Jesse Garza

Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

As New Year’s Eve revelers raised a toast to the new year, a man was freezing to death outside a liquor store on Milwaukee’s south side.

Dressed in layers of ragged jackets, wearing just one shoe and lying in an alcove amid trash bags full of empty cans and an almost-empty bottle of vodka, he might have looked like another pile of debris to passing motorists.

But to anyone walking in the -7 degree wind chill outside the Walker's Point Plaza, in the 600 block of S. 1st St., he would have been hard to miss.

Jeff Kunkel was walking Charlie, his German shepherd border collie mix, when he saw the man shortly after dawn New Year’s Day. Twelve hours later, on Charlie's evening walk, the man was still there.

“He was in the exact same spot. He hadn’t moved a muscle,” Kunkel said. “I called 911.”

The man was the first of at least 44 people, mostly men in their 40s and 50s, to die homeless in Milwaukee County from Jan. 1, 2015, to Dec. 21, 2016, when the frozen body of Phillip Benham, 57, was found inside his snow-covered truck in Oak Creek.

Eighteen died indoors — sleeping on a friend’s sofa, lying in a homeless shelter, drifting away in a hospital after being found on a sidewalk.

The other 26 died on the street, taking their last breaths the same way they lived: in virtual, silent, invisible anonymity. Their bodies were found under bridges, in alleyways or abandoned vehicles.

The man found two years ago in an alcove by Kunkel and his dog? “Death was pronounced at 2049 hours (8:49 p.m.) on scene,” forensic investigator Jenni Penn wrote in a Milwaukee County medical examiner’s report. "Immediate cause of death: hypothermia due to environmental cold exposure.”

“The general public doesn’t realize, and to some extent neither do service providers, that homelessness is a really an issue of life or death,” says Joe Volk, executive director of the Wisconsin Coalition Against Homelessness. “Homelessness can cause death, and I don’t think we always see it in those stark terms.”

'Haunted' by death

The body of 86-year-old Edward F. Rozich was frozen solid in a seated position when he was found behind the steering wheel of a 1977 International Harvester Scout on March 8, 2015, on the lot of Schetter’s Automotive in Bay View.

It remained in that position when workers specializing in the transport of human remains removed it from the vehicle and placed it atop a body bag, according to a medical examiner’s report.

“The following items were identified as property related to the decedent: paper bag, wallet containing multiple cards and papers of unknown value, three baggies, Wisconsin ID card, Social Security card, two $5 bills, one $1 bill, two pair pants, one belt, three sweatshirts, one pair socks, one pair shoes, one winter style hat, one whistle (left on clothing).”

“Immediate cause of death: chronic congestive heart failure.”

For more than a year after Rozich’s death, business owner Ken Schetter kept the “papers of unknown value” in a tin inside his office.

“I just couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them,” said Schetter.

He met Rozich about four years ago after a vehicle on the lot rolled down a hill when someone inside had kicked it out of gear.

“I knew then that someone had been sleeping inside the cars,” said Schetter.

He found Rozich.

Rather than call police, Schetter bought the old man a cup of coffee.

“I said, 'Ed, these are customer’s cars. You can’t be sleeping in them,' ” he recalled.

Two years later, customer Jason Henn asked Schetter if he could keep an old, full-size SUV on Schetter’s lot until it could be restored.

The vehicle was still on the lot one year later when Henn and his wife went to dinner at a nearby restaurant.

After dinner, Henn went to check on the vehicle and found Rozich resting inside.

“The wife said, ‘He’s not hurting anyone. He’s got nothing else. There are bigger things in life to worry about,' ” Henn remembered.

With Schetter’s consent, the couple brought Rozich blankets and pillows, and he settled into his new “home,” leaving only to forage during the day.

“We sort of just kept an eye on him,” Schetter said.

“We’d give him coffee and doughnuts, and invite him to come sit inside the office, but he was happy to stay in the Jeep.”

“Ed had a half-brother (who served) in World War II,” Schetter said. "Ed carried newspaper clippings about him. He was really proud of the fact that was his brother.”

Rozich himself was a veteran, though he seldom mentioned his own military service.

The last time Schetter saw Rozich on his lot was Thursday, March 5, 2015, when the high temperature for the day was 16 degrees and the overnight low was 3 degrees. That Friday night, the temperature dropped down to zero.

On Sunday morning, Henn decided to check on Rozich.

“Sadly, he could tell from a distance that something was wrong,” said Schetter. “It haunts us to this day.”

Schetter would go through the papers found in the vehicle, the value of which was known only to Rozich:

His baptism certificate from St. Mary Help of Christian Congregation in West Allis, dated June 1, 1929; newspaper clippings featuring his half-brother, a World War II bombardier; honorable discharge papers from the U.S. Army, 5th Armored Division, dated Nov. 10, 1951; a tax statement from the United States Railroad Pension Retirement Board for the year 2014; a letter from the Veterans Administration that included Rozich’s VA medical card.

“So many things go through your mind after the fact,” Schetter lamented. “When do you stop trying to be nice and do everything necessary to force someone to get help? If we had called police and had him arrested for trespassing, would he be safe? Is being a soft touch a bad thing?”

And then there is this: “How does a man who served his country die alone in 10-below zero weather in the front seat of a car? I feel like I could have done something, but I don’t know what.”

Though many people driven to homelessness by mental illness or addiction refuse help, others who seek help find it is not easily available, says Volk, of the Wisconsin Coalition Against Homelessness.

“I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve talked with a family member who was desperate to find help for their loved one but was unable to find it,” says Volk, who has worked and run programs for the homeless for 35 years.

“Many times the rules in place at shelters or mental health providers are there for the convenience of the institution,” he says.

“Sometimes these rules are barriers for people seeking help when they need it, or sometimes ask for it.”

Common threads

Alcoholism, substance abuse, mental illness and estrangement from family are common threads running through medical examiner’s reports on those who die homeless, written by forensic investigators combing through Social Security, law enforcement, immigration and other records in search of a next of kin.

No identification was found on the man in the alcove, the one who died on New Year's Day 2015. However, discharge papers for alcohol-related emergency room visits found in his backpack bore the name Serafin Rios-Flores, age 58.

The name was submitted to the Milwaukee Police Department Bureau of Identification, which provided the man with the ID number 524317.

On Jan. 5, 2015, the medical examiner’s office sent the Mexican Consulate in Chicago all of its information on the dead man, and on Jan. 11 an inquiry was sent to the Social Security Administration.

On Jan. 12, the office learned no Social Security number existed for Serafin Rios-Flores and that he likely was an illegal immigrant.

His fingerprints were delivered to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement on Jan. 22.

On Feb. 4, Immigration and Customs Enforcement notified Penn that the fingerprints of the man matched those of a Tornillo Rios-Flores, who was arrested at the U.S. Mexico border at Delray, Texas, and returned to Mexico in 2000.

Penn also learned that his mother was Francisca Flores, his father was Elojio Rios, and that he was born in Valle de Santiago, in the state of Guanajuato, Mexico.

Making streets home

For many people who are homeless, bridges can provide almost natural refuges.

They provide protection from the cold and bitter winds of winter, and the blistering sun of summer, as well as concealment from law enforcement and the thousands of motorists who cross them every day.

Landings beneath support beams are often wide enough for discarded mattresses, sleeping bags, coolers and backpacks; recesses under the beams serve as storage shelves for dried and canned foods and packaged snacks.

One bridge on Milwaukee’s south side is known to have sheltered almost a dozen homeless men, with photos of girlfriends and loved ones taped to graffiti-scribbled concrete walls.

Too often, for those who are homeless, bridges serve as points of departure as well.

In January 2015, Michael Edward Syncision, who had long suffered from depression and who had not seen his family for years, jumped off the James Groppi Bridge. He died 10 days later.

Later in the year, Jacob Scott Smith, 35, was found hanging beneath the freeway overpass where he lived at N. 10th and W. Michigan streets after years of suffering from AIDS, mental health issues, and alcohol and drug abuse, according to a medical examiner’s report.

In May 2015, Marcus Wilson, 51, was found dead after being bludgeoned and burned under a bridge that lies directly north of Aurora St. Luke’s Medical Center in the 2900 block of S. 27th St.

The death scene would become a respite for another homeless man, who died of heart disease while sleeping under the same bridge almost a year later in March 2016.

In his possession were 18 different prescription medications for the treatment of everything from high blood pressure to pain to anxiety.

The same man’s older brother, also homeless, died six months earlier from acute mixed drug intoxication.

Addiction problems

The resurgence of heroin use and addiction, and opioid-related deaths, have become equally evident among Milwaukee’s homeless population. The stories are numbing.

On April 6, 2015, Christopher Alan Bohl, 35, was found dead from an overdose of heroin and cocaine at a homeless encampment near W. St. Paul Ave. and the 27th St. viaduct.

“Christopher’s right sweatshirt sleeve was rolled up ... and a possible venous puncture site was noted,” according to a medical examiner's report.

On Jan. 24, 2016, nine days after her 49th birthday, Theresa M. Rick was seen panhandling outside a Pick 'n Save in Bay View shortly before she was found unconscious and kneeling “in a prayer position” in a restroom of the supermarket.

“Paramedics noticed needles on the baby changing table,” and Rick died of acute heroin intoxication two weeks later, says another report.

Shaun Edward Bartlett was a young electrical engineer with a truck, sports car and condominium before the death of his father in a car crash in 2007.

"He was never the same after that," Bartlett's mother, Barbara Blaha, recalled, describing her son's downward spiral as he sought solace in heroin. "Within a year, everything he had was gone."

On April 3, 2016, Bartlett, 34, was found dead of a drug combination that included “probable heroin” in the storage unit of an apartment building in West Allis.

"He was my only child. He was my best friend," his mother said.

Five days later, Steven Roger Wille, 41, who had a history of being bipolar and having attention deficit disorder, was found dead of a lethal combination of drugs, including heroin, in a men's room at the St. Benedict the Moor meal program April 8.

“Steven began having drug problems at the age of 12. … (His mother) stated that Steven called her six weeks ago, but she has not talked to him since,” says a medical examiner's report.

And on July 19, 2016, Crystal Annette Kasar, 46, was found dead under a bridge in the 1900 block of S. 76th St. after shooting heroin with a friend.

"Ever since she was a little girl, she always had a big heart," Kasar's mother, Rebecca Hudson, said.

Survivors struggle

Phillip Bruce Benham grew up in California, served as a Seabee in the U.S. Navy, worked in construction and as a truck driver, and eventually settled in the Milwaukee area.

"He was a great guy, a hard worker, he'd literally give you the shirt off his back," his sister Wendy Howard-Benham, of Washington, said of her baby brother "Grizz."

But "Grizz" was also an alcoholic, who died at the age of 57 of heart disease, and was found frozen in his truck Dec. 21 in Oak Creek.

"This was exactly the scenario I had hoped to avoid," said Howard-Benham, who had been trying to persuade her brother to come out west for more than a year.

For months during 2015, she had searched for him after learning that his live-in girlfriend here told him to leave because of his drinking.

When she finally did contact him, he was living out of his truck.

"Alcoholics do not have a choice in the matter," Howard-Benham said. "They do not drink because they are bad, they drink because they are in pain."

That pain was shared by Benham's family when they were notified of his death.

"My mom has dementia, so I had to tell her three times because she kept forgetting," Benham-Howard said. "I had to traumatize my mother three times."

Tragic end to search

For weeks, the family of Tanilo Serafin Rios Flores — the man who died alone in the alcove — had been desperately trying to find him.

After hearing from relatives in Mexico that his uncle had died, a nephew of Rios Flores began searching the internet for news of his death.

Finally, on Feb. 10, 2015, almost six weeks after his death, the nephew contacted forensic investigator Penn.

"We have families that haven't seen a loved one in forty years and they'll still bury them," Penn said. "To me, that's a testament to the bonds of family."

It turned out that Rios Flores was married, and his wife and children were living in Mexico, though they had not seen him in years.

According to the nephew, Rios Flores, for a time, worked as a cook and in taverns in Chicago, and developed a drinking problem before ending up in Milwaukee, and freezing to death outside the liquor store.

“Even though there are people who die homeless, there is no public outcry, no vigils, no street side memorials,” Volk says, lamenting what he calls the “violence of indifference” society inflicts on those who are homeless.

“These folks may die alone, under bridges or other places,” he says. “But there is always a family somewhere.”

With the help of the Mexican Consulate in Chicago, Rios Flores' family had his body returned to the land of his birth, far away from Walker's Point, and laid to rest.

Jesse Garza can be reached at jesse.garza@jrn.com