It’s basic math.

You double the percentage of alcohol volume to calculate the proof.

They use the equation to determine the proof of alcohol in store-brand mouthwash.

by William C. Moore - The Metropolitan

John "Cowboy" Collins takes a swig of vodka from a communal bottle with his buddies outside the Holiday Inn Downtown Nov. 24. A typical day for Collins and his friends starts by police officers kicking them off the heating grates where they sleep, followed by a trip to McDonald's, where they drink coffee for two hours until the liquor store opens at 8 a.m.

And it is just this equation that gets them from the closed liquor store on Sunday to the 8 a.m. opening of the liquor store on Monday.

“But we don’t like to drink mouthwash. It’s just something you have to do,” said Gary Harmon.

Harmon, 47, John Collins, 54, and Mike Johnson, 49, are homeless and alcoholics.

The three men met on the streets of Denver and have been “back buddies” ever since.

“It’s hard out here, so it’s good to have friends,” Harmon said. “We all watch each other’s back,” Johnson said.

Harmon, Collins and Johnson sleep on heating grates in the downtown Denver area, all within sight of Denver’s hottest nightspots and hundred-dollar-a-night hotel rooms. These are some of the warmest and most popular heating grates for the area’s homeless.

“It’s better than the shelters,” Harmon said.

“Nothin’ but feets and farts there,” Collins said with a wide smile. All the men laugh, revealing a small collection of missing teeth.

They recall the time Johnson passed out directly on top of the heating grate on Arapahoe Street, across from the Holiday Inn. He suffered burns and blisters resulting in a five-day hospital stay.

“I laid out on the metal itself,” Johnson said, red in embarrassment, while his friends chuckled.

They take turns secretly sipping from the daily vodka bottle.

Their day begins at about 6 a.m. with the voice of an officer telling them to pack it up and move along. They head off to the McDonald’s on the 16th Street Mall, asking for change along the way. They stop off for some coffee and a quick wash-up in the bathroom. The management doesn’t usually harass them, so long as they buy something.

“Once, I ask this man for 38 cents for a senior cup of coffee, and when he came out he had four cups of coffee and four sausage and egg sandwiches for me and my friends. You never know what people will give,” Johnson said.

After a lingering breakfast, they make their way to one of the Denver liquor stores that open their doors at eight in the morning. They need to replenish the quickly emptying bottle. Then it’s off to fly a sign on the Mall or Speer Boulevard and politely ask for change.

“We usually get about $12-15 a day. We’re not real greedy. Just enough for some vodka, cigarettes and something to eat,” Johnson said.

“If we have extra, we give back to the homeless. What comes around goes around,” Harmon said. Just recently, Harmon made $40 and took everyone to a local bar on Sunday to watch the Bronco football game.

They usually make about two or three liquor store stops in any given day — except, of course, on Sundays.

by William C. Moore - The Metropolitan

Michael Johnston closes his eyes as he talks in a McDonald's Nov. 1 about his problems with alcohol and the effects it has had on his family. Johnston has a wife and three sons, who he rarely sees.

The Denver metro area has many outreach programs which serve the homeless who suffer from addictions. The most visible of these is the Stout Street Clinic.

The clinic offers daily group meetings and Open Door programs dealing with alcohol and mental health illnesses afflicting the homeless.

According to the South Street Clinic, the Open Door program has about twenty slots available to those who want to participate. An October 2001 study conducted by the Colorado Department of Human Services, said the Denver metro area had over 9,000 homeless people. The clinic reported servicing about 7,000 homeless during the 2001 study. They have a waiting list for the housing program available for alcoholics. A chronic alcoholic may have served more than three stays in detoxification within a year.

The three men, Harmon, Collins and Johnson have a total of nine detox trips to Denver Cares, a local detoxification center, this year .

The legal blood alcohol limit in Colorado is .10, but once again, basic math comes into play. You can usually estimate the time it takes to be released from detox.

Public intoxication is blowing a .05 and takes about two-and-a-half hours to be released. Blowing a .10, the same limits resulting in a driving while intoxicated ticket, takes about five hours to be released. So blowing a three, which is about their average, results in a 15-hour stay in detox, according to estimates from Denver Cares.

“My highest is a four-eleven. That’s a point four-one-one,” Johnson said defiantly. He said he has been drunk for 10 years.

“That’s nothing to be proud of, Mike,” Collins said.

“Nope, but an angel saved my life that day,” Johnson fired back with a hand raised to the sky.

Having a blood alcohol level of .40 or higher usually means the onset of coma and possible death due to respiratory arrest. It is not unusual for chronic alcoholics to take a Breathalyzer (now called an Intoxiylzer) and blow over a four, according to the Potomac State College Health Center in West Virginia.

One of the chemical deterrents of alcoholism is Antabuse.  Antabuse is the trade name for the drug tetraethylthiuram disulfide. The side effects can resemble a bad hangover accompanied with hot flashes, body aches, head throbs and vomiting which can be brought on by ingesting even the smallest amounts of alcohol, or set off by the smell of certain alcohol-based aftershaves.

“But getting picked up by the body-snatchers and taken to Denver Scares,” Collins drops his head and lets the sentence trail,  as if it’s something he doesn’t want to go through again. “I’m getting too old for this,” Collins said, finishing his thought.

The men call the Emergency Services patrol “the body snatchers” and the outreach program Denver Cares — “Denver Scares”.

“We call it that because they just don’t treat you like a human being,” said Harmon.

Johnson has survived a decade of homelessness, body lice from sleeping in parks, burns, beatings and various unidentified infections. He shakes in the morning until he gets a drink, yet he doesn’t submit to the support group of Alcoholics Anonymous.

“I know the basic rules. If you’re gonna stop drinking the only person to stop is yourself. And, right now, I have not decided to stop,” said Johnson.

His backpack was stolen along with his photo identification, which he needs in order to obtain employment. Until he sobers up, he can’t go into Stout Street Clinic to check on his birth certificate. Stout Street Clinic is helping him obtain a copy of his birth certificate so he can get a new picture ID and a possible job.

All the men are fathers and have been married. Johnson has a 7-year-old granddaughter he has only seen once. Harmon said he has no family, having buried his mother and father within years of each other, only to return to the grave to bury his brother and son. The streets are his home and the homeless his extended family.

“I’m embarrassed to say, but my last shower was about 10 days ago,” said Johnson. Which, as the men agree, is about the average time between showers if you live on the street. When it’s time for a shower, they head to St. Francis on Curtis Street. St. Francis is a day shelter that offers showers and a fresh set of clothes in exchange for doing light chores around the church.

But just as the men have seen the hand of kindness reach out to the homeless, they have also seen the dark side of people. Over the weekend, a car-full of teenagers shot at them with paintballs. This was a first for Johnson, “We’ve been hit with eggs or rocks; but they shot paint at us while we were on the grates.” Johnson said people can be very mean to the homeless.

“There’s no reason for that, because most people are about one or two paychecks away from asking us where they could find some clothes and shelter,” he said.

They all admit they never lie about what they need money for, whether it’s coffee, or a sandwich, or a fifth of vodka.

“I asked a couple for some change, and the woman asked, “What for?” I told her it was for some vodka and she gave me $10. She told me it was because I was honest,” Collins said.

At the end of the day, they’re just a few men sitting around having coffee, talking about the next Bronco game. They just happen to be on a heating grate.

Return to Index