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As the World Turns for World-Turner

By Regina Chilton-Parris

Jan Marie World-Turner’s life reads like a soap opera. No one knows survival like she does. Her deep wrinkled and overly suntanned face proudly displays the resolve needed to live on the streets of Denver. 

Jan has the blueprint for those streets, a guide to the whole matter of survival in a tough world. She’s no rookie, she’s a graduate and by extension can articulate what it takes to survive.

“If you want to be a street person, you’ve got to be strong,” states Jan in her raspy voice. The list of her troubles run the gamut of horrendous life situations she has had to overcome, from domestic violence, the death of two of her four children, to the return of her cancer and the numerous open container violations that has her claiming “I’m an alcoholic.”

Her petite 5’ 2” would suggest anything but strength, yet Jan seems to have the weight of the world on her shoulders and she takes it in her stride. 

With Denver’s new ban on “unauthorized” camping on the city streets, Jan has one more thing to add to her stride. “I thought they weren’t going to do that?” Jan states when she hears of the ban. Soon a wry smile forms on her face and she shrugs, “I’m not worried because nobody knows where I camp!” She points to the top of a building as she chuckles.

Jan is one of 12,605 people that are classified as homeless in Denver according to a recent survey taken in January 2012 by the Metro Denver Homeless Initiative. With couch surfing on the rise many more people are realizing that they are only one sofa away from being homeless. Some critics of the new ordinance claim the ban targets and criminalizes the homeless. 

“The homeless are no problem, they help out a lot, they’re good people” states Archie, a local business owner on Santa Fe, in Jan's turf. On occasion, Archie has given Jan and her partner, Ron a place to sleep for the night in his truck to deter would-be thieves. “It’s great, as long as they clean up, no one steals my truck; they help me and I help them.” 

Jan would agree, “This is our watch, our neighborhood, we look after it.”

Jan’s up as day breaks and heads to her favorite corner in the Art District on Santa Fe where she makes her money “flying a sign.” It’s whoever gets there first, hence the early rise. 

 On a good day, Jan takes in about $30 from panhandling; “it beats the $45 per month I’d get in South Dakota for general assistance.”

Jan was a housekeeper for five years “but that was it.” She makes beds now and again for $5 but likes Denver’s variety, “it keeps me from getting into trouble.”

Why Denver? “I’m used to all this open space, I feel safe here.”

Growing Up Early

Jan has been homeless in Denver since 1985 when she left her native home in the Crow Creek Indian Reservation, Fort Thompson, South Dakota at age twenty-three to look for her mother. She is a Dakota Sioux Native American Indian. 

Raised by her grandparents, Jan married young “had to, I was pregnant” and divorced by the time she was twenty-five with three kids. “I started drinking at sixteen” Jan sighs, “I remember they used to take me down to the basement and lock me up so I wouldn’t leave.”

According to CanDo.org, The Crow Creek Indian Reservation has 80 percent unemployment and claims to be the poorest county in the nation where human rights violations are a common occurrence. “There’s nothing there for me anymore, never was.” Jan’s mother left for the same reasons, unemployment and dire circumstances, anything was better.

Why Jan’s mother chose Denver is unclear, yet what is clear is Jan’s relentless search to find her and to honor the female strength it took to believe in something better. 

Never looking back

Jan’s determination brought her to Colorado and a new relationship, yet her troubles followed her. For once, she was sober. But after a night of a former partner “being mean,” Jan was not going to take it anymore and “kicked him in the nuts” which resulted in 90 days in Jail with third degree assault and domestic violence charges.

“Baby girl” her mother whispers on her death bed seven years ago, “don’t you back down on nobody.” Jan has taken her words to heart and lives by them daily. Where before she felt powerless, now “I have strength, I feel good because I didn’t back down from my man - mom gave me strength.” 

Facing the consequences of her actions, Jan is in a tight spot. Only yesterday Jan receives yet another ticket for an open container, this time from the mounted police. “We didn’t have nothin, no container, no nothin, that’s messed up!” 

With warrants she hasn’t taken care of for a variety of reasons and a violation of her probation for the domestic violence/3rd degree assault she served time for, she hits the nail on the head, “I’m in a lot of shit.”

Yet Jan is an optimist. “I’m trying to better myself”

“My life came on, I seen the light and had to do what I had to do.” You wouldn’t think that living on the street is what Jan had to do, but this is what she knows and what makes her strong.

On the Streets

Twelve bicycles line the fence surrounding Father Woody’s place (aka Haven of Hope) at 7th and Lipan. I squeeze mine in under the aging maple tree that shades the front noticing the Franciscan Friends of the Poor signage that fronts the manicured yard.

Charles is one of four of the lucky ones to be able to transition into working for room and board at the Haven of Hope. Taking a break from the front desk I ask him about the ban, reverently, he bows his head “right now, I have housing.”

800 meals are served up daily to the homeless and they are “on the rise” say’s Melinda, the Executive Director of Haven of Hope, a day shelter that offers services to the homeless and the indigent in the Denver area. “It’s as if they are second class” Melinda scans the packed dining hall, “they feel they are pushed out of every place they’ve ever been.”

With no increase in beds for the Denver homeless, Melinda wonders what sense there was in passing the ban. She can understand the 16th Street Mall businesses wanting something done about the homeless, but the gut reaction to criminalize homelessness needs a plan where there appears to be none. 

“Their dreams have changed, they’ve lost their dignity, now there’s more fighting,” Melinda explains the repercussions of homelessness and adds “increasing rehabilitation and less about feeding and clothing” is now a priority at Father Woody’s. 

For Jan it’s all about the food and clothing not the rehabilitation. The Coalition for the Homeless have offered to help Jan find housing. “They tell me if I want housing I’ll have to go to treatment.” Treatment would affect Jan’s lifestyle it seems, she explains, “I try and wake up with a “40” (malt liquor).” As if Melinda had been privy to our conversation, she shakes her head and relays sadness for the all too familiar vicious cycle of Jan’s situation. 

This memorial day weekend has Jan working out the logistics for life on the streets. “We usually shower at Father Woody’s place, but they’re closed until Tuesday.” She adds, “We can get a hot meal Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays and they will even let you take plates” giving Jan extra food to last until she can get back to panhandling on the corner.

Dumpster diving also seems to be a reliable food source. Jan knows when her favorite 7-eleven store tosses out the out-of-date food. Within minutes she hoofs it down to the other 7-eleven nearby, uses the microwave and breakfast is served. 

“Who says you can’t get a free hot meal in Denver, you just need to know where to look.” Jan’s voice tails off as she stares into the distance “I’m a survivor.” 

Today, Jan is with Ron who she met in 1985. They’ve rekindled their affection after the on-again, off-again relationship began. They had her fourth child, together. “Our son, he died 3 years ago at 18 - alcohol poisoning.” They are taking a break from their busy street corner where I am introduced to Marty, a street comrade.

“Jan’s great! These two,” Marty quickly adds waving an empty “40”  between them, “are my most favorite people in the world.” Jan and Ron both nod in agreement.

Marty finishes the last of the present “40” and with unspoken agreement all three are reaching into their pockets for what change they have for the next one. Ron doesn’t miss a beat, “straight up Cobra” as he hands Marty three dollar bills and some change. 

Jan turns to me and asks, “do you drink? Like us?” Raising my eyebrows I ask,”what’s ‘like us’?” Jan smiles “everyday - all day?” Admitting I like to drink wine with dinner, she grins yet somehow I don’t think she puts me in the same category as her continual “one for the road” modus operandi.

On his return, Marty offers me a swig and a “snipe,” those used cigarette butts with the inch or less of tobacco. I pass on both. “What’s worse,” Jan complains,”are the naked snipes,” those are the ones that look good but all of the tobacco has fallen out.  

Not seeming to be concerned with the weather at any other time Jan explains that she doesn’t like the rain or the wind, “it’s terrible, the snipes get all wet and the wind blows out the tobacco so the naked snipes are useless.”

“Hey!” pointing and yelling to a man approaching Jan’s corner, she drops her voice and tells me, “he wants that corner, so he calls the police, he knows it’s whoever gets there first can sit there all day and make the bank.” Street etiquette avoids turf takeover yet Jan can never be too careful. 

“He also took our stuff we had hidden by the dumpsters, but we got it back.” Not all homeless people have the same respect for each others belongings. “Too much drama and nonsense.”

The Future

Today looks the same as yesterday. Jan is on her corner living another day. Ron is with her.  

Jan is a born survivor. It’s in her blood. She copes with the many difficulties in her life, her way. Guaranteed, she will continue until she doesn’t.

“I’ve got to take care of my life, because I’m dying of cancer. The only family I have right now is him” Jan catches Ron’s eyes and they hold before she continues, “we provide for each other and love each other.” 

Ron nods and flashes a peace sign to passing motorists, “I’ll probably go to Montana if something happens to Jan.”

Jan sighs, "That would be the best thing.” 

                “At night, the big star above, that’s our son looking down on us. 

He gives us wisdom for tonight to 

keep us safe and warm.” 

Jan Marie World- Turner (1962 -  )