OLIVIA HARLOW

Homeless, not helpless

There is a sickening stigma attached to the word “homeless.” Yet, the stereotypes are largely untrue. Through humanizing the issue with stories and photographs, I hope readers gain a deeper understanding of the homeless experience and care enough about this vulnerable group of people to help find solutions to ending homelessness.

Here are just some of the features, news articles, photos and vignettes I’ve done in an effort to combat stigma and ultimately — hopefully — stir change.

With aid and effort, Santa Fe homeless couple escape streets

It’s just a one-room apartment on Cerrillos Road with a cramped kitchen and shaggy carpet. But to Randy Trujillo and Rosa Valencia, it’s home — something they haven’t had in years.

After experiencing homelessness — six years for Trujillo, a year and a half for Valencia — there’s nothing like having a place to call their own.

“It feels great. We love it,” Valencia said on the couple’s first full day in their apartment.

With more than 330 people living on Santa Fe’s streets, according to the New Mexico Coalition to End Homelessness, Trujillo and Valencia are among hundreds of people hoping to gain stability — and a roof over their heads — and turn their lives around.

While there are many efforts citywide to aid the homeless community, Trujillo, 55, and Valencia, 42, said making real change has to start with breaking a stigma and raising awareness about the diverse population of those on the streets. Some, like Valencia and Trujillo, have disabilities that first lead to joblessness, then homelessness. Others struggle with mental illness, addiction or have experienced domestic violence.

“People downgrade the homeless,” Valencia said one morning at the Interfaith Community Shelter at Pete’s Place, about a week before moving into her apartment.

“They have a house. They have things we don’t. So they treat us like scum,” added Trujillo, his arm around Valencia’s shoulder. “They think they’re better than us.”

One of the most common assumptions is that people experiencing homelessness beg for money and then use it to buy alcohol or drugs. That might be true for some, Trujillo said, “but our daily money goes toward meals.”

He’s been sober for six months; Valencia has been clean for eight months.

Before life on the streets, Trujillo said, he earned a nursing degree and worked two years as a nurse’s aide at the Santa Fe Care Center, a local nursing home. He had to quit when pain caused by sciatica in his lower back became too severe, he said. With costly rent and medical bills, he ended up losing his apartment.

For several years, Trujillo bounced in and out of housing and spent many nights sleeping at the St. Elizabeth Shelter, before landing at Pete’s Place, where he met Valencia.

Valencia, legally blind since age 10, had been living in a home in Santa Fe and was surviving on disability income. But because of high rent and a series of hardships, mainly stemming from her eyesight, she could no longer afford to pay for housing.

“It can happen to anyone,” she said. “You lose your job, you get into a fight [with your partner] — anything can happen.”

Once she was out on the streets, life was far harder than she imagined, she said.

Each morning, the couple would wake up in the dark to avoid police. The daily routine that followed: Go to Pete’s Place to stow their shopping carts full of belongings; buy some cereal and milk from Allsup’s; smoke a cigarette and panhandle until 3 p.m. — their go-to spots were a corner of Cerrillos Road and St. Francis Drive and at Richards Avenue and Cerrillos.

By 4 p.m., they’d return to the shelter to claim their carts and begin searching for a place to camp for the night. Using money collected throughout the day, the couple would buy dinner, usually a sandwich from Walmart or a meal from Taco Bell. After sunset, they’d try to get some sleep.

That wasn’t easy.

“The cops are always chasing us. If they see us, we have to move — sometimes two or three times a night,” Valencia said. “There’s nowhere to go.”

Knowing this lifestyle was not sustainable, and clinging to hope that better days would come, Trujillo and Valencia reached out for help. That came last month with a call from The LifeLink, a local nonprofit, saying they’d been approved for housing and a unit was available.

Before moving in and signing a one-year lease, the couple said, they had to obtain identification cards, Social Security cards, birth certificates and proof of federal food assistance.

Without a car, these errands were “real hard,” Valencia said. “Finding resources and getting eligible was a chore in its own. … We busted our asses to get what we call a home.”

“It was a lot of walking, a lot of buses, a lot of paperwork and meetings,” Trujillo added.

The couple’s case manager said the pair is expected to contribute one-third of their monthly income to The LifeLink — they earn about $720 a month from Valencia’s disability income — to help cover rent.

While the couple said their housing wouldn’t be possible without help from organizations like The LifeLink, they mostly credit each other for securing a home.

“With each other’s emotional support, we’re making it,” Valencia said, noting her only real dream for the future is “to stay housed and stay together. … We were meant for each other.”

“If we can stay in rocks and arroyos, we can make it in a house,” Trujillo said. “We’ve been through so much together, it could rain lightning bolts and we’d be OK.”

Speaking in their new apartment recently, the couple unpacked groceries from Smith’s and sorted through a handful of DVDs from Walmart, like Creed and Wonder Woman. Nowadays, some of their favorite activities are snuggling up to watch a movie and cooking a homemade meal.

“We’re sick of street food,” Valencia said, noting the first day in the apartment she made banana cream pie and red chile stew.

They’ve also made carne adovada, spaghetti and meatballs, and tacos — “normal people food, I guess,” Trujillo said.

While parts of their daily routine are the same — trips to Pete’s Place in the morning to visit friends and look for clothes or other donated items, and panhandling in the afternoon — time to relax in a space of their own, without fear of police chasing them off or the possibility of foul weather conditions, is “very different,” they both said.

“We’ve been getting some good sleep,” Trujillo said, standing beside a mattress on the floor of their home. The new lifestyle, he said “is just starting to feel real. … It’s warm, secure, safe.”

Although the couple said they’d eventually like to save up for a bigger home — likely in Las Vegas, N.M., where Trujillo grew up — “This is perfect for us, for now,” Trujillo said.

Valencia and Trujillo said their new home is a sign of hope for everyone in the homeless community.

“Eventually, we’ll all be off the streets,” Valencia said.

But until that day comes, she encouraged Santa Feans to look beyond stigmas.

“God made us all the same, money or no money,” she said. “If they see homeless people out there, have a heart. Just show us we exist because we exist, just like they do.”

“I’ve met some of the most intelligent people who are homeless.” — Steven

“Your home is where your heart is, so you’re houseless, not homeless,” said Colby Johnson, 27, who has been living on the streets since 2011.

Johnson said he grew up in “the gang life” near Gallup.

• • •

Most people assume “everyone who’s homeless is a druggie or psychotic,” said a woman who only gave her first name, Karen, and said she has been homeless in Santa Fe for about four months.

In reality, she said, “75 percent of us are those who have fallen on hard times, even though I hate that term. We just need a place to stay so we can get where we’re supposed to be.”

Most people assume those experiencing homelessness are uneducated, she said, but she has a degree in geography.

“Really, most of us are normal people,” Karen said. Homelessness “just has such a cultural stigma.”

• • •

Kim, who declined to give her last name, said she earned an associate degree and master’s degree before becoming homeless two years ago. She’s living in her car.

“If it weren’t for Pete’s Place, I couldn’t make it,” Kim said, adding she spends her days studying for board certification exams at the Southside Branch Library and getting meals at the shelter. She wouldn’t elaborate on the certification she is pursuing.

With winter coming up, Kim said, she’s fearful of being on the streets. Last year, she said, she spent about $200 a month on gasoline so that she could run her car heater overnight to avoid freezing.

“People don’t know what it’s like until they’re forced into that situation,” she said.

Efforts to address homelessness in Santa Fe

Following the largest one-day count in a decade of people living on the streets of Santa Fe, advocates cite a long waiting list for housing for the homeless and a need for not only more beds but a facility with 24-hour care for those with severe mental health conditions.

The rise in homelessness in Santa Fe — the New Mexico Coalition to End Homelessness identified 330 people in its count this year, compared to 215 last year — comes as the city and local nonprofits are working on new initiatives to address the needs of those in the homeless community, a population that’s difficult to measure.

The coalition calls its annual poll a “snapshot” that vastly undercounts the problem. Other estimates are as high as 5,000 people and largely depend on an organization’s definition of homelessness, which could include people living in motel rooms or families doubling up in apartments.

Elizabeth Reynolds, director of La Familia Medical Center’s Health Care for the Homeless program, who estimates at least 4,000 people are insufficiently housed in the city, said officials and advocates are “always underestimating how many people are homeless.”

‘You can’t feel secure if you’re sleeping outside’

The No. 1 need for the homeless, before addressing any other issues, is getting people into housing, said Hank Hughes, executive director of the Coalition to End Homelessness.

“What we found is that people can’t work on their mental health, physical health or substance abuse without a house,” he said. “You need to feel secure, and you can’t feel secure if you’re sleeping outside or in a shelter.”

Earlier this year, Mayor Alan Webber brought the nationwide initiative Built for Zero to Santa Fe. Built for Zero seeks to eliminate all chronic and veteran homelessness. The first step of the program, still in its infancy, will be collecting reliable data on the homeless community, including an accurate count of how many people are affected and what their needs are.

Signing on to Built for Zero, Webber said, is a “big step” that shows Santa Fe’s commitment to solving the problem.

Recently, the city’s police and fire departments announced a joint diversion program called Thrive that will refer low-level offenders struggling with addiction — many of whom end up homeless — to the fire department’s mobile health team for case management. Organizers hope for a mid-November start of the program.

The city also will benefit from more than $3 million New Mexico received from the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development for a Youth Homelessness Demonstration program — a national initiative aimed at reducing the number of people 24 and under who are experiencing homelessness. The funds will add about 115 spaces for young homeless people in Santa Fe, Hughes said.

But there is still work to be done. The community needs “better coordinated outreach to make sure we’re reaching everybody,” Hughes said — and of course, more housing.

Hughes’ group works with local shelters and nonprofits to compile a list of chronically homeless people in the city, prioritized by their level of vulnerability: “Your mental health and if you’ve been subject to abuse at home or in the streets,” he said.

There are currently about 100 names on the list of people waiting for a home, he said, and “obviously we don’t have 100 units available.”

There are presently 438 beds in Santa Fe dedicated to housing people who previously were homeless: 12 at Casa Milagro, a group home for those with mental illness; 122 in apartments at least partially dedicated to housing the homeless; and 304 in other apartment complexes located throughout the city.

The city has no supportive housing facility with 24-hour care for those with greater needs, but Hughes said he hopes one will be built in Santa Fe within the next three years. This setting would provide space for those who cannot fully function independently because of mental health or behavioral health issues.

The city also falls short on the number of beds available in homeless shelters. Edward Archuleta, executive director of St. Elizabeth Shelters & Supportive Housing, said it’s not uncommon for his group’s men’s shelter to turn away at least five or six men every night.

At least eight women and four families are on a waiting list each night at St. Elizabeth’s shelter for women and children, said its director, Annie Riddle, adding this poses a huge safety concern for those forced to sleep in cars or on the streets.

As efforts to identify and serve the city’s homeless expand, the goal is to continue opening up residency spots by moving tenants from temporary housing into apartments subsidized with federal Section 8 rent vouchers or long-term public housing.

Sometimes preparing for that transition “can take years,” said Lara Yoder, housing manager at the nonprofit LifeLink, but eventually it creates room for others in need.

A big obstacle in this transition is also finding affordable housing options. Riddle and Archuleta said most rental homes in Santa Fe are too costly for their clients, who can obtain $1,000 monthly state vouchers to help pay for rent.

But, Archuleta said, housing under $1,000 “is nonexistent in Santa Fe right now.”

Is housing the homeless sustainable?

Reynolds, of La Familia, is the board president of One Door, a project that would fill the void by developing a campus offering housing for the homeless as well as counseling, health care and other services. The project, several years in the making, has faced delays.

While One Door has “kind of been put on a little bit of a back burner due to many factors” — Reynolds would not elaborate on those or provide a time frame for when she expects such a campus to open — there is still a group of committed organizers working on the effort, she said.

Archuleta said the city needs a one-stop shop for the homeless, like One Door, where support services are on-site.

“We get a lot of people housed, but because they don’t have that support, we see them right back at our door within a year,” he said.

There are many reasons why people’s lives get turned upside down, sending them to the streets: high medical bills, a disability, overwhelming student debt, an abusive relationship, to name a few.

“Once you fall into homelessness, climbing out is really hard,” said Joe Jordan-Berenis, executive director of the Interfaith Community Shelter at Pete’s Place.

But some advocates argue that keeping people in stable housing after they have experienced homelessness is far less challenging. Hughes said only about 10 percent of those who obtain housing end up falling back into homelessness — typically because of bad behavior that leads to eviction.

For most people, he said, “if we get them into the right kind of housing, they do pretty well.”

According to data from the coalition, 176 of the 225 people who found housing through The Lifelink last year remained in the housing unit or moved into Section 8 housing. That means closer to 22 percent might have returned to the streets.

At St. Elizabeth, about 25 percent of those who were housed in 2018 — 110 men and 227 women and children — 25 percent became homeless again and returned to the shelter within a two-year period, Archuleta said.

Overcoming stigmas and barriers

Successfully serving the homeless requires a shift in perspective, Jordan-Berenis said.

“These people are members of our community and they are no different than you or I,” he said. “There’s this idea that people who are homeless are something other than a member of the community. I would like people to see that there is no ‘other.’ ”

Mayor Webber agreed in a recent phone interview, saying it’s important “to talk about people as individuals, by their name.” He said this helps “push back against stereotypes and assumptions that are simply not true.”

But the task of finding a home for someone who has been living on the streets also requires a lot of paperwork, such as identification, and some type of transportation, as well as an array of services to address the problems behind their homelessness.

One woman in the homeless community pointed out a frustrating conundrum: You must have an ID and Social Security card to sign a lease, and to get an ID you must have proof of residency, she said.

Hughes said the New Mexico Coalition to End Homelessness has worked with the state Taxation and Revenue Department to streamline the process of obtaining an ID. Now, those unable to meet requirements for a federally approved driver’s license, or Real ID, can get a standard state driver’s license, which requires two documents showing New Mexico residency — Hughes said shelters write letters for this — and a single document proving identity and age. Fingerprints, immigration status and Social Security numbers are not required.

As for transportation, Hughes noted “it is a barrier.”

The coalition has considered starting an Uber or Lyft program, he said, or implementing an independent transportation system. But most services for the homeless are located along a public bus route or within walking distance of its stops, he said.

For example, The LifeLink is located near a bus stop on Cerrillos Road, Yoder said, and the organization assists with transportation.

To help keep people in homes, The LifeLink offers wraparound services such as counseling, medical assistance and help getting federal disability benefits and food assistance, child care, into recovery programs and job training. But most people experiencing chronic homelessness have disabilities that prohibit them from employment, Yoder said.

“A lot of people and agencies think that once you get someone into housing, the work is done,” she said, “but really it’s just the beginning.”

'I’m still mind-blown': Jobs at Santa Fe shelter help former guests get back on track

In the kitchen of the Interfaith Community Shelter at Pete’s Place, John Stotler is the master of multitasking.

While sautéing a pan of mushrooms, he divvies up tasks among volunteers: Cut the bread, grab beans from the pantry and mini corn from the fridge, prep dessert and chop bell peppers.

Meanwhile, Joseph “Jojo” Gutierrez tidies backpacks, duffel bags and purses in the shelter’s luggage room. As soon as guests arrive at 6 p.m., he greets them with smiles, hugs and fist bumps, taking their personal items and storing them alphabetically. “Hey, Jo,” one guest says.

“Wussup, bro?” Gutierrez answers, giving the man a high five, taking his bag without asking for a name.

He knows right where to put it: “Most of ’em are regulars. I know the bag. I know the person. I know how many bags they have, more or less.”

Stotler and Gutierrez are among seven staff members at the Interfaith Community Shelter who were once in the position of those they serve. They, too, have experienced homelessness — eating the shelter’s meals, handing over their luggage before an overnight stay.

Given the opportunity to be on staff and give back to the community they were previously part of, they say, is a blessing and reminder that maybe a bit of good can come out of tragedy. “If I can relate to someone and help them out, if I can put a smile on somebody’s face, then it’s all worth it,” Gutierrez said.

Gutierrez, 36, said before arriving at the shelter about four years ago, he struggled with alcoholism and had to leave his two children with a friend.

He’s come a long way since then, he said, noting he now has an apartment and got custody of his 12-year-old son last summer. He is working to get custody of his 15-year-old daughter. 

“Everything I was working hard for, it all came back. I’m still mind-blown over the whole thing,” he said.

In his role — he works a split shift, between day manager and storing luggage at night — “I’m just trying to make my kids proud,” he said, his son sitting next to him. Gutierrez said his son comes with him to the shelter during night shifts, after they’ve done homework together, about two or three times a week. “It’s cool because he can see what’s going on here. He hears their stories,” Gutierrez said, noting this could help his son stay away from drugs and alcohol.

Stotler, 66, said he fell into homelessness several years after his wife, Meg LeVan, died in 2012 of breast cancer. Financially unstable, Stotler said, one thing led to the next — “too much got to be too much” — and after working odd jobs in Ohio, where he’s from, he returned to Santa Fe unemployed and without a home.

“Thank God the shelter was here,” said Stotler, who had worked in restaurants for 30 years. He said he never expected to be homeless and called the experience “a rude awakening” that temporarily stripped him of his self-esteem.

Upon arriving at the shelter in January 2018, Richard Sisneros — fellow kitchen manager, who also became homeless after the death of his wife — asked Stotler to help clean dishes. The shelter paid Stotler for the work, and once he reached the $600 maximum of contracted labor from the Internal Revenue Service, he was hired on full time. “It’s given me back some of my self-confidence. I feel better about myself. I have an assured job,” Stotler said.

Every former guest turned staff member — Gutierrez, Stotler, Sisneros, Valerie “Val” Ortiz, Ben Medina, Roque Lucero, Andrea Quintana — got their start at the shelter after falling on “hard times,” said the shelter’s executive director, Joe Jordan-Berenis. Each of them, however, chose not to be defeated but to take initiative as volunteers, Jordan-Berenis said.

On a recent Thursday night, Stotler — who walks with a limp because of a stroke he had in May — shuffled around the kitchen in a bright orange shirt that read STAFF on the back.

Just before the doors opened to guests, he stationed colleagues and volunteers at the serving line and put the finishing touches on two trays of chicken cutlets smothered in sautéed mushrooms and tomatoes. These were the backup meals, for when chicken enchiladas run out, he said. Although his shift is from 4 to 9 p.m. Thursday through Sunday, his job is “to make sure there’s enough food till 11 [p.m.].”

Stotler doesn’t do much cooking: “I just manage a bunch of misfitting people into something that resembles organized chaos,” he said with a laugh. Still, most guests have no idea how much work goes into each meal.

“They think poof, all that food appears,” he said. “I got 300 plates I gotta get ready. That in itself is a big responsibility.”

Stotler said he is the most fulfilled he’s ever been.

His previous jobs were “leisure dining. Now it’s dining by choice of necessity,” he said. “I like to think [I’m helping out]. There’s a lot of desperate people here.”

“Everyone’s help [at the shelter] is critical to people’s survival, and I mean survival,” he added.

Gutierrez agreed that the real purpose is to make a difference in people’s lives. “I’m trying to be a positive outlook for them. I [got sober and got a job] and they can do it, too,” he said. “There were some really bad days for me, but I just kept going. I want them to do it, too,” he said.

Man helps keep Acequia Trail Underpass, his temporary home, ‘nice and clean’

Just before 7 a.m., Rhoady Howe lifts the bandanna covering his turquoise eyes, shuffles out from under a striped blanket and laces up a pair of shoes to clean his home: a 10-foot wide, nearly 150-foot-long tunnel speckled with light near the corner of St. Francis Drive and Cerrillos Road.

Howe, who says he has been homeless for three years, has taken it upon himself to clean the Acequia Trail Underpass, which opened a few months ago. Every morning, he observes the space, collecting beer cans, pieces of tissue, needles, razors, bottle caps and “a variety of anything else you might find in the park,” into plastic bags he finds — or, sometimes, into his bare hands.

Rhoady Howe scouts Wednesday for trash surrounding the underpass at the corner of Cerrillos Road and St. Francis Drive. Olivia Harlow/The New Mexican

“It’s part of the morning routine,” said Howe, adding that he’s been cleaning like this for years, in every place he has occupied. “It’s a great way to get the blood pumping.”

It might not be the optimum way to live, and there’s no guarantee Howe will be in this tunnel in a week. But for now (and actually for quite some time), he has treated the area as if it were, well, his own.

“It’s kept so nice and clean most of the time that seeing trash gives me a natural desire — maybe an OCD-type thing — to clean it up,” he said.

When the sun pours into the tunnel and birds begin their morning song, Howe knows it’s time to start the day. He packs up his blankets, puts his bag somewhere safe, and starts to scout the ground around him. On Wednesday, the first thing he spotted was a lightly smoked cigarette.

Every morning, like on Wednesday, Rhoady Howe collects beer cans, pieces of tissue, needles, razors, bottle caps and anything else into plastic bags he finds — or, sometimes, into his bare hands. Olivia Harlow/The New Mexican

“For me, that’s a beauty,” he said, holding the nub of tobacco in the palm of his hands and putting it in his pocket for later. Walking down the pathway, Howe finds a cap of a syringe needle, torn toilet paper, several straw wrappers and a broken beer bottle. All are deposited into their proper place.

Howe — who sometimes is seen pushing a Trader Joe’s shopping cart that he found in the park — has a keen eye, always noticing bits of paper, torn plastic and birds flying overhead.

His acute attention to detail is perhaps what brought him to the underpass.

“I tend not to hear the traffic sounds, and I try to listen more to the ravens,” he said, adding that the sound of cars at night doesn’t bother him. He said he enjoys pure silence between 1:30 and 4 a.m.

A city spokesman said the workers clean more than 150 miles of trails around Santa Fe, including the underpass area, which they attend to at least once a week. But Howe’s efforts come in handy, if only because the tunnel is a prime new addition to the city’s transportation system.

The long-awaited underpass, which links Railyard Park and the New Mexico School for the Deaf, took the city $6 million and more than a decade to complete. Upon its opening, pedestrians, avid cyclists and commuters celebrated the pathway for its safety and convenience.

People wander Tuesday under the Acequia Trail Underpass, which links the Railyard Park and the New Mexico School for the Deaf. Adriana Sanchez/The New Mexican

Its cleanliness, even months after the opening, is welcomed by those who use it.

Eli Nazarski worked as a landscape subcontractor for the project. He said he believes the primary reason the underpass stays so clean is thanks to “a friendly homeless man who pushes a red cart around.”

That person? Rhoady Howe.

He is upfront about his daily life away from the tunnel: get free water from McDonald’s, if workers don’t turn him away; panhandle; walk up and down Cerrillos and through the park; get some beers; eat some food; pick up more trash in various areas, mainly around the tunnel; “and do it all over again.”

Howe may have to leave the tunnel at some point; Santa Fe police spokesman Greg Gurulé said those who sleep on city property are “moved along” by officers, adding that consequences depend on circumstances.

“That’s an interesting area,” Gurule said. “Some trails belong to the state, so you really have to know who owns what.”

Howe said he would like people to recognize the systemic issue of homelessness and confront the misconceptions.

“People think that it’s a choice to run around and drink and not work,” he said, adding most passers-by pretend not to see him.

“They don’t like to be reminded of the precarious situation — that sometimes it’s just the luck of the draw and that this can happen to anyone,” he continued. “They want to believe this is something I brought on myself, so they can feel more secure.”

Prior to coming to New Mexico, Howe said he worked as a paid political fundraiser in cities such as Los Angeles and Austin, Texas. He said he’s been married for 14 years, participated in music production during the ’90s, plays the guitar and has had years of sales experience.

“I lost my job. It’s complicated,” he said, adding that around the same time, he also lost several loved ones and was weighed down by a series of other misfortunes. “It’s hard to keep yourself afloat when you’ve had so much loss.”

Nevertheless, over the years, the San Francisco native with faded tattoos said he has tried to give back to his community and serve those around him.

Even if his efforts aren’t noticed by a lot of people. Even if they’re as simple as removing trash.

For Howe — who hopes to get off the streets and find stable housing soon — the tunnel is an insulated, temperate haven located close to the St. Elizabeth Shelter. Beneath all those passing cars, he finds moments of peace.

“It just feels safe to me. The beautification project makes me feel better — just seeing people take care of stuff,” he said. “There’s a lot of effort to make it nice. You can see that in the gardening. People putting in effort to make a place better is a call to action for people who care.”

From guest to co-worker: Guests at Santa Fe shelter sometimes hired as staff members

Several former guests of the Interfaith Community Shelter at Pete’s Place have transitioned from those being served to those who serve.

Seven employees at the shelter who were once homeless now work there full time, ranging from day shift supervisor to kitchen manager. While administrators said there is some risk involved in hiring a guest, it’s critical to provide people who are reliable and have initiative with an opportunity to turn their lives around. 

“The way we do it here, it’s almost self-selecting,” said Joe Jordan-Berenis, the shelter’s executive director. “People start by volunteering here, and if they’re clean and sober and working on housing — and if they’re reliable in volunteering — and we have a position, we offer it to them.”

Ultimately, “it has to come from them,” added Sue Carr, assistant director. “Something inside of them wants to hit the reset button.”

Carr said all seven employees who were former guests hit that button the moment they began helping out at the shelter without being asked to do so, and without knowing there was any chance of being hired later on. For example, Ben Medina volunteered to help with construction and maintenance needs, Richard Sisneros did janitorial work and Andrea Quintana washed dishes in the kitchen. “What we see is that someone is really making an effort,” Jordan-Berenis said, noting this often includes recovering from substance abuse.

“Getting sober is a monumental task, and when they accomplish that and are volunteering here, it behooves us as an agency to support them and to reward them by keeping them employed,” he said.

Since the Interfaith Community Shelter opened in 2010, Jordan-Berenis said at least a dozen guests or former guests have been hired as employees.

At first, they might be a contracted employee, but as soon as they reach $600 in income, a limit set by the Internal Revenue Service before paying taxes is required, they become a full-time employee, he said.

Once someone is hired, they are treated equally and held to the same standard as other staff members. Income depends on the person’s role, ranging from Santa Fe’s minimum wage of $12.10 an hour for janitorial roles to $15 an hour for entry-level managerial positions. Every year, Jordan-Berenis said, he tries to give each employee a raise, noting that seven-year night shift supervisor Roque Lucero, for example, now earns $18 an hour.

Since the shelter is open seasonally — it’s open only to women and children from May to mid-October — Jordan-Berenis said he has to alter schedules during summer months. Still, “we try to make sure people can make a living year-round,” he said.

Although there are no current openings, when a job presents itself, Jordan-Berenis said, he already has a list of people he’d like to hire. At the top is James Griffin, a shelter guest who has filled in when staff members are absent. 

Still, hiring someone experiencing homelessness can be tricky, Jordan-Berenis admitted.

“It gets very confusing for them because when they’re working, they’re employees. But when they’re not working, they have to obey the rules of the shelter as guests,” he said. For this reason, “boundaries get a little squishy.”

There are also challenges involved in helping an employee transition from being unemployed and homeless to maintaining responsibilities associated with a full-time job — especially since “those old behaviors are there at times,” Jordan-Berenis said.

For example, it may take time for a former guest to understand the importance of being on time and performing all responsibilities expected of them throughout their shift. 

Others might relapse into substance abuse and need to take time off to go to rehab, and some even end up in jail, Jordan-Berenis said. In any situation, he said, it’s critical for administrators to work with each employee and show unconditional support.

“It’s always taking a chance,” he said of the decision to hire someone, “but I think frequently we believe in the person more than they believe in themself.”

Even when a guest asks to attend a recovery program or is sent to jail, “we hold their job,” Jordan-Berenis said.

Administrators said they have had to fire employees in the past, but only after several infractions.

“We have worked with people in the past saying, ‘Look, you really need to pay attention and clean up your act,’ or something to that effect. ‘You need to step it up if you want to keep working,’ ” Carr said.

If they don’t listen, she added, there’s no other option than to let them go. 

“It’s incredibly sad,” Jordan-Berenis said. “Not everybody is a success story.”

For those who do sustain employment, however, it helps not only the individual but the staff. “It feels really proud seeing guests who used to come into your office and talk about their struggles, who become your colleagues, your co-workers,” said Carr.

“It’s really an investment in a person for the long haul,” said Jordan-Berenis. “I’m a firm believer in a clean slate. … I’m always trying to help each of our guests move on, at their own pace, in their own way.”

Andrea Quintana

When Andrea Quintana arrived in Santa Fe, she was battered, bruised and scared for her life.

She had just escaped a domestic violence situation in Albuquerque, in which she was held against her will for two years, and was hopeful for a new life.

Instead, she said, she got involved in drugs and alcohol and found herself without a home.

“In my head, I never would’ve thought I’d be homeless, ever,” she said.

After staying at Esperanza Shelter for a short time, Quintana went in and out of housing after being charged with drug trafficking. She arrived at the Interfaith Community Shelter in February 2018.

She began helping out in the shelter’s kitchen. Her main task was washing dishes, a job she said “was serenity.” Having a purpose helped her escape her own trauma, even if only temporarily, she said.

Six months after arriving at the shelter, Quintana was offered a job.

At the time, “I didn’t have my ID. I didn’t have my Social Security. So yeah, it meant a lot,” she said of the staff’s decision to “take a chance” on her and later allow her nearly three months off to attend a recovery program to address past alcohol and meth abuse. The shelter’s administration advised her to stay in the program 89 days, one day short of the full 90 days, so she would not lose her housing voucher.

Though Quintana said she sometimes lacks the patience to handle her job, she feels she’s doing what she was meant to do.

“It seems that everyone has a purpose in life,” she said. “It seems like this is my purpose, to help people.”

Richard Sisneros

Richard Sisneros remembers standing in line at the Interfaith Community Shelter for the first time, waiting to receive a much-needed meal. At the time, he said, “I didn’t know how much work went into getting just one lunch together.”

Now, as kitchen manager, “I see it from the other side,” said Sisneros, 63. “You have to order the food. You have to manage the amount of food you make. It’s a lot.”

The shelter serves an estimated 325 meals a day, administrators said.

Sisneros, a former city employee for 15 years, said he became homeless after his wife died in the early 2010s. From there, his life spiraled: He lost his job and was no longer able to afford his house. It wasn’t long before he found himself sleeping in dugouts in the park by the state library, he said.

When Sisneros arrived at the shelter in October 2014, he helped with custodial work at the facility.

Two years later, he was offered a minimum-wage job as a janitor. Since then, he has transitioned into a higher-paying role as kitchen manager, although he still does about three hours of custodial work each day.

“They took a chance on me,” he said.

In his role, Sisneros said, he enjoys delegating tasks to other staff and volunteers. He said some of the biggest challenges include disinfecting the kitchen with bleach and dealing with angry guests. What gets him through each shift is reminding himself that he’s serving a group who is largely stereotyped and overlooked.

“The way [the public] sees homeless people out there, they think they’re all thieves, liars, alcoholics, drug addicts. But not all of them are like that,” Sisneros said. “I know what they’re going through.”

For that reason, his goal every day is to make sure he’s giving them the highest quality meals possible.

“I’d recommend it to anyone to eat here,” he said.

Joseph ‘Jojo’ Gutierrez

When Jojo Gutierrez, 36, arrived in Santa Fe from the Four Corners area, he hoped to get his life together.

Following a difficult breakup, Gutierrez was on the hunt for a job, housing and a plan to reunite with his son and daughter, who were staying with a friend. But he began abusing alcohol and struggled to maintain employment.

He was homeless for about 2½ years. During that time, he volunteered at the Interfaith Community Shelter, picking up trash in the parking lot and helping with maintenance tasks around the property. He was offered a job at the shelter in August and obtained housing.

For the last six months, he has worked a split shift. At night, he helps sort luggage as guests arrive for dinner or an overnight stay. During the day, he attends to miscellaneous tasks, such as taking out the trash, unloading food deliveries, prepping showers and sorting donations. “It’s given me the opportunity to provide for my kids,” Gutierrez said.

Two weeks after starting his role, he gained guardianship of his 12-year-old son. The two live in an apartment together, and the boy regularly accompanies his dad to the night shift.

Gutierrez is also trying to get custody of his 15-year-old daughter. “It’s been a long process,” he said. “I’m a lot happier. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I went through, it was worth it,” he said.

Gutierrez said his goal is to bring guests at the shelter hope, just as staff gave him hope when he was homeless.

“Do I make them smile and laugh? If I make their day, then my day was not wasted,” he said. “A simple ‘hi’ or ‘good morning’ can go a long way.”

Ben Medina

Around 1990, Ben Medina left Los Angeles to come to New Mexico and “see where my roots are from.”

For more than 23 years, the Marine veteran said, he lived in his truck, going in and out of homeless shelters and temporary employment. In 2014, he came to the Interfaith Community Shelter.

Back then, it wasn’t uncommon to find Medina passed out on the shelter’s concrete floor, administrators said.

Despite his struggles with alcohol, Medina quickly became known as a guy willing to help out with yardwork and other maintenance needs around the property. After getting sober and obtaining housing through the Housing and Urban Development and Veterans Affairs Supportive Housing program in 2015, he was offered a job as kitchen manager.

Though Medina, 65, suffered a stroke in June that prohibits him from handling the same workload as before, he still drives to The Food Depot at least once a week to pick up deliveries for the shelter and helps volunteers with washing dishes, meal prep and serving guests food.

“I’ll help with anything that needs to be done. I love working here,” Medina said. Even when he was in the hospital, he said, “My mindset the whole time was ‘I just want to get back to work.’ ”

The reason is the people — he said he can relate to them more than anyone else, he said.

“A lot of the guests here are my friends. I know them from the streets,” he said, pointing to a group gathered outside of the shelter. “I lived the same life they lived. I was in the same boat they’re in.”

Valerie ‘Val’ Ortiz

Val Ortiz, born in Las Cruces and raised in Arizona, was driving an alcoholic friend to New Mexico when she passed through Santa Fe. She immediately fell in love with the city and decided to stay.

After having abused drugs, mainly meth, for 20 years on and off, Ortiz was ready for a fresh start. Although she was sober at the time, other issues came up that put her on the streets — from a bad job experience, in which a manager treated her and other women poorly, pushing her to quit — to a difficult time finding affordable housing.

Upon arriving at the Interfaith Community Shelter in October 2014, Ortiz picked up trash around the building and in the parking lot to keep busy. Little did she know that would lead to a job opportunity.

Now, Ortiz, 50, has housing — she’s lived in the same place for six years — and works as a night shift supervisor at the shelter, from 2:30 a.m. to at least 8 a.m. four days a week. During her shift, she prepares breakfast, checks on guests and makes “sure everybody is where they’re supposed to be.”

“It’s hard to explain, being where I am now to what I was then. It was a roller-coaster ride,” she said. “Now, I’m in a straightaway incline. I’m not going down. I’m only going up. I’m going forward. It’s amazing how far I’ve come.”

Having been a guest at the shelter, Ortiz said she is able to impart some of the wisdom she gained to other guests. Her mission, she said, is to encourage others to get sober and believe that a better life is possible.

Alcoholics Anonymous “says take it one day at a time,” she said. “But you take it one second at a time because without that one second, there won’t be that one day.”

John Stotler

His wife’s death was just the beginning.

Things spiraled from there, and John Stotler soon became a guest at the Interfaith Community Shelter.

“I ran out of money. My wife had passed away. It was a series of misadventures and miscalculations on my part. One thing leads to another; it’s a cascade effect,” he said.

Stotler, who has lived in Santa Fe for about 30 years, said when he arrived at the shelter in January 2018, he helped volunteers wash dishes in the kitchen. Having worked at restaurants across town, he said it just felt right to be part of the shelter’s food service.

Within eight months, administrators took notice and offered him a job. This ultimately helped him obtain housing with a couple of roommates, whom he still lives with today.

Today, Stotler is a kitchen supervisor at Pete’s Place. He manages between five and eight volunteers at a time, helping with meal prep, cleaning the kitchen and serving guests. “My job is to make sure if [the volunteers and staff] come in with 10 fingers, they leave with 10 fingers,” he said with a laugh.

Stotler’s favorite part of the job is the people — “the most jovial band of misfits I’ve ever worked with.”

Even when he suffered a stroke in June and spent three weeks in rehab at Christus St. Vincent Regional Medical Center, the thing he missed the most was the kitchen and the guests he calls friends.

Stotler, who never imagined he’d experience homelessness, said it taught him to empathize and better understand each person he serves. In many ways, his role is the most rewarding chapter of his life.

“Fulfilling, my God, you can’t believe it. Nine times out of 10, when you finish a shift, you think, ‘God, I’m tired, but what a nice day I’ve had,’ ” he said. “It’s making a difference.”

Roque Lucero

Of the seven staff members at the Interfaith Community Shelter who were former guests, Roque Lucero has served in his role the longest.

Maintaining employment for seven years in itself is a shocker because “I never last somewhere more than four years,” he said with a laugh, noting he had worked at Walmart and in construction in the past but either quit or was fired.

At the shelter, however, things are different. Here, he said, “it feels good helping out and sharing my experience.”

Lucero had a tough upbringing in Santo Domingo Pueblo. His dad died when he was just 5 or 6 years old, and his mom was fairly absent. By sixth grade, he said, he was drinking heavily.

In the early 2000s, his life took a downward spiral. His grandparents, who had been his primary caregivers in the years since his father’s death, also died — his grandmother of breast cancer and his grandfather of heart complications. This caused Lucero to feel lost, he said: “It didn’t feel like home, because they weren’t there.”

Lucero left the pueblo in the 2010s for Santa Fe, where he spent most nights at the Interfaith Community Shelter.

From the first day he was a guest, he volunteered to keep himself busy. “I asked if they needed help with anything. I just wanted to” help, he said.

By then, he had gotten sober and was trying to get his life in order. Staff took notice of his work ethic, and within a year, he was offered a job.

Lucero, 51, said he couldn’t be happier or more fulfilled. He said his mission is to encourage guests struggling with drug or alcohol abuse to get sober: “I tell them they can do it. I did it!”

Over the years, Lucero has seen many reminders of his past battles — people coming in drunk, screaming at him and guests, and people shooting up heroin and overdosing on other drugs. He said his own experience with alcoholism has given him more empathy.

“I know how it is being out there without food, wearing the same clothes, the same socks,” he said. “The way you treat them, that’s how they react.”