from Diversion, 12-99

Angels of the Inner City

By Janna L. Graber

What a difference ten years can make. Driving through Denver’s lower district – or LoDo, as the locals call it – it’s easy to see that this city has been through an economic revival over the last decade. Money is everywhere – from the upscale restaurants to the highly sought after downtown lofts.

 But as I drive further north, just a few blocks from the shiny windows full of trendy clothing, things begin to change. The houses seem run-down, windows are boarded up, and the homeless push shopping carts full of questionable treasures to destinations unknown. This is the part of Denver that the world forgot.

The neighborhood of Five Points sits smack in the middle of this economic wasteland. Once filled with gentrified families, the area now grapples with poverty, drugs, gangs, and crime.  It is a neighborhood many Coloradans avoid.

Yet this is the district into which Dr. Bob Williams and Dr. Duane Claassen have poured their lives. Since 1983 the tag-teaming physicians have each donated 20 hours a week to the Inner City Health Center, a facility they founded for the underprivileged. The clinic has continued to grow, and now serves more than 14,000 patients a year, thanks to its 21 paid staffers and more than 40 volunteers (8 physicians, 7 dentist, and upwards of 25 nurses).

Although both doctors originally set out to help the poor, they claim that working in the neighborhood has changed both of their lives – for the better.

Twenty years ago, Dr. Williams wasn’t thinking about Five Points. After graduating from the Inversity of Colorado Medical Schoo, working as a flight surgeon for the army, and completing a residency in Phoenix, he was finally living the American dream in the suburbs. He had a lovely home, a wonderful wife and family and a thriving practice in Lakewood, Colorado.

But after seven years of private practice, Williams began to feel restless. He started noticing the needs of the impoverished residents in Denver’s inner city. It struck him as painfully odd that these people, surrounded by some of the best medical facilities in the world, lacked access to even the most basic health care. 

Two books helped push Dr. Williams in a new direction. “We read Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger, by Ron Sider” says Jan, who was working as a family therapist at the time. “That book was life-changing. It made us realize how much we have and that there are so many people in the world don’t have what they need. Bob and I looked at each other after reading it. We had skills that we could give others.”

The second influential book, Williams says, was Let Justice Roll Down by John Perkins. The book discussed reconciliation between the races, something the Williams’ are both passionate about.

With a renewed outlook, the couple began looking for ways to put their strong Christian faith into action. Because Williams had done several previous short-term medical mission trips to India, Liberia, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic, they even considered going abroad. But the  couple enjoyed living in Colorado.

They decided to stay put and together resolved to do something to fill Denver’s health care crisis. After much discussion, the pair came up with a workable plan: Williams would donate 20 hours a week to a clinic designed to serve the working poor. To provide an income, he would continue working half time at his private practice in the suburbs. Jan would oversee all the administrative duties.

There was only one problem: Williams needed another doctor with the same vision to make it happen.

A chance meeting with Dr. Duane Claassen at a medical convention in 1981 solved that problem. Over dinner, Claassen and his wife, Marjanne, listened as Williams outlined his idea.  The rural Mississippi physician liked what he heard and, two years later, would pack up his family and move to Denver.

In an effort to identify with his urban patients, Claassen and his family chose to live in northwest Denver. It was quite a change for Claassen’s three daughters, now ages 24, 22, and 19. They attended inner city schools, and were often in the minority.

“This was a positive experience for my girls,” says Claassen. “Now the kids are comfortable in cross-cultural relationships. They have a degree of street smarts.  Two have experienced racism themselves. While it was painful at the time, it’s given them a sensitivity to those kinds of issues.”  

Before the clinic even opened its doors, Claassen and Williams spent almost a year studying the needs of the inner city. “We couldn’t just walk into the area and say ‘Here’s what we’re doing,’” says Jan. “We met with folks from the community to ask their advice.”

When the clinic opened in December of 1983, it was initially met with skepticism. It took almost a year for the residents in Five Points to trust the two white doctors and their efforts.

“At first our cars were broken into often,” Jan recalls, “but that hasn’t happened for a long time. The neighbors look out for us now.” 

Before the clinic even opened its doors, Claassen and Williams spent almost a year studying the needs of the inner city. “We couldn’t just walk into the area and say ‘Here’s what we’re doing,’” says Jan. “We met with folks from the community to ask their advice.”

When the clinic opened in December of 1983, it was initially met with skepticism. It took almost a year for the residents in Five Points to trust the two white doctors and their efforts.

“At first our cars were broken into often,” Jan recalls, “but that hasn’t happened for a long time. The neighbors look out for us now.” 

The clinic had been open just a year when Bob and Jan Williams sold their suburban home, boat, airplane and truck and moved to the inner city.  The couple’s three grown children applauded their decision. Others questioned the wisdom of this plan, and wondered about their safety.

Today, 58-year-old Williams says many of those fears are unfounded, and that inner-city living has its benefits. “We lived 11 years in the inner city (the couple just bought a home for their future retirement in northwest Denver), and we enjoyed the interracial part of our neighborhood. We got to know our neighbors better than we ever did in the suburbs.”  Indeed it was tougher for Dr. Williams, an avid water-skier, to adjust to life without a boat than to become comfortable in his urban environs (he ultimately wound up buying another boat).

As Williams and Claassen have become entrenched in the community, so , too, has the Inner City Health Clinic. The waiting room is filled and the receptionists are busy as I walk in the door. (The clinic is committed to training and employing people from the neighborhood.)  The furnishings are sparse, but professional looking. Children play in dress-up clothes in the pediatric wing, while a very-pregnant Spanish-speaking patient arranges her next prenatal appointment. Many of these families have been coming to the clinic for fifteen years.

“We try to treat the whole family,” says Jan, the executive director. “Patients come see us again and again. We treat them with respect. They know they’re valued.” 

The clinic operates on a sliding fee schedule, depending on the size of a family and its income. Even though fees are significantly less than a normal practice, the clinic still only collects $0.30 on the dollar. 

“The main purpose for a fee schedule is that we don’t want to foster a dependency,” says Williams, who was named 1992 Colorado Family Physician of the Year. “We want patients to take responsibility for their health care to the extent they can. On the other hand, if someone really can’t pay, we’ll just write if off.” 

On this particular morning, Dr. Claassen has just finished up a morning of seeing patients. He’ll soon make the 20-minute drive to the duo’s private practice in Lakewood, where he’ll spend the afternoon seeing a mostly-insured patient base.  

The Inner City Health Clinic and the doctors’ suburban practice do seem quite different, Claassen admits as he scribbles notes in charts before heading out the door.  

“The suburban practice is not so colorful,” says Claassen, “and that’s something I miss. I appreciate the racial mix and being involved with people who aren’t just like me. But in many ways, the lives and needs of both sets of patients are the same.” 

Claassen, 50, grew up on a ranch in California. After attending UCLA School of Medicine, Claassen did his residency at General Hospital Ventura County. From there he went on to a family practice in the tiny town of New Hebron, Mississippi.

Claassen loves living near the Rocky Mountains now, where he can snowshoe, kayak, or cross-country ski. Clearly a people-person, Claassen chose to enter medicine because it was a “great opportunity to interact with people.”

“On a good day, I have the sense that this is what I was meant to do. On a bad day, I wonder if I bit off more than I can chew!” he says, laughing.

Although the two doctors form a tenacious team, they are true opposites: In Dr. Claassen’s words, “I’m the heart and Bob is the head. We complement each other. He has the ability to analyze. His efficiency is a marked advantage.” 

Dr. Williams, who has just come in for the afternoon shift at the downtown clinic, agrees:  “His strengths are empathy and caring. Mine are organizational skills, and efficient medical care. It would be a lot easier to work with somebody who was like me, because we sometimes rub each other the wrong way. But for the good of the practice we bring different gifts.”