After finishing an apartment inspection on a typical workday, I saw a man sitting on the curb as I left the building. I noticed he was wearing a Vietnam War Veteran hat. Being a veteran myself, I like to say hello whenever I meet a veteran, and thank them for their service to this country. He was looking pretty down and dejected, but I thought I would try to get a hello back.
I said, “Hello, and how’s it going?”
He responded, “What so good about today? It’s like any other miserable day. I am hungry, need a beer, and have no home.”
“That’s not good,” I replied. “Maybe you could go to the Salvation Army and get a hot meal today.”
“Where is that?” he asked. “I just got here from Portland, where I lost it all.” I gave him the address, and he proceeded to tell me that he has lost his home, his job of 20 years, and he didn’t have anything worth a sh*t anymore. He had suffered a terrible leg injury as a forklift driver, and after rehab, he was unable to do his job. They had to terminate his employment. His money ran out, and he started drinking. “I feel like a country song!” he joked. I laughed, and he smiled.
After a minute of chit-chat, he said to me: “You will not change my mind.”
I asked him if he was in trouble or thinking of harming himself. He told me it was none of my business and asked me to leave.
I said I would not leave if he planned to hurt himself. He tried to say that suicide is not anyone’s business but his, but I told him I am a vet, and anyone who served is my brother, and I will stay with him—even someone I just met.
He started to cry and said he needed help, but he had nowhere to go and nobody to call.
I said, “Hold on—I know people who care.” I reached out to a case manager at the VA in Vancouver and told her about the situation. She talked him down off the ledge, and then she picked him up and got him the help he needed.
With the support of his case manager, he entered rehab, and then he was referred to HOSWWA’s Veteran Integration Program. He enrolled in Rent Well classes, opened a new checking account, and finally received the disability rating he deserved for his war injuries.
A year later, I went out to do a routine inspection for a new tenant. I didn’t recognize him at first, but he recognized me: It was the same veteran I met on the curb that day, and today, I was inspecting his new home. He hugged me, and he told me the day I met him was going to be his last day, because he was going to be one of the 33 veterans who commit suicide every day.
The man standing before me was clean and sober. He’s been fitted with a new prosthetic leg. Most importantly, he’s housed. He says without the VA, HOSWWA, and everyone’s combined efforts to help him “get it together,” he wouldn’t be here today. This man came very close to being a statistic. Now, his mission is to pay it forward—to do for others what was done for him.