27 July 2026
Few knew him personally, but perhaps many tens of thousands knew his face. For at least 20 years, the sidewalk along the north side of Coal just west of Broadway was his living room, and by dint of his impressive seniority there, he became a fixture of the intersection and, while he was at it, a sort of Downtown icon. People passing by would expect him to be there, notice when he wasn’t, and start asking around if the absence persisted. But until five weeks ago, he always eventually reappeared.
Derek Eugene Madison died on the night of June 20-21, apparently in his sleep, according to his friend Perfecto Aragon, who also spent that night at Coal and Broadway. Aragon said he and others called 911 on the morning of June 21 after trying unsuccessfully to wake Madison up. APD Valley Area Commander José Sanchez confirmed that the department responded to the scene that day. Chris Ramirez, a spokesman with the Office of the Medical Investigator, said that Madison’s body had been transported there but that the official cause of death will not be known for several weeks. Madison was 68, having celebrated a birthday on May 7.
Friends and acquaintances alike described him as an easygoing and socially oriented man who would practically hold court on his favorite corner.
“He was so friendly and would always make sure I said ‘hi,'” said Gwen Colonel, a South Broadway resident who would see Madison while out for walks to Downtown core coffee shops and other destinations.
“He was just a kind soul,” added Michelle Chrisman, who now lives in Taos but befriended Madison when she lived in the North Valley. Chrisman would take Madison on occasional outings to Savers, the Frontier, Whole Foods, and various Asian restaurants. A few times, he even visited her house.
“He liked to sit on my back porch and smoke,” Chrisman said. “Really a mellow guy.”
“He just had this friendly old-guy look in his eyes,” added Darryl DeLoach, the coordinator of the Downtown Public Safety Echo. “Reminded me of people I knew in the South.”
Madison enjoyed listening to music, at one point on some sort of portable player he had acquired. Chrisman said he was a particular fan of soul and R&B.
“I think that his great escape was music,” she added.
Madison rarely ventured far from his Coal Avenue sidewalk, but he did frequent the Good Shepherd Center (Iron and Second) for meals, clothing, and to meet with his friends, said Brother Charles Schreiner, the operations director there. The Family Dollar on Broadway just south of Coal was also a frequent stop, Aragon said, as was the Sol Supermarket’s liquor store before it closed in 2024. Madison would sleep either on the sidewalk or in other small pockets of space under and around the Coal Overpass, he added.
His health afflictions were serious and numerous. Chrisman said he had diabetes and that his feet in particular were in very rough shape (the two conditions are often connected). While none of Madison’s friends or acquaintances interviewed for this story were aware of a formal psychiatric diagnosis, several said that while he was often perfectly lucid, he could also carry on long animated conversations with people who weren’t there. Aragon said that he did methamphetamine and “blues,” a slang term often used to refer to fentanyl pills.
Why he remained homeless for all those years is a question that vexed some who were close to him. Susan Herber, a Downtown core resident, said she had heard that Madison was placed into housing at least once but that it didn’t take. Chrisman said she tried in vain for a time to get him an ID but couldn’t make the bureaucracy work. DeLoach said he personally tried to arrange for housing and other services but that Madison declined the offer, something DeLoach chalked up to some mix of a diminished ability to make decisions and perhaps a longstanding distrust of the system he would have had to cooperate with.
Public figure though he was, much about Madison is either not known or only vaguely known. When asked questions, he defaulted to very general terms that sometimes trended toward the evasive.
“He just never went into detail,” said Rick Caldwell, a Downtown core resident and Herber’s husband.
Madison told a few people that he was from the South Side of Chicago and spoke of having several siblings there, but the reason why he came to Albuquerque in the first place is not clear. (It was likewise not clear how to contact Madison’s next of kin, but in addition to normal distribution channels, this story is being published on the DAN website in hopes that they will see it one day and get in touch.)
Just how long Madison had lived at Coal and Broadway is also open to debate. Caldwell and Herber reported seeing him there first in 2004 or 2005. Colonel said Madison told her in 2012 that he had been there for 10 years, which, if true, would put his tenure at just under 25 years. His first of at least five appearances on Google Street View was in 2011.
Even Madison’s name is a bit of a question mark. Many knew him as Dexter rather than Derek, and he may have also identified himself as Anthony on at least one occasion.
“From what I understand he would tell people different names all the time,” DeLoach said.
(To the extent he discussed his age, however, it seems to have remained consistent.)
But while some key details may never be nailed down, Madison’s friends are focused on what counted.
“He was a friendly, familiar face that I saw every day,” Colonel said. “I’m going to miss the guy.”