“There are thousands of people out there in Sonoma County, like Warren, who are struggling to put their lives back together and many are giving up hope of ever having a permanent roof over their heads again. Without hope, people die. People like Warren need a system that works better to help them regain hope and begin the process of rebuilding their lives.” – Mike Johnson, CEO, COTS
Warren Theuret, Site Operations Manager for COTS, shares part of his story:
Ten years ago, I narrowly missed being the nameless subject of a three-inch story in the Press Democrat: “Transient Dies near Creek.” Walking back to my campsite on a cold, moonless night, I misjudged a slope, fell and hit my head on a concrete block. When I came to, I debated with myself whether to continue on to my sleeping bag or whether to walk to the hospital. Luckily, the blood flowing down my neck and into my eyes was annoying enough that I decided to walk to the hospital. The ER doctor told me I likely would have died if I hadn’t come in that night.
Now, while sitting in my snug apartment, I read the articles about homeless people dying by river and creek beds and I think how unlikely and how lucky my return was.
I became homeless in mid-life, after raising a family and working in the insurance industry. When my marriage and business plans failed at the same time, I threw up my hands and vowed to make my living as a carpenter. To no one’s surprise, thanks to my drug use, I failed. I wound up homeless and stayed that way for 10 long years.
I worked odd jobs, hopping from shelter to shelter, camp to camp. I’m a gregarious person, but the longer I remained homeless, the more I wanted to hide from people and the judgment I saw in their eyes. I’ll never forget once when I was working on a crew doing some yard work. The home-owner singled me out as the most hard-working in the bunch and asked me inside to fix his basement floor. Impressed by my work, he asked how to get in touch with me for future repairs. I had to tell him he could drive to a bridge, yell my name and give me ten minutes to appear. I saw by the look in his eyes that he would never do that, and that he was horrified that he’d let a homeless person inside his house. I remember shop-keepers who followed me through stores, mothers who shooed their kids past me in parks. I could not get steady work. I was giving up hope.
Then, in 2005, a friend told me about COTS’ Mary Isaak Center. Here was a place where I could be guaranteed a bunk—I wouldn’t have to take my chances every day. I could stay at the shelter during the day to meet with a case manager, see a nurse, look for jobs. Sobriety was a condition of residency, but with a guaranteed bed, relapse prevention classes and people who believed in me, sobriety was now possible. Staff members gave me information, support, and advocacy. Most importantly, they gave me the human connection and respect I needed to believe in myself again and rebuild my life. Then, COTS gave me a job, which turned into a career, which turned into a mission. Today, I am the Site Operations Manager for COTS.
Last winter, COTS held a memorial service to mourn those homeless souls who had died alone, out in the elements. This winter, we’ll do the same, and I’ll think again of how lucky I am.