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Bob Cote is a one-man alternative to the welfare state. Take one part Florence Nightingale, add three parts John Wayne, and one part cowboy poet, and you've got a 6-foot-3 former Golden Gloves boxer who crashed into an alcoholic gutter in 1983, had an epiphany about his wasted life on Denver's Skid Row, poured out his vodka bottle, and spent the two decades since running a shelter that turns homeless drunks and junkies into productive citizens--with no help from the federal nanny state he loudly accuses of killing addicts "on the installment plan."
His shelter or, better put, rehabilitation center has a chapel, a medical clinic, a weight room, cooking facilities, ...