A difficult first year for Bluebird, Boulder’s newest attempt to shelter its most vulnerable 

At 9:33 a.m. on Jan. 29, Boulder police received their 362nd call in a year to Bluebird, a permanent supportive housing complex. 

“There’s rumors of an overdose floating around the building,” the caller said. “She’s being treated with Narcan and she’s unconscious.”

Twenty minutes later, a few residents stood outside, watching as paramedics loaded their neighbor into an ambulance. 

“I hate seeing that,” one said. Scenes like this have become familiar. 

Bluebird, a 40-unit apartment complex at 2445 30th Street, opened just over a year ago as a milestone in Boulder’s efforts to house its most vulnerable homeless residents. As the city’s second permanent supportive housing development, it was designed to provide stability for people with disabilities, mental illness or substance use disorders. Unlike traditional affordable housing, it offers on-site support and treatment referrals, based on the idea that stability increases engagement in services.

The approach aims to provide a foundation for recovery, but the reality has proven more complicated.

In 2024, police were called to Bluebird 323 times. The Boulder County Drug Task Force has conducted multiple narcotics investigations at the complex. Among some in Boulder’s unhoused community, Bluebird has earned the nickname “Blue Central” — a place where fentanyl circulates. Some claim a woman found dead on a nearby path in December actually overdosed inside Bluebird and was moved outside after her death.

“It seems to me, for many people, it’s perpetuating street behavior inside,” said Jen Livovich, who founded the homelessness outreach nonprofit Streetscape and is formerly homeless. “My whole thing is: Is it actually improving people’s lives inside?”

As police calls mount, Bluebird has reignited debate over Boulder’s housing-first approach, a nationally recognized strategy that prioritizes housing without preconditions like sobriety or treatment. The idea is that housing provides the stability necessary for recovery. But many Bluebird residents either aren’t ready to seek help or struggle to access it. In Colorado, where the need for mental health and substance use treatment far outpaces availability, finding a spot in a program can be nearly impossible.

Mike Block, CEO of All Roads — Boulder’s largest homeless shelter and Bluebird’s administrator — said frequent police calls are expected in the early years of a program like this, as dozens of people exit homelessness at once. He pointed to Lee Hill, Boulder’s first permanent supportive housing development, which faced similar struggles when it opened in 2014. A decade later, its call volume is four calls per unit per year, compared to Bluebird’s current eight.

“We hear a narrative that, ‘Oh, you’re just warehousing addicts,’” Block said. He pushes back against that view, arguing that housed people also struggle with addiction, but they aren’t required to be in recovery to keep their homes. While some critics of housing-first policies believe people should be sober or actively engaged in treatment before qualifying for subsidized housing, Block disagrees.

 “A vast majority of people who suffer with substance abuse are housed,” Block said. “Why would we assume that someone has to be in recovery in order to qualify for housing resources, when that’s not true for anyone else in our communities?”

He believes Bluebird is making a difference. Residents have access to full-time case managers who help them secure government benefits, manage medications, buy groceries and seek healthcare. “Bluebird creates an opportunity to provide housing for our community’s neediest neighbors,” Block said. “The people who are facing the biggest challenges, who are the least resourced, the most desperate.”

‘Blue Central’: A troubled reputation 

Among Boulder’s homeless population, Bluebird has developed a troubled reputation.

A man who identified himself as Double D calls it “Blue Central” because of the prevalence of fentanyl use — a powerful opioid often referred to as “blues” due to the color of the pill. Livovich has heard from the homeless community that fentanyl is being sold out of the building.

“There’s an ambulance there almost every two days. Somebody OD’d on blues,” Double D said. 

Double D and others claim that a homeless woman found dead on Goose Creek Path in December actually died inside Bluebird and was moved outside by a resident. Her family requested that she not be identified while investigations into her cause of death continue. 

Double D alleges that a Bluebird resident placed the woman’s body in a shopping cart, covered it with a blanket and wheeled her out, leaving her on the path. He said hiding people in shopping carts is a common way to sneak friends into the building. “They had to break her legs to get her out,” he claimed. 

Boulder Reporting Lab could not confirm this account, as the woman’s final autopsy report is pending. 

Block said he has no information about her death. He said that while security does not search residents’ carts or bags, staff will intervene if they suspect someone is bringing in unauthorized guests. Residents caught doing so receive warnings, which can lead to eviction. If staff suspects someone is dealing drugs, they contact Bluebird’s designated police liaison to investigate. They call the police if they see a resident using drugs, which is a lease violation.

Livovich believes other deaths in the area may be linked to drug use at Bluebird. On Jan. 2, 63-year-old Gerhard Schulz was found dead near Bluebird, at 30th Street and Mapleton Avenue. Prior to the construction of the Bluebird, encampments were common in the area nearby along the Goose Creek path. 

“I think Bluebird should be shut down,” Double D said. “Because it promotes people using.”

Block acknowledged people will die in their programs. “We should not have a standard of, ‘People have died at Bluebird, therefore it’s a failure.’” Last year, 47 homeless or formerly homeless people died in Boulder. In 2023, that number was 54. Causes ranged from liver disease and pneumonia to fentanyl and meth intoxication, drowning, homicide and traffic injuries.

“It’s a public health crisis,” Block said. “These people are suffering from unimaginable challenges, and that number reflects that.” He said Bluebird exists, in part, to address the tragic 51-year life expectancy of chronically homeless people, giving them “an opportunity to do something about that tragedy.”

A debate over how to measure success

Boulder’s housing-first model is widely considered best practice but has come under scrutiny as fentanyl addiction rises, fueling a disproportionate number of deaths among Boulder’s homeless population. 

Some, like Livovich, advocate for a “treatment-first” approach, which would require sobriety or participation in recovery programs in order to receive housing. She believes that without mandatory substance use treatment, long-term progress is unlikely. 

“We’re essentially taking them from their community, putting them somewhere else, and then saying, ‘We’re here if you want to talk to us. But guess what, you don’t have to,’” Livovich said of Bluebird, which the city contributed a $3 million grant to help fund. “So people aren’t necessarily leaving the park behind.”

While both sides agree that housing and treatment work best together, they define success differently. 

Housing-first proponents see housing as the primary goal — stability that prevents people from returning to homelessness. Treatment-first supporters prioritize recovery and employment outcomes.

“The premise [of housing first] is that housing is a basic human right. Success means to us that they’re not returning to homelessness,” Block said. “It does not mean that their lives are perfect.” 

By that measure, the model appears to work. Since 2014, All Roads has housed 335 people, and fewer than 10% have returned to homelessness or jail, according to the organization. 

Bluebird has seen some success in recovery and employment, according to All Roads. It reports that 71% of its permanent supportive housing residents engage in work, education or volunteering within their first year. At Bluebird, 10 residents have accessed substance use services, which could mean anything from meeting with a case manager to starting recovery. A behavioral health specialist is available twice a week, and case managers can connect residents to in-patient programs like Tribe sober housing. 

“We can’t force anybody into treatment,” Block said. Since Bluebird must prioritize the most at-risk people to receive state funding — many of whom struggle with addiction — requiring sobriety would mean, “We wouldn’t be able to meet our goals.” 

He also denies there is data supporting a sobriety requirement as an effective treatment for those most in need. “If that worked, we would do it.”

Colorado’s treatment gap

Colorado’s shortage of mental health and substance use treatment complicates the city’s housing-first approach. The state ranks among the bottom 15 nationally for access to substance use treatment, leaving many without the services they need. Many low-income people struggle to access treatment until it is mandated through the criminal justice system — and even then, they lose support as soon as their sentence is complete.

At the same time, funding shortfalls have forced local officials to remove mental and behavioral health services from a “high-utilizers” program that aimed to provide both housing and wraparound services for people who cycle between homelessness, jail and emergency rooms, according to the city.

Limited resources remain one of the biggest barriers to recovery, Block said. “If you don’t have a resource available immediately, sometimes the opportunity passes,” he said.

Still, Block sees Bluebird as a step in the right direction. “Thank God people are not dying under a bridge,” he said. “We’re doing so much better than our surrounding communities. For all of our flaws, there’s so much more opportunity here because of Bluebird.”