Columnist Susan Snyder: A crisis difficult to identify

Friday, Dec. 6, 2002 | 4:06 a.m.

For almost a week, his name was John Doe.

He was a homeless man found dead in a storm drain Monday. Authorities believe he was among a small group of people who sought refuge in a wash that sheltered them from the cold and society's view.

His death spurred Las Vegas Valley politicians, government officials and social-service workers into front-page debates over emergency shelters. Yet, no one even knew his name.

We hardly ever know their names. When did they stop being homeless people and become simply, "the homeless"?

In 18 years as Clark County's coroner, Ron Flud has seen hundreds of John and Jane Does lie unnamed and unclaimed in the cold confines of his office.

Finding a name for those who have little else is part science and part luck. Friends of homeless victims typically know only a first name or street nickname, Flud said. They might know the name of a hometown or relative.

"But most of the time they don't know. They're not very open about those things," Flud said. "Nobody cares."

By Friday morning, Flud was hopeful that fingerprints on file at Henderson and Metro police departments would identify the drowned man known on the street only as "Red." But leads narrow considerably for people who have never been arrested or investigated.

"Once that happens, we're shooting in the dark," Flud said.

Dental records and DNA only work when there's a tentative idea of who the person is. There is no national dental repository. Officials need a possible name, hometown and dentist's name.

"People watch TV shows like 'CSI,' and they think we have this magical computer we feed stuff into and make identifications," he said. "But it doesn't work that way."

Full-body X-rays show old broken bones that might reveal local hospital records listing a relative's name. But homeless people don't always seek medical care, Flud said.

"Red" had a bullet lodged just above his right knee.

"But he probably never got treatment for that," Flud said.

Coroner's workers file all of the information they come up with into a national crime reporting database, hoping for a match on a missing or wanted person's case elsewhere. But these often are people no one misses.

"These are people who have elected to drop out of society," Flud said. "They're estranged from their families. No one reports them missing."

After 30 days most Jane and John Does are turned over to Clark County Social Services, which arranges burial at Las Vegas' Woodlawn Cemetery. The bodies are buried rather than cremated because a family member might turn up and want to move it, Flud said.

Others will remain lost and forgotten, even in death.

"We identify 99 percent of all cases," Flud said. "But that 1 percent, well, when you're talking about 8,500 (total) cases a year, you're still talking about a lot of people."

Voters overwhelmingly defeated a November ballot initiative that would have provided steady funding to programs for homeless people -- people who we'll never know.

Eight bodies were delivered to Flud's office before 9 a.m. Friday.

Four arrived without names.