Police officer reluctantly parking his bike

Retiring cop known for the respect he's shown the homeless

James B. Meadow, Rocky Mountain News

Published September 14, 2006 at midnight

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Morning was more of a theory than a fact as Ed Valerio moved through the darkness and reluctantly got his bicycle ready for his last patrol among the have-nots of society, the ones he has sometimes arrested and rousted, but always respected.

After six years and 35,000 miles - "I think that's enough to go around the world, isn't it?" - to say nothing of two broken hands, a broken nose and more cases of road rash than he can remember, the 62-year-old bike cop was staring glumly at the end of the 30-year career corridor that would take him to retirement.

Sure, he'd be riding again on Thursday with other members of the District 6 mall patrol, but that would feel like a formality. Not the kind of solo style Valerio always preferred, the M.O. that allowed him to stop and chat with the souls who sleep in doorways or under bushes or on top of sidewalk steam grates. Men and women beset with alcoholism and mental illness; adrift, invisible, overlooked, scorned.

Ed Valerio's kind of people.

"The one thing my dad taught me is everybody is a person," says Joshua Valerio, another bike cop who happens to be Ed's son and is riding along on his father's last real bike patrol Wednesday. "He always said, 'Treat them with respect and they'll treat you with respect.' "

"Ed is a cop, but he's the best type of cop," says Mike McManus, an outreach worker for the Colorado Coalition for the Homeless, who adds that Valerio has been known to stand up to other cops who might be unfairly hassling a homeless person.

"Even the guys he's busted respect him," says McManus. "They know he cares about them."

'He's the only cop I really like'

That's the way Courtney sees it. Last week Valerio busted him on an outstanding warrant. Courtney didn't take it personally.

"He's the only cop I really like," says Courtney, 40, not particularly miffed that the Valerios have woken him up at 7:10 a.m. and told him to move on from Civic Center.

"He shows a more humane side," says Courtney. "He respects us."

He also fights for them - and Alvin Gray Grass knows it.

At 6:45 a.m., Valerio gently wakes up Alvin from what appears to be a placid sleep atop a steam grate near Tremont and 15th. It's a courteous wake-up call, and Alvin is cool with that. He's also cool with the way Ed once went after some bullies.

Seems the night crew in the building right by the corner decided it would be hilarious to drop buckets of water on Alvin and others. The water was poured from four stories up - and it came splashing down on bitter wintry nights.

When Valerio heard about it, he did two things. He found the guys doing it and told them he would "personally kick your ass" if it didn't stop. Then he found their supervisor and complained.

End of problem.

But some problems end only in tragedy.

"This is where Rick died," says Valerio, voice growing soft.

He's looking at a space in the Voorhies Memorial of Civic Center. Suddenly, it's December 11, 2003, the day Samuel "Rick" Burrier died of pulmonary disease on one of the coldest nights of the year. Rick died sleeping under an Indian blanket Valerio had purchased for him when he was on vacation with his wife at the Grand Canyon.

"I worried about them being cold. It's a different world out here," says Valerio, shaking his head.

Appointment reminders

When he talks about extra things he's done for the homeless - and he does so reluctantly - Valerio's voice acquires a matter-of-fact tone. This is what happens when you see the homeless instead of looking past them. It's the reason why becoming a bike cop six years ago "changed my dad's life," says Joshua.

"I found I could do a lot more on the bicycle," says the father. "I could go places you can't go in a car."

He also found that people - businessmen, street people, everybody - treated him differently when he was on a bike, that he became much more approachable.

Valerio & son are now cruising down the Cherry Creek Bike Path. They encounter Georgia, a borderline schizophrenic woman pushing a shopping cart stuffed with all her possessions. Ed reminds her she has an appointment with human services; Georgia doesn't think she'll go. Ed gently tries to persuade her to go. Georgia doesn't think so. Ed shrugs and slowly shakes his head.

He comes upon Shawn and Kelly, a young married couple sleeping on the bike path under the Colfax Avenue Bridge. Kelly had a miscarriage four days ago. They're both working at the Pepsi Center but don't have enough money for a place. Ed puts in a call to outreach worker McManus and arranges a meeting.

Two joggers stop and tell Joshua and Ed about a guy sleeping near the bike path. The cops gently wake him, tell him he has to move on. Ed wishes he didn't have to. "The guy wasn't bothering anybody. You couldn't even see him."

Makeshift tents by the river

Of course, sometimes he's glad to wake them up. Sometimes "it's scary when they don't move right away." Sometimes they're dead.

Ed and Joshua are riding the bike path toward Confluence Park. The father's mood soon darkens as he and Joshua lock up their bikes and navigate the steep slope under the Park Avenue exit of I-70 on foot, down to the Platte River.

The men and woman they wake and tell to move on are not Valerio's people. Chances are some are using heroin and have hidden their stash and syringes. The makeshift tents several sleep in may be home to a low-rent but growing prostitution activity.

Today he has Joshua with him. But, surely Valerio doesn't come to these places alone?

"Yeah, I do," he says sheepishly. "I know, it's stupid. But I do."

He wishes he could do it longer. Five years ago, he opted for a certain retirement plan. Time's up. He has to quit.

Soon, he won't have to rise at 4:30 a.m. four times a week and work his typical 10-hour shift no matter what the weather is. Bone-snapping cold, pouring rain, blazing heat - it didn't matter. He rode.

Soon he'll be able to concentrate on woodwork projects and playing golf. But he might as well be talking about a trip to the dentist for all the enthusiasm he can muster.

Then, the old zing is back in his voice. He is at a press conference, talking about the homeless.

"They're great people; they're just like the people you meet in office buildings or high-rise condos, they just sleep in the street," he says.

Then he listens while Joshua answers a question about what he admires most about his father.

"He taught me how to be a man and how to treat people with respect," says Joshua, voice suddenly cracking, eyes filling up with tears.

Son hopes to bike like dad

It is expected that the department will allow Joshua to replace his father on the bike patrol for District 6. At least Ed and Joshua hope so. So do the homeless.

"I want to try and fill my dad's shoes,even though they're about a mile long," says Joshua.

As Joshua speaks, his father looks down, suddenly fascinated by his fingernails, not willing to look up.

Maybe he's thinking about Georgia and whether she'll keep that appointment. Or Sean and Kelly. Or Alvin. Or the hundreds of other souls he's met in the course of all those miles and all those years.

Maybe he's thinking about how much they mean to him and how much he'll miss them. The homeless. The unwanted. Ed Valerio's kind of people.

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