Being a big-city humanitarian comes naturally to small-town girl

'Bully' for the homeless strives to help 'our most vulnerable'

Stuart Steers, Rocky Mountain News

Published May 24, 2005 at midnight

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At a Denver Department of Human Services employee potluck last fall, manager Roxane White brought an elk casserole her mother cooked.

A story quickly spread through the office grapevine: Not only had White made the casserole, she had shot the elk.

The staff can be forgiven for imagining their boss as a big game hunter. In just 18 months running the huge department, White has turned things upside-down, changing everything from the layout of the lobby to the way employees answer the phone. As chairwoman of the city's Commission to End Homelessness, White also has emerged as the leading advocate for the homeless in Denver.

At a Colorado Coalition for the Homeless event this month, where White was honored with the group's most prestigious annual award, Mayor John Hickenlooper told the crowd that White was "a bully on behalf of the homeless."

With her sunny disposition, it's hard to imagine White bullying anyone. But people who know her say White should never be underestimated.

"She's one of the best advocates I've ever seen," said Elsa Holguin, a program officer with the Rose Community Foundation who has known White for more than a decade. "She gives a voice to the homeless and runaway youth."

Some might be surprised that White, who grew up in a small Montana town, would become a champion of the homeless in a big city like Denver. But her mother is not surprised.

Barbara Stephani said that her daughter was always concerned about the vulnerable, even as a young teen.

"There were some elderly people she learned about who weren't getting meals, and she started taking them food," she recalled. "She has a great sense that we're put on Earth to help others."

Since 2003, White has supervised an agency with a $265 million budget and 931 employees. She's one of the most high-profile people in Hickenlooper's administration, working closely with him on a plan to end homelessness in Denver in the next 10 years.

That's a large ascent for a woman who arrived in Denver a decade ago to run a small shelter for homeless men.

"I have more employees than we had in my hometown," White said.

White, 43, grew up in Victor, a Montana town of barely 800 souls. Her father was a professor at the University of Montana, and she counts six generations of her family in Victor.

Her father's death when she was 13 was a life-changing event.

"That gave me an awareness of what can happen to people," she said. "There was a dramatic drop in resources. My sister and I were fortunate that my mother found a job and we had extended family who supported us."

White and her family attended the Presbyterian church in Victor, and faith became an important part of her life. After graduating from Lewis & Clark College in Oregon, she decided to become a Presbyterian minister. She studied at the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, Calif., and earned a master's degree in divinity.

However, an internship at the Larkin Street Youth Center for runaway teens in San Francisco started her thinking that her true calling was working with street kids.

That led to a job as an outreach worker. She went on to earn a master's degree in social work from San Francisco State and then became executive director of Larkin Street, where she oversaw an expansion and boosted the number of youth served. In 1994, Mayor Frank Jordan proclaimed "Roxane White Day" to honor her.

After years in California, White wanted to be closer to her hometown.

"Denver is about as close as you can get to Montana and work with homeless and city issues," she said.

In 1994, she took a job as director of the former Central Shelter for homeless, working men. She was horrified by what she found.

"The men were sleeping on mats and a few donated couches that stank and crawled," she said. "We had no showers. The image just sticks in my mind. We treated them with so little respect we didn't give them a shower before they went to work."

Soon, bunkbeds and showers were installed at the shelter now known as New Genesis. In a year's time, White doubled the shelter's budget, allowing closer work with residents and dramatically increasing the success rate at moving the men into permanent housing.

White returned to her true love in 1995, taking the helm at Urban Peak, Denver's primary shelter for homeless teenagers and young adults. During her eight-year tenure, Urban Peak tripled the number of youths it helped to leave the streets, and it raised money to acquire its own apartment building.

White agreed to serve on Hickenlooper's transition team in 2003, helping to find a director of human services. She soon had to resign from the committee when it began to consider her as a possible manager.

White said she decided to accept the post because the department works so closely with families. She said she believes the recent increase in families with children showing up at homeless shelters is driven by changes in welfare laws that limit families to five years of welfare benefits.

"I took this position because of issues around child poverty and teen pregnancy and all of these children and families we expect the system to raise," she said. "I want to help families and children stay connected, especially people who are poor."

White has a 12-year-old daughter, Donalyn, and lives in south Denver with two Dalmatians, a pair of cats, a bunny and a hamster - a menagerie she attributes to growing up in the rural West. She is married to Denis Murstein, who lives in Chicago and works with homeless youth.

White says Denver now has the best opportunity in a generation to end the problem of people sleeping in alleys and under bridges.

"I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think it was doable," she said. "I feel like this community is embracing the need to take care of our most vulnerable."

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