It's the difference of being homeless, but then one day having someone offer shelter, food and compassion.

The men of the Community Inns program, a branch of the San Jose outreach organization InnVision, are homeless. Some are there by sheer bad fortune and some are there by choice. They are all, however, working toward a better life that includes a secure job and a future. No alcohol or drug users are allowed in the 90-day program, which aims to rehabilitate homeless men and provide them the opportunity to put their applicable skills to use.

Anne Ehresman, the director of programs at InnVision, says that the goal of the 10-year-old program is to "work on getting the men stable again." It also provides the opportunity for community members to "understand the complexity of being homeless, that it affects a broad range of individuals. Every man has his own story and place he wants to get to," Ehresman says.

Four groups of churches run the program, with 12 churches participating in each group. Each church provides food and shelter for one month. The Prince of Peace Lutheran Church in Saratoga, which houses the men through December, has been a part of the program for eight years.

At the Prince of Peace, volunteers plan three months ahead to prepare for their guests. Throughout the month the men are there, the kitchen and cafeteria space of the church is used to feed and house the men between 7 p.m. and 7 a.m. every day. (The only exception is on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, when the Shir Hadash, a Jewish congregation from Los Gatos, brings food and decorations for the holiday.) The volunteers make and serve dinner each night and also provide supplies for the men to make breakfast and lunch.

InnVision provides cots, sleeping bags and mats for the men, as well as reduced-cost bus passes for transportation and a YMCA pass so the men can shower and work out. InnVision also works in conjunction with the Santa Clara Adult Education Center to offer training in areas such as interview techniques and résumé writing. In addition, $100 gift certificates to Sears are available so that the men can buy interview clothes.

Every day except for holidays, the men get up between 5:30 and 6 a.m., make breakfast, store their cots and head out to the YMCA to shower and then either look for work, go to work or do research at the library. They are allowed back into the church at 6:30 p.m. to eat dinner. After cleanup chores are completed, the men have free time. Some watch television, some play chess and several read at round tables in the center of the room or on their cots, which are lined up around the large, simple room.

The 15 program members are a relatively quiet bunch, continually getting to know each other through conversations as new men filter in and old ones leave. A range of ages and ethnic groups are represented. The most prevalent trait is actually the number of ex-tech workers who were lost in the sea of downsizing and company closures that began over a year ago.


Loss of a spouse

Greg Hernandez, 60, is a soft-spoken man. Sitting slightly hunched over—most likely from his years of remodeling homes—he wears red tinted glasses to shade his eyes. He has only been in the program for three weeks, his "first and only time," he says.

Nearly three months ago Hernandez was traveling with his wife of eight years from their home in Omaha, Neb., to Merced, where his mother lived. When the two hit Laramie, Wyo., the fan belt broke on their car. Stranded for three hours in the freezing cold with no blankets before help could arrive, the cold penetrated his wife's lungs. She died one week later from a severe case of pneumonia. Hernandez physically made it to California, but, as he says, his mind didn't.

"I just went crazy. I spent seven weeks going out of my mind, feeling sorry for myself." Hernandez drank through his money, then some of his brother's money. "I lied and used my family," Hernandez says, relating the days when he went from hotel room to hotel room, then bus depots, carrying one suitcase that was a mix of his clothing and his wife's, and drinking.

Eventually Hernandez found his way to Montgomery Street, where an InnVision shelter is located. "I was too cold, too sick and too weak to make it to the shelter," he says. Instead, Hernandez slept under a nearby tree. He had previously slept in public places, but staying outside was too much for him.

"I was so embarrassed," he says, but the next day he made it to the shelter, where he ate, showered and slept in a bed for the first time in weeks.

"I realized that nothing I was doing was going to bring my wife back. I've never been in this situation before; I've never been down like this before," Hernandez says. "I was ashamed of where I had put myself."

Photograph by George Sakkestad After a full day of searching for work, Greg Hernandez takes the evening off to eat dinner and relax with fellow program members and church volunteers.

"This has helped a lot. I wish there were more people like this, because the world is hurting ... there is not enough space to house the homeless," he says. "I appreciate this very much. It is a love and kindness I can never repay."


'Homeless by choice'

Freddie Peña, 42, has been in the program since Oct. 1. With a husky build and upbeat personality, Peña explains that he has actually known about Community Inns for quite some time. He used to be a sponsor for Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, driving participants to their meetings, where he would see people from other programs, such as the one he is currently in, using the facility.

Although Peña used to be an alcoholic and narcotic addict, he is not at Prince of Peace because of it. He has been clean and sober since 1986 and held a job at a phone company for 18 years, until 1996. Since that time, he has "taken hit-and-miss jobs, but not enough to keep stable."

Peña was able to stay at a friend's house for several years, but once that came to an end, he was on the street. "I always knew where to eat, though," he says, relaying that past community service had made him savvy about homeless services.

To avoid sleeping outside, Peña did what many homeless do—ride the 22 bus line, from Eastridge to Menlo Park, all night long. Other times he would sleep at the Caltrans station.

After several years of floating through jobs and sleeping in public, Peña decided to find a program. "There was a lot of drama," Peña says about common homeless sleeping grounds, such as the Caltrans station and bus lines. "There is a lot of wheeling and dealing and scamming to make ends meet. The homeless will challenge you for stupid things."

Although Peña disliked the lifestyle, he openly admits that he is "homeless by choice." He says he appreciates the program and worked for a bit last month holding signs up on the street for businesses. Lately, however, he has been spending most of his time at the San José State University library, browsing and honing his chess skills. "I procrastinate a lot," he says. "I love to do nothing ... that's the sad part in all of this."


Out of work

Daniel Lukin, 36, was born in Germany but has spent nearly his entire life in the Bay Area. A program member since mid-September, Lukin is lean, with a youthful face and hesitant manner. A previous computer technology and customer service employee, Lukin has worked for Borland, Kensington Electronics and Santa Cruz Electronics. His last job—for DIRECTV Broadband—ended in 2001.

Although he never went to college, he has attended several computer training programs and felt confident in his customer service skills and clean résumé. However, in a tightened tech market, it wasn't enough.

Once out of work, he was soon unable to pay rent at the Victorian boardinghouse where he lived, and he "ended up selling everything," except his car. Lukin stayed on the couch of a friend's house in Santa Cruz for several months but had to leave once the relationship became strained.

After investigating polls about top cities to live in within the United States, Lukin discovered San Jose was No. 280 and Dallas was No. 2. With $280 in his pocket, he embarked on an adventure. But he only made it as far as Phoenix before running out of money. He lived there for four months, alternately sleeping in his car and in the park next to a city library.

"There were tons of homeless there," he says. The library was a homeless hot spot, where there were "lots of disheveled people on drugs ... a lot of convenience sex." Lukin never fit quite in. He says he always kept himself clean, as he does now in slim jeans and a black windbreaker. "They always thought I was a narc and wondered why I was there," he says. "I had to be on guard all the time so I wouldn't get mugged and have my car keys stolen."

However, Lukin points out that there are "bad types and good types everywhere." He mentions that there was camaraderie but also that many people had been homeless for years and lost all hope. "A lot of people lose hope. I think the biggest problem is that we punish ourselves a lot."

Lukin says he was "really depressed" when he had to leave his friend's house and enter homelessness. "Some things are easier than committing suicide—things like going to Arizona."

Lukin had been receiving meals through homeless programs and using the library to trace resources. He eventually landed a job as a telemarketer, but it only lasted two weeks. "I cashed my check and came back to San Jose," he says, "because nothing is like the Bay Area." It was at the downtown San Jose library that he learned about InnVision.

He is enthusiastic about the program, which has helped him refine his résumé, provided money for new clothes and supplied "fantastic food."

"I am grateful that this program is here. It has given me the time I needed to get things settled," he says. "The secret of this program is learning to help each other, because there are times when you just can't do something without a friend."


On the job injury

Jake Brown, 54, has been in the program since Aug. 22. He has been able to stay longer in the program due to special medical needs that include knee rehabilitation and diabetes. A sincere, easygoing man, Brown seems to take life's twists and turns in stride.

While working on production of a film in Mexico three years ago, Brown fell 42 feet when a large steel platform collapsed. His right leg suffered some damage, but his left leg had to be entirely rebuilt. The director provided him with $28,000; however, it was not enough to cover post-surgery needs for the uninsured independent contractor. After paying portions of his medical bills, Brown had no savings and no home.

A year later, his other knee was destroyed by a moving accident that pinned his leg under a piece of furniture. Brown now has nearly identical scars on each knee that run several inches long and are at least an inch thick.

"Homelessness had never been a thought," Brown says, explaining that he used to work as a director for an outreach organization in Georgia. "I am guilty as anyone, though—I could have dealt with my insurance better," he says. But he is quick to point out that "people still have no idea how homelessness functions. People always think homelessness is the person's fault. Sometimes it is, but sometimes it is not."

Brown is presently caught in a Catch-22 of sorts. He still has one more year of knee rehab to go, and, as such, is unable to work the 40 hours per week needed to apply for transitional housing. He is from New York, so he is void from petitioning for California disability payments, and federal disability payments could take nearly two years to attain—enough time to put him back on the streets.

"For people who are not as understanding of how the world works as I am, they can't escape. I have skills, so I will figure it out," he says confidently. "You have to try to not let the frustration level take you out. You see a lot of that here. It's not much fun being out here, when you're trying to get your head up."

Brown does make some money while in the program. He is working again as an independent contractor, although it is not in film but in music, where he originally started.

After graduating from Stanford with a music degree, Brown pursued music but was soon turned off because, for him, "music is about the music, not just a product." He then worked as a production manager and road manager for the next 20 years before switching to film, "the next logical step."

Brown tutors students in the cello, guitar, bass instruments and sometimes strings. His favorite style to teach and play is "delta blues." He is hoping to revive his career as soon as he can take care of his legs.

Brown has encountered a certain amount of confusion as a result of his presence in the program. He says people are "baffled" by him because he does not fit into any niches. "My situation comes out of a health issue only. I am not a drug addict or alcoholic, and I'm not stupid."

Health has become a major issue for Brown as he has spent time in the program. As an unofficial homeless advocate, Brown has shopped the programs in the area and believes many are lacking the necessary training in diabetic and hypertension conditions, as well as dental and preventative care.

"The programs address a lot of the issues but not all of them," he says. "God bless 'em, they put a roof over my head, and I'm grateful. But I still see what needs to be done."

Brown believes that "education is always the key" to any homeless person making it back. Although he admits it's scary to climb back from the fall out, he seems to have a fair amount of optimism for the future. "I will weather this," he says calmly, "I just want my life back."


Used to be homeless

Overseeing the project at the churches is program manager Richard Gamble. A program participant himself six years back, Gamble is an enthusiastic, welcoming person who is open about his difficult past. "I never thought I had the heart to do this," he says. "Adapting to work was not easy, but now I really think this is my calling."

Gamble used to be homeless and an addict before coming to InnVision on a court order. After completing one of the men's programs, he started working the front desk and was eventually asked to take his current position. Gamble now stays with the men five nights a week, working during the day at the downtown shelter to recruit new program members.

Photograph by George Sakkestad Program manager Richard Gamble is a former Community Inns participant.

Through his dedication in time and energy to the program, it is obvious that Gamble has an intense passion for helping the men. He talks with them openly about his past in order to foster understanding between the group and their director. "We are all one family, and we all need to have respect and compassion for each other. I let them know my history so they know where I'm coming from. I am just like them, I am no better—I just have a job to do."

Gamble says one of the best aspects of the job is when he has an unexpected encounter with a former attendee who now has a job and maybe even has reunited with his family.

"It is an honor for me to be doing this kind of a job. I never expected something like this," he says. "Out there, in my old life, I was dying. Now, I am actually living."