Krugers find worthy cause in Safe Place

Fricken' Christmas. That's how Callyce Carroll remembers it. Just another chilly, miserable, pointless day of sleeping outside. One time it actually snowed. Fricken' winter.

"Horrible," Carroll said. "It was so cold. All those memories are bad. I've tried pushing them back ... it sucked."

Things are better now.

Mostly, warmer.

It was late afternoon last week when Barb Kruger drove to a strip mall along Maryland Parkway and pulled up to a place as unremarkable on the outside as it is special on the inside. She began unloading boxes of shoes. Some days she brings clothes. Other days socks. Always, hope and encouragement.

It's important to know that when you awake today to presents and happiness with family and friends, more than 2,000 known unaccompanied minors are somewhere in the valley looking for no more of a gift than shelter. There are probably thousands more. Couch surfers. Kids who move from one place to the next, who try to blend in and disappear to survive, who view the streets as a better alternative to the foster care system.

Who are often scared out of their minds.

Today is when the spirit of giving should prevail over all things. For many homeless youth in Las Vegas ages 18 and younger, it's just 24 more hours of despair.

People are trying to change that, people like UNLV basketball coach Lon Kruger and his wife, people with the influence and status to make a difference and the desire and commitment to see it through.

Coaches of recognized programs have the same opportunity wherever they live, able to choose from an endless list of charities seeking help. Many embrace the chance anonymously. Some exploit it for publicity. Others treat it as they might a summer camp -- show up the first day, get some face time, hit the golf course.

Kruger is the guy who walked into a Safe Place for the Nevada Partnership for Homeless Youth one day, offered a bag full of donations and left without seeking any form of thanks. The person accepting gifts didn't recognize him. A few homeless kids did. The door closed and they began jumping up and down and screaming.

That's how it began.

With the coach writing checks and inviting homeless youth to play pick-up games with UNLV players for hours. With his wife becoming a board of directors member. With both going on the radio and helping raise $8,000 for meals during the winter. With them inviting some of the children home for the kind of Thanksgiving feast such youth only dream about on those nights the wind really gets howling and every inch of their body seems frozen.

"You look at our (two) kids, who have had every benefit possible -- a warm home, a loving family around them -- and it makes you take a closer look at kids who don't have that," Barb Kruger said. "(They) are all still good, solid kids who fell through the cracks for one reason or another. They want to make their lives worthwhile. They want to become good, productive members of society. All they need is a some help."

You can't assign the same attributes to homeless youth as you might the adult population sleeping on the streets, a faction dominated by substance-abuse issues. Methamphetamine addicts mostly. Homeless kids are often merely the result of such neglect, of physical and sexual mistreatment.

But the law thankfully changed in 2001, when shelters could begin serving unaccompanied youth without parental consent. When a child could place a phone call and be picked up and taken to a Safe Place to have a hot meal and take a shower and by seen by a doctor and possibly helped placed with extended family or someone willing to help.

What many don't know: The Herbst family has spearheaded the movement locally, both with major annual donations and by making each of their Terribles locations emergency shelters that are equipped to accept and care for homeless youth. The local transit system has also trained its drivers to transport such children to the nearest shelter. There are constant fund-raising efforts. Money trees. Walk-in donations and those via the Internet.

Then there is the coach.

Kruger is sometimes tougher to gauge than the thoughts of a Buckingham Palace guard. He is more cautious than blunt publicly, a quality undoubtedly shaped by his Midwest roots and a profession that is more scrutinized than your typical politician's voting record.

But in a basketball town where a season like last -- 30 wins and a Sweet 16 appearance -- affords a guy the lion's share of communal acceptance whether he gives back or not, Kruger and his wife have quietly and yet determinedly made a difference in the lives of countless young people.

You just don't hear them talking about it, is all.

"To have a man like Coach Kruger and Mrs. Kruger do all they do -- always dropping into the center, staying on everyone about going to school, taking a genuine interest, it means everything," said Carroll, now 20 and working at one of the centers while also looking after a younger brother. "Being homeless is lonely, scary. Life seems pointless. No one trusts you. You have no guardian. You can't get any identification, which means you can't get a job.

"But because of places like this and people like the Krugers, a day like Christmas is now a good time for a lot of us. I want to be a firefighter one day, but more than that, I dream of owning my own home.

"You know, just living that average life."

The one with a roof.

For information on the Nevada Partnership for Homeless Youth, call (866)-U-ARE-SAFE (827-3723).

Ed Graney can be reached at 383-4618 or egraney@reviewjournal.com.