'Like an angel from the sky'

Amy Goff and Rex Perry fill out general assistance forms for housing money with the help of Dennis Buettner, a San Joaquin County homeless outreach worker. (Brian Feulner/News-Sentinel)

'Like an angel from the sky'

With compassion and dedication, Dennis Buettner — a county homeless outreach worker — offers hope and help to those living on harsh streets.

By Lauren Nelson
Lodi Living Editor

Saturday, March 1, 2008 6:18 AM PST

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For Rex Perry, it was just another morning. He woke up. Showered. Probably enjoyed a cup or two of coffee. Like millions of blue collar Americans that day, he went to work. At the Holiday Inn Express in Galt, he began his daily duties as the maintenance supervisor.

But then it happened. He was laid off. Just like that.

Panicked. Defeated. Helpless. In less time than it took him to get to work, his life spiraled into a pit as empty as his bank account.

Rent? Gone.

Car payment? Impossible.

Emergency funds? A slap in his face.

It's been three years since that day, which was supposed to be like every other. Now, Perry and his girlfriend, Amy Goff, are among Lodi's growing homeless population. They get by on $15 a day — money earned from collecting and recycling bottles and cans. It's enough to buy cigarettes and $3 taco truck burritos.

Perry keeps warm in yellow coveralls. His curly gray hair pokes out from under his backwards cap. Standing at the bus stop he blows into a closed fist, trying to keep warm. Goff stares down Sacramento Street, thinking of what is to come. She wears her shoulder-length brown hair under a racing hat. Her leather jacket and black jeans are stained but clean.

They sleep between sheets of cardboard on the bottom of garbage-smeared dumpsters of Downtown Lodi, the rain pounding on the plastic roofs.

It's as much shelter as they can find on the cold, rainy nights. They hope soon they will get help. They hope. They are desperate.

They call Dennis Buettner one last time.

'An angel that comes from the sky'

It's a stormy Lodi morning and the sky over the Downtown bus station is an eerie gray color. Perry and Goff stand together under the bus stop awning. Goff clutches a dirty backpack and Perry slings a black garbage bag over his shoulder like a gunnysack.

They are early for their meeting. A white hybrid Camry pulls into the parking lot. The man behind the wheel is neatly dressed in light khakis, a tweed cap and a jacket the color of orange peel. In his ear is a Bluetooth earpiece that makes him resemble a character from a space movie.

He is Dennis Buettner.

As fast as they made the call, he was available.

"He's like an angel that comes from the sky," said Goff, warming her hands in her pocket.

Tim Neil, once homeless, talks to homeless outreach worker Dennis Buettner at the Lodi Library during a rainy winter day. (Brian Feulner/News-Sentinel)

Buettner is a homeless outreach worker for the San Joaquin Department of Mental Health. To the people he helps, he is a saint. He helps those who have become homeless for reasons ranging from schizophrenia to drugs and general bad luck. From Lodi to Stockton and French Camp, Buettner's cell phone number is scribbled on pieces of paper and stuck in wallets of hundreds of people who call when they need identification cards, a doctor's appointment or advice on how to handle shelter roommates. For some, he is the last hope.

Buettner, 44, was born and raised in Stockton. He's a graduate of Edison High School. At University of Pacific he studied psychology. Maybe it's because he was forced to sleep in cars and on friends' couches during parts of college, but whenever he tried to leave the field of mental health, he would be yanked back in like a winding Yo-Yo.

"God blessed me with a great job where I can help people. What an awesome blessing," he said.

What boot straps?

Buettner's' view on homelessness is different than most. He looks beyond the stereotype that says people end up homeless because they are drug addicts and alcoholics. While that often is the case, there are other reasons. Even the housing market and economy is to blame, as Buettner has seen more and more people hit the streets after losing their jobs.

"Most people are one paycheck away from being in trouble," Buettner said.

Buettner has an understanding that most people don't. Being homeless can be a never-ending cycle. You can't get a job without an address. You can't get much without a job.

"I hate when people say, 'Well you made your bed, now lay in it,'" he said. "Pulling yourself up by the boot's straps — it's difficult."

Buettner's work is unconventional compared to most day jobs. It's hard work. It's always busy. He puts a lot of miles on the company car. But his work is not about him. It's about the dozens of people he deals with every day.

Some yell at the voices in their heads.

Some are suicidal.

Some are so far gone, possessed by alcohol, that there's no way to diagnose an illness. Some, he knows, will die alone on the streets.

Doing whatever it takes

At the bus stop, Buettner, Goff and Perry sit on a cold cement slab while Buettner fills out paperwork that they hope will get Goff and Perry an appointment for what is known as G.A. — general assistance — in Lodi. They joke about being homeless, and laugh at a farting joke.

"You have got to have a sense of humor out here or it's miserable," Buettner said, having Perry sign the final page of G.A. documents.

Only about 15 homeless people every day will get the G.A. allowance of $340 a month. It involves standing in a long line at 5 a.m., stacks of paperwork and California identification that many don't have.

Buettner can cut through all of that.

But even those 15 who get G.A. aren't guaranteed to find housing in an open motel room. Not only are there fewer and fewer rooms available between Lodi and Stockton, some hotels charge $400 a month and that makes it impossible to afford.

Buettner does as much as he can. Seeing success is what keeps him going.

"There's nothing like getting someone into a shelter and warm. It charges you up," he said.

The ringing phone

Buettner's phone rings often. Usually it's shelters or program directors returning his calls. But as he's driving east on Lockeford Street on his way to Stockton, a phone rings a different tune. It's his personal phone, his wife of 11 years. She's off for the day, and she's confirming their plans for the evening. As the window wipers beat back and forth, he tells her to enjoy her day and curl up with a good book.

"They can't curl up in front of the fire on a rainy day," he said, almost frustrated with the truth.

Then he gets another call. It's not personal, but in a way, it is. He's been notified that a 63-year-old woman with health problems is being released from a drug recovery program. If he can't find her a bed, she will sleep on the streets.

"I don't want her on the streets," he said, making calls to shelters, begging for even a mat on the floor.

They try to pull strings for him. And so he waits for their call.

'I miss being able to watch TV'

Buettner drives through Downtown Stockton, past the Crosstown Freeway, where most won't go. Trash is collecting at chain link fences and people wander through empty, muddy lots. They stare at the new car and a man with a mustache and warm smile. He parks in a neighborhood on South San Joaquin Street, just outside the gate of Gospel Center Rescue Mission.

He is looking for a man who needs help.

Inside a small courtyard there is a group of men playing cards under an awning. Others stand in groups. And some sit alone, their heads lying on the table. They are rougher looking than Buettner, who looks more like a camper in his bright jacket and hiking boots.

Terry Halterman stands alone against a tall wooden fence.

Buettner gives Halterman a long embrace, one that says "I care."

Halterman became homeless in 1995, after his mother died and his step-father sold the house the three of them shared.

Most nights, Halterman stays in shelters, where he gets perks like breakfast and hot showers. He is polite, humble and quiet for the most part. He keeps his head down, eyes to the floor and his hands in the pockets of his big jacket. Maybe it's the frustration of sharing close quarters with a bunch of other men, or maybe his quietness comes off as unfriendliness, but on this rainy Thursday, Halterman feels he's overstayed his welcome.

Buettner has agreed to give Halterman a ride to the Department of Motor Vehicles, and a waiver that will allow him to get a state ID card for $7.

Secure in the car, Halterman lifts his head and looks at the passing neighborhood of old houses and service stations. He opens up about his challenges of living with other men at the Mission. He is frustrated that no matter what he does, he seems to end up in the same place. He misses his home.

"I miss the peace. I miss being able to watch TV and doing whatever I want to do," Halterman said.

It's not just an ID card that Halterman needs. A couple of days ago he rolled out of bed and knocked his shoulder out of socket— again.

Buettner makes a call. When he hangs up, Halterman has an appointment for free medical care.

At the DMV, Halterman gets out of the car. He is far from the help he needs, but he's appreciative for the ride.

Buettner drives away, leaving Halterman on a strip of grass outside DMV. It seems that not looking back is important — he's done all he can for today.

Beyond compassion

As much compassion as Buettner has for the homeless and mentally disabled, he knows it's important for his own mental health to let them go when he walks through his own front door.

"I don't need to overwhelm my life with it," Buettner said. "It used to be that I couldn't turn my cell phone off (at night). Now I have to."

Every day, Buettner will walk with, and talk with and hold on to dozens of people who are desperate for a portion of his love. Caring and loving these people is about respecting them, and offering them a little bit of personal connection that is the human condition.

At Hope Harbor in Lodi, he knows the names of a recovering drug addict's children. He cares enough to be stern with a woman who needs to repay a personal debt. Buettner sees talent and ingenuity in the men who figured out how to wire a storage space to get electricity and who figured out how to boil water with batteries. He sees something in these people that most don't take the chance to see.

"I really enjoy being around a lot of them. A lot are really fascinating," he said.

As he leaves Stockton, Buettner's phone rings again. It's the Stockton Shelter for the Homeless. Even though it will only be a mat on the floor, they can take the 63-year-old woman who would otherwise spend the night on the streets.

When he hangs up, he cheers. That's what it's all about.

You can't win them all

Because it's warm, open to the public and has a roof, the Lodi Library is often a spot for homeless people trying to escape the weather. Buettner stops to see who might be there.

What he discovers is the low part of his day. An old war veteran with a long gray beard and long hair flowing from his knitted beanie sits in on the yellow chair in the magazine section. He is so drunk he can barely speak. Buettner sits next to him. He is whispering.

Around the corner is Tim Neil, a carpenter who found himself suddenly living on the streets. He is a Buettner success case, someone who got G.A., a hotel room and is even working part-time. Seeing Neil is a relief for Buettner. Talking to him, he can stand back with hands in his pockets, and smile as he listens to Neil talk about job prospects.

It's getting dark as Buettner's day comes to an end. He stands outside the library, looking in through the brown glass at the old man who looks like a kind grandfather but whose life now consists of a bottle of hard alcohol. Buettner's blue eyes get teary as he thinks of the brittle man sleeping in abandoned buildings, pushing a shopping cart through empty alleyways.

"A man likes to be in charge of his own destiny," he said, knowing he can't help someone who doesn't want help.

He takes one last look. Then a deep breath.

He pulls his keys out of his pockets and gets in his car. It's time to go home.

Contact reporter Lauren Nelson at laurenn@lodinews.com.

Reader Feedback

s & W 500 wrote on Mar 6, 2008 8:52 PM:

" Very commendable work! Tell them I would prefer it if they would stay out of my trash, however. If I put it in the trash, it is not meant to be gone thru by a dumpster diver. "

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trista wrote on Mar 2, 2008 8:31 PM:

" Yes there are definately some amazing people... Thank you Mr. Buettner for the commendable endeavors of your good will and benevolent heart. "

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hrrsn49 wrote on Mar 1, 2008 2:58 PM:

" I worked with Dennis for a few years doing homeless outreach. He is also deeply loved and respected by those who work in programs for the homeless and shelters throughout the county.

His number of contacts and knowledge of resources seems limitless. "

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Patricia wrote on Mar 1, 2008 11:40 AM:

" Wonderful! Hope for the hopeless--what a wonderful way to return God's gift. Thanks Dennis! Way to go. "

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Lodian wrote on Mar 1, 2008 10:00 AM:

" There are some amazing people in this world! God bless you, Dennis Buettner! "

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