May 29, 2005
By Scott Smith
The Pueblo Chieftain
They found his body on a frigid February morning.
Photo: Dean Eggebrecht enjoys a hot meal at the Pueblo Soup Kitchen in January 2004. (Chieftain File Photo/John Jaques)
He was lying on his left side, half inside and half outside a concrete culvert located just over the hill from Runyon Lake. He was wearing tennis shoes, socks, a stocking cap and several layers of clothing - pants, sweaters, shirts, jackets. No gloves. His head, beard and upper torso were blanketed with a dusting of snow.
His pockets were empty.
Cause of death: pneumonia and hypothermia. There was no alcohol in his system, just a trace of marijuana.
Dean Eggebrecht was 46 and homeless.
Near his body lay a yellowed, folded newspaper clipping, which was discovered two days later by his father and brother when they visited the culvert. It was a photo of Dean eating at the Pueblo Soup Kitchen, a poignant portrait that accompanied a story in The Pueblo Chieftain about five weeks earlier. A story that bore the headline, "Cold sends homeless inside."
The newspaper never reported Dean's death. Nothing unusual there. The lives and deaths of the homeless people who inhabit the community's periphery typically go unnoticed. Such is society's uncomfortable truce with the reality of displaced persons. At least most of society.
But in Pueblo, almost 16 months after his death, one homeless man's life is still remembered through his encounters with two local families. This is their story. And Dean's.
A CHANCE MEETING
Photo: Marge and Tom Gunter were inspired to write a book about homeless man Dean Eggebrecht. (Chieftain Photos / John Jaques)
On a late-summer day in 2003, retired dentist Tom Gunter was grocery shopping in his electric cart at Wal-Mart. He was in the produce section and paused in front of the bin of Royal Anne cherries, pondering whether to bag some up and take them back to his homebound wife, Marge.
A scruffily dressed, heavily bearded man - Dean Eggebrecht - walked past, carrying a can of food. He saw Gunter at the cherry bin, backed up and cheerily proclaimed, "Those cherries are really good. I used to pick them in Washington."
The men chatted for a few minutes. Dean said he was fixing himself a place down by Fountain Creek; proudly announced, "I ride the rails”; and said he needed to get going because his dog was waiting outside the store.
"He was brilliant," says Gunter. "He had an interesting personality. His eyes were bright."
When he returned to their North Side home, Gunter excitedly told his wife about his conversation with a really interesting homeless man.
About four months later, on Jan. 7, 2004, Gunter picked up his morning paper and was stunned by what he saw: a photo of the same homeless man on the cover of The Chieftain. The caption identified him as Dean Eggebrecht, one of about 120 people who came to the Soup Kitchen on that bitter-cold January day.
Gunter was captivated by the photo, which reminded him again about the immediate connection he'd felt with Dean that day at Wal-Mart. He decided to purchase a print of the photo from the paper, to add it to his art studio file of interesting subjects.
IN THE BEGINNING
Dean enjoyed a typical childhood in his hometown of South Elgin, Ill. Mary and Robert Eggebrecht raised three children - sons Dean and William, daughter Ellen - in prototypical Midwestern fashion, with love, lessons and discipline. They went on family vacations, often traveling around the West. Robert was a law enforcement officer, Mary was a mom.
Dean was a happy little boy, never any trouble, Mary says. He played with the other kids in the neighborhood, played on the swing set, played with toy cars in the sandbox, and he and his siblings always had pets - gerbils, hamsters, turtles.
He was a quiet youngster and an average student, Mary says: "a follower, not a leader." But he got involved in scouting - “He especially liked camping and being outdoors,” she says - and also played softball, sang in the school chorus and tried to teach himself how to play the guitar.
He was on the verge of becoming an Eagle Scout, but the requirements abruptly changed and he fell one badge short of attaining his goal.
INTERSECTING LIVES
About five weeks after Gunter purchased the photo of Dean, the phone rang. It was a newspaper employee, asking Gunter if he would mind meeting with and talking to two men who were at the front counter and had ordered a copy of the same photo. The men were Robert and William Eggebrecht, in town to identify Dean's body and to transport his ashes back home.
During their visit to the site of Dean's death, Robert and William had discovered the yellowed newspaper clipping and photo. When they visited the newspaper office, they were surprised to find out that someone else had ordered a copy; they wondered if that person could tell them something more about Dean's life and death in Pueblo.
Gunter, saddened to hear the news of Dean's death, was more than happy to meet with the Eggebrechts, although he had no information other than what he had gleaned from his brief conversation that day at Wal-Mart. They met at a local restaurant and, over a cup of coffee, Gunter learned that Dean had been on the road, alone, since he was 18.
Robert and William continued their investigation, trying to piece together exactly what Dean's existence might have been like. With help from Gunter's friend, Bud James, they were able to locate Dean's homemade shelter, a soundly engineered structure nestled in a grove of elm trees on the west bank of Fountain Creek. A few days after the Eggebrechts returned home, Gunter and James revisited the shelter.
They found an architectural marvel that was well-equipped: a foam-pad bed, a carpeted floor, jugs of water, a tin of cookies, bags of dog food. They also found painting equipment, along with contracts to do some house painting.
On the day Gunter and James visited Dean's shelter, Marge Gunter was taking a bath, with assistance from her personal-care provider, Melody Gonzales. Melody asked where Dr. Tom was. Marge told her about the saga of the homeless man. And Melody asked, "Was his name Dean?” Marge, flabbergasted, said yes.
"He was our ‘trash man,’ ” Melody said. She went on to explain how Dean had become a fixture in their neighborhood, often sorting through the trash dumpster behind their apartment complex. She also said how the man had become a friend to her 7-year-old son, Joey. A true friend.
THE PATH TO FREEDOM
Photo: Dean Eggebrecht, age 18, U.S. Army. Courtesy Photo/Mary Eggebrecht (The Pueblo Chieftain)
Dean was about 16 when his life changed. He started hanging out with a new group of friends - “crazy kids who would do nutty things,” says Mary. "And he would follow right along."
He dropped out of school, and he had a life-threatening experience. After sniffing gasoline fumes with his friends, Dean suffered cardiac arrest. They brought him back to life. But, says Mary, "He never seemed to be the same after that."
Dean joined the Army. But early in his military career, after basic training, he grew ill with a sinus infection that was so severe he had to be hospitalized. He fell behind in his military studies (communications electronics) and never caught up. He couldn't cope. They issued him an honorable discharge.
Dean returned home and fell back into his old ways, Mary says. He went on drinking binges and was disruptive to the family. Mary and Robert, concerned for their other children, gave their eldest son an ultimatum. Tough love, Mary says. He could either straighten himself out and live like a normal person; get help; or leave.
He left. His parents paid for his one-way air fare to Florida. He was 18.
AN ODD COUPLE
Melody Gonzales, a single mom with a big heart, first noticed Dean going through the trash behind the apartment complex when her son Joey was just an infant. She correctly deduced that he was in search of aluminum cans that he could recycle for money.
When she could afford it - and many times she could not - she would give Dean a dollar or two. He politely thanked her each time and continued to visit the dumpster every afternoon.
When Joey was a toddler, he would look out the window and see Dean and get excited. After a while, she began taking him with her when she gave the man a buck or a cold drink. At age 5, Joey asked his mom if he could take the man a dollar all by himself. She said yes and watched from the back window. The connection was immediate.
It became a routine: The boy taking something - money, water, food, clothing, even a special family quilt and a new duffel bag - to the homeless man. Joey just wanted to give what he could, to give with compassion, like his mom had taught him. Melody and Joey didn't know the man's real name, though. He just told Joey to call him Hobo Joe.
Joey and Hobo Joe became fast friends. They would sit on the front-porch bench and color in coloring books or just talk to each other. "For hours sometimes," Melody says. But when she asked her son what they talked about, he'd always say, "Just stuff."
Melody says she was never concerned for her son's safety.
"My son didn't see him on the outside; he saw him on the inside."
Photo: Dean Eggebrecht, age 33 (The Pueblo Chieftain)
ON THE ROAD
Nobody really knows what Dean's life on the road was like. His parents and siblings can speculate, but they rarely saw him or talked to him after he left home for good. Mary says her son always knew he was welcome to come home and visit, but rarely did. Maybe four times in the past 28 years. The last time was in 1992.
"He chose the lifestyle," Mary says. "He loved the outdoors. He loved being free."
He would call from time to time to check in. The calls were from Florida, Washington, Texas, Colorado. One time, he called to say he was on the Mississippi River, mucking out barges. He always sounded fine, Mary says: "He seemed to have everything he wanted."
Sometimes when he called, he'd put one of his homeless friends on the line. They got a kick out of being able to talk to a mom, Mary says, even if she wasn't theirs.
A PROJECT
The more the Gunters talked to Melody Gonzales about Dean, the more amazed they became by the connection. Finally, they decided to collaborate on a book about the experience - it would be a way to preserve their memories and educate the public about homeless people.
Tom talked and Marge wrote. And when they were done, the matched set of oxygen-tank-toting octogenarians had composed "A Meeting by Chance . . . ‘A Life to Remember,’ ” a modest, self-published 60-page book with a gigantic heart and soul. All proceeds from the book's sales go to Pueblo agencies that help the homeless, the Gunters say.
"I don't believe in coincidence," Tom Gunter says. "I think the whole thing was driven by a higher power.
"One time, maybe a year before I met Dean, I was driving out of the King Soopers parking lot and there was a guy standing out there with a ‘Will Work for Food’ sign, and I yelled at him, ‘Get a job.’ After I did that, I didn't feel so good about me. I think this all happened to teach me about this sort of people. They deserve respect."
Adds Marge, "It's been an enlightening experience. I hope (the book) helps people learn more about homeless people and what they're capable of - and the compassion of Pueblo's people for the homeless."
CAMPING IN COLORADO
Dean spent most of the last 15 years of his life in Colorado - one of the places the Eggebrechts visited on their family vacations. He split his time between Denver and Pueblo, but seemed to prefer Southern Colorado's milder weather.
Those who dealt with him at local homeless agencies described him as a loner. He was quiet, rarely smiled and exhibited a surly demeanor. He often traveled with a companion and sometimes had a dog with him, too.
He was no stranger to the Pueblo County Jail. Records show seven jail stays from 1996 to 2003, for everything from battery and loitering to unlawful acts in public and theft from a merchant.
LaTanya Yarbrough, a case worker at the Posada homeless agency, says her opinion of Dean changed on the day he came barging into the office and demanded someone find medical help for his friend, who was suffering from a physical emergency. "I thought he was the meanest thing ever until that day," she says. "But he showed compassion."
MY PAL JOEY
Photo: Joey Gonzales, 8, sits on the bench where he used to visit with his homeless friend, Dean Eggebrecht, aka ‘Hobo Joe.’ (The Pueblo Chieftain)
Joey Gonzales is 8 years old now, a second-grader at Heritage Elementary. He's a bright, caring, energetic kid who likes art, football, Spider-Man and eating at Red Lobster. Ask him what he liked best about the man he knew as Hobo Joe, and his answer is direct:
"I like that he had no friends and that I was his first friend."
Last Christmas, Joey received a package from Mary Eggebrecht. In it were some toy cars to play with - like the ones Dean loved to play with in the sandbox. She sent them, she says, because she appreciated the kindness Joey showed to her son.
Joey says he was sad when he found out Hobo Joe had died, but that he didn't cry: "I'm not a tearful person," he says.
But the boy says he misses Hobo Joe and still thinks about him - especially "on the day we do our trash."
And he says he'll never forget the advice given by his homeless friend.
"He said try to do what you dream," says Joey. "And that sometimes dreams come true."
These days, Joey's dream is to go to Disneyland, his mom says. He even invited Hobo Joe to come with them - “That would have been fine with me," Melody says. "But right now we don't have the money to go."
Melody says she has heard that word in the homeless community is that Dean was going to give the money he made from his painting jobs to Joey and his mom, so they could go to Disneyland.
"That really touched me," she says. "He was going to help a little boy. And we did so little for him."
Photo: Melody Gonzales (Chieftain Photo/ John Jaques)
CLOSURE
Mary and Robert Eggebrecht live in Adams, Wis., now. It's a long way from Colorado, a long way from Dean's rustic home of choice on the banks of Fountain Creek.
Mary misses her son, like she did every day after he left home.
"But we knew he wouldn't live to be an old man because of the lifestyle he chose," she says.
She remains convinced that Dean was happy with his life, that he was not mentally ill - he never showed signs of the latter, she says. And when told that the photo of him eating in the Soup Kitchen won a first-place award for Chieftain photographer John Jaques in last year's Colorado Press Association contest, she sounds like the proudest of mothers.
"I guess Dean got his 15 minutes worth of fame," she says with a gentle laugh.
The family plans on visiting Colorado sometime - maybe this summer - so they can spread Dean's ashes near the place he loved best.
"We've even thought about taking them to the top of Pikes Peak," she says.
Eventually, there will be true closure, accompanied by the comforting truth she feels about her son.
"He was happy," she says. "He just didn't want to live like the rest of the world."
"A Meeting by Chance . . . ‘A Life to Remember’ ” may be ordered from A M by C Book, P.O. Box 8444, Pueblo CO 81008. Make check or money order payable to A M by C Book; cost is $8.49 ($6.99 plus $1.50 for postage and handling).
http://www.chieftain.com/life/1117401058/1