LOOKING FOR DIRECTION: George Heitman prays before dinner in January at the Springs Rescue Mission. Heitman entered the mission in December but left the program. Before he came to the mission, he had battled alcoholism for many years. Although Heitman left, he says he found answers that helped him get sober.
George Heitman spent his first night in Colorado Springs in some bushes near St. Mary’s Cathedral.
It was the day after his 54th birthday, and he never had slept on the street.
He was alone and afraid.
He and a drinking buddy had taken a bus to Colorado from Iowa the day before, and the two became separated.
His friend had family here. Heitman had no one — never had been to Colorado. He was a long way from home and his former life, and alcohol was his downfall.
Raised on an 800-acre farm in Iowa, Heitman graduated from the University of Northern Iowa in 1972. He earned a bachelor’s degree in art education and for a few years taught art to high school students.
He was in his 20s when he began drinking.
In 1980, four years after getting married, he went into treatment in Des Moines.
He said he stayed sober for almost two decades. During that time, he and his wife had three children.
Alcohol re-entered his life shortly before he and his wife divorced after 24 years.
He met his drinking buddy when the two worked together at Sears, and last year they boarded a bus to Colorado.
In the Springs, Heitman found work as a commercial window washer.
Even so, from April to December 2003, he shuffled among the emergency shelter on South Sierra Madre, motels or his buddy’s relatives.
Sometimes, he slept under a bridge.
“I cried a lot,” he said.
The turning point came Dec. 4.
He had gotten drunk, and his buddy’s relatives threw him out of their apartment at 6 a.m. He spent the day strolling The Citadel mall, with $1.45 in his pocket. He had nothing else. He spent the night at the shelter.
The next day, Dec. 5, he went to the Rescue Mission. “I think there’s answers here on how to change,” he said.
On March 12, though, Heitman left. According to the mission, he wanted to start working again and re-establish relationships with his family.
GIVING BACK: Jon Gemelke loads donated items into a truck at the Springs Rescue Mission. A conversation with a prostitute almost a year ago led Gemelke to the mission and the effort to get his life together.
An innocent conversation with a heroin-addicted hooker on South Nevada Avenue sent Jon Gemelke to the Springs Rescue Mission.
Gemelke was new to the city, having stepped off a Greyhound bus from Atlanta. He thought starting over in a strange place would keep him off methamphetamine and cocaine.
He picked Colorado at random; when he thumbed through an atlas, it’s where the page fell open.
Now, almost a year later, he said he thinks God led him to Colorado Springs.
Gemelke, a carpenter and truck driver who grew up in California and Arizona, has spent his life on the move. He began hitchhiking in his early teens, finding work as a walk-on at construction sites. He saw the country and learned a trade.
“I’ve always been a loner and a survivor,” he said.
Drugs were always a companion, though.
When the Greyhound exited Interstate 25 onto South Nevada Avenue, Gemelke noticed the strip of motels. After the bus pulled into the station near downtown, he walked back and checked into one.
He said he spent most of last March in his room, holed up, watching TV coverage of the Iraq war — afraid to come out in case drugs would tempt him.
One day in the motel parking lot, he talked with a prostitute. She took him to the Rescue Mission a block away for dinner.
“Why else would I come to Colorado Springs if I wasn’t meant to come to this mission?” he said.
He walked to the mission April 5 and asked for help. Two months later, though, he left to get high. He stayed stoned for seven weeks.
He said he humbled himself enough to seek a second chance.
“I’m still here and I’m still alive, and hopefully God will lead me to something that’s beneficial,” Gemelke said.
Gemelke, 39, is active in Westside First Wesleyan Church, where he attends Sunday services and a smallgroup Bible study.
He proudly carries a photo taken at his baptism. When asked how he’s doing, he’ll sometimes reply, “I’m feeling blessed.”
A former fan of Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin, he tunes in to Christian artists Joy Williams and ZOEgirl.
Blaine Derck, pastor of Westside First Wesleyan, said he has seen great changes in Gemelke. “He wants people to be involved in his life and invest in him.”
PHOTOGRAPHS BY BRYAN OLLER, THE GAZETTE