Kim Driscoll is an Air Force veteran and volunteer at the Jesse Brown VA Medical Center in Chicago. She is an advocate for veterans' benefits and healthcare, holding active membership with several organizations, including the City of Chicago's Veterans Advisory Council, Veterans Strike Force (Administrative Officer), National Women Veterans United (Chaplain, Founding Member, and Past President) and the Coalition of Veterans Organizations (Member).
She holds a B.A. in Journalism from Columbia College Chicago and her published work includes: Catalyst-Chicago Magazine, Chicago Hospital News, Metro-Health Magazine, Christian Index Magazine, Echo Magazine, the Columbia Chronicle, and the Jesse Brown VA Medical Center's Patient and Employee Newsletters.
America turns its head as numbers of homeless vets continue to rise
PREFACE:
As a veteran who volunteers at a local VA hospital, I have seen first-hand the invisible battle scars that so many of our nation's heroes return home with--Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). When some of these veterans begin to experience PTSD symptoms, it is usually with no warning signs and while they are living with family members and loved ones. Because the family members are blind-sided by the veteran's behavior, they have no choice but to ask the vet to seek alternative living arrangements.
Usually untreated PTSD symptoms--paranoia, depression, and flashbacks--prevent the vet from seeking healthy alternative living arrangements, particularly if the vet happens to be unemployed. It is then that many vets become homeless--preferring to sleep in parks or their cars as an alternative to overcrowded homeless shelters.
With more and more troops returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, the face of the homeless veteran is becoming younger and younger. Meanwhile Vietnam vets, who continue to struggle for benefits, as well, have taken these "sandbox kids" under their protective arm with hopes of guiding them through a complex VA system.
This is the story of forgotten heroes who fight for tenancy in Chicago's only housing project specifically designated for homeless vets--St. Leo's Residence. The 141-unit Catholic Charities facility is located in the heart of one of the city's most crime-ridden communities, the Auburn-Gresham neighborhood.
Homeless and unemployed, vet worries VA healthcare will expire
The shy young man constantly lifts his head and drops his eyes, struggling to make eye contact. When his big, brown eyes finally lock onto their target, they reveal maturity of someone much older than 25-year-old Manuel Mora, Jr. Unlike most men his age, Manuel has experienced the horrors of watching people around him die while serving in Iraq. His eyes tell of the pain he has suffered since returning home to a life of nightmares and flashbacks.
“I was like a ticking time bomb and then I just lost it,” says the baby face Army vet who is technically homeless because after several attempts of allowing Manuel to live at home, his parents routinely put him out due to Manuel’s uncontrollable behavior.
“It turned into a complete rage mode,” Manuel says, barely above a whisper.
In what started as a typical argument between siblings, Manuel believes his mother had no choice but to send him packing when the spat escalated and he began throwing his sister’s possessions about her bedroom.
“I just flipped the room inside out, and my mom was in shock,” he says.
Homeless after “flipping out”
Manuel spent the next few weeks living with several of his friends, until the screams from his nightmares frightened them, too, and they asked him to leave. He says that during those times he slept in parks and would eventually once more show up at his parents’ door step in search of food, shelter, and someone capable of understanding his internal struggles.
“My mom always allows me to come back home—until I flip out again,” Manuel says, as if speaking to a spot on the floor.
Since returning from Iraq, Manuel has bounced between living with his friends and living at home with his family.
The shy young man, who was once considered a nerd while in high school, says he sought help at the VA hospital after his family and friends insisted that something about Manuel had changed.
“I’m nothing like I was when growing up,” Manuel says. “The military has definitely changed my personality.”
PTSD and time-limit on benefits haunt returning vets
The young vet was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and learned that his behavior was typical for someone with the illness. From the Vietnam vet to the hero returning from Iraq, homeless veterans seem to have one thing at the root of their dilemma—PTSD. The prominence of the disorder can not be overlooked when discussing the homeless vet—particularly those living with family members—because the effects make it difficult to maintain healthy relationships. In fact, a veteran with PTSD often displays episodes of erratic, and sometimes violent, behavior which can be frightening for those cohabitating with the veteran, forcing him to seek alternative living arrangements.
Along with Manuel’s diagnosis came a partial award of a VA stipend amounting to less than $500 a month. Manuel is trying to accumulate enough to rent his own place, but the process has been slow.
“I just can’t get enough [money] together for a security deposit and rent because I have to give my friends something for living at their place,” says Manuel.
He is hoping to get a job, but the anti-depressant medication he is taking for PTSD keeps him drowsy. After switching medications several times over the past year, Manuel believes he is now stabile enough for employment.
“It’s been a slow process,” he says. “I’ve been walking on eggshells because before you know it, my time will be up.”
Manuel is referring to the allotted amount of time veterans, who have served in Iraq and Afghanistan, have before losing their VA healthcare. As it stands, these returning veterans are ineligible for VA healthcare five years after discharge, unless they have been given a VA service-connected disability rating.
Manuel was discharged from the Army two years ago, and his VA disability rating is non-service connected. He is worried that in three years he will be without VA healthcare. Manuel’s concern is substantiated by the plight of the Vietnam vet, who faced decades in getting their PTSD under control.
“There are numerous vets who have suffered for many years with PTSD symptoms—nightmares, flashbacks and violent behavior—because they just didn’t know that something was wrong,” says Aaron Streeter, a Vietnam vet who works as a volunteer at a VA hospital, assisting vets with benefit information. The seasoned vet knows first-hand the difficulties of living with PTSD as he, too, suffers with the disorder.
“It is a lifelong battle. I don’t understand how the VA expects these sandbox kids [vets returning from Iraq and Afghanistan], who obviously have PTSD, to be magically healed within five years. I understand their concern,” Streeter says, referring to the returning vet’s watchful eye on the time when their VA healthcare runs out.
Young vets find comfort and understanding from Vietnam vets
Most days, Manuel hangs out at the Jesse Brown VA hospital with the Vietnam vets.
“They have taken us under their wings,” Manuel says about the bond formed between the Vietnam vet and those who have served in Iraq and Afghanistan.
“They have an understanding of what I am going through,” he says.
Today, Manuel’s plate is full. He is worrying about staying awake on his meds long enough to get a job; agitated that his VA benefits might run out before his has healed; and wondering if tonight’s round of nightmares might cause him to be kicked out onto the streets.
Homeless Vietnam vet struggles to survive Chicago winter
At 6:15 on a Tuesday morning, blowing snow reminds stinging faces that this is winter in Chicago. With six inches of snow already on the ground and another inch or two expected, most people braving the weather during this twilight hour are leaving warm homes and headed for work. Others are not so fortunate. Each morning, Franciscan House, a shelter on Chicago’s West Side, releases to the streets hundreds of homeless men and women. Among the streams of people filing zombie-like out of the shelter this morning is Bill Short, a 57-year-old Vietnam Veteran.
“It’s rough this morning,” says Short as he scans the skies through eye lashes that are quickly becoming covered with snow.
The frail veteran is headed for the VA hospital, located about a mile away in the Medical District. Many of Chicago’s homeless seek refuge at local hospitals that treat high volumes of patients, like the county hospital, where during daytime hours they can more easily blend in unnoticed. Some of Franciscan’s residents decide to forego the trek to the hospitals and instead opt for the empty field across the street. Here, flames from a 50-gallon barrel light up nameless silhouettes hovering to stay warm.
Short chooses the Jesse Brown VA Medical Center because Franciscan House counselors have directed him there for help, and because he feels veterans are entitled to VA assistance.
“It’s the least they [the VA] can do,” says Short. “But it’s a shame that after serving your country all you get is the VA police chasing you around the hospital all day.”
The VA is a popular place for homeless veterans. The Department of Veterans Affairs reports that over the course of a year 38,000 veterans are homeless in Chicago, yet there is only one housing program in the city specifically built for homeless veterans. St. Leo’s Residence, a Catholic Charities141-unit veterans’ facility in Englewood, opened last year and due to long waiting lists is difficult to access.
Short, who has been homeless for two years, is hoping to get VA benefits soon so he can obtain housing. Although he has been working as a dishwasher at Bocce’s Restaurant for three days a week, Short says he can only afford to buy himself food.
“Things were different before the factory closed,” says Short, who is referring to employment with the Zenith Corporation prior to its going out of business a few years ago. “I was an inspector for over nine years, and my home life was beautiful,” he says proudly. After losing his job, Short says he began drinking a lot.
“Then the nightmares started and my significant other put me out,” Short recalls.
The veteran says he does not blame his girlfriend for calling it quits, as he had become belligerent, behaving erratically. This is common for those suffering with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), where symptoms can lie dormant for years and then surface as a result of stressful or traumatic events. The VA reports that half of homeless vets suffer from substance abuse and mental illness.
Short has been diagnosed with PTSD by a VA doctor, but believes that treatment is not the solution for his homelessness. He has decided to wait out the arduous process for VA benefits, which could take years.
“Hurry up and wait,” Short says, as the military programmed him to be patient.
Meanwhile, he must walk the mile back to Franciscan House by 2:30 this afternoon to sign up for his bed that will not be available until 8:30 tonight.
Jesse Brown VA provides one-of-a-kind services to veterans It is 7:30 Monday morning, and people are rushing through the doors, scurrying to be on time for work and appointments. The security guard is posted up, checking ID’s. Meanwhile, the smell of freshly brewed java is irresistible for some and a line begins to form at the coffee vendor. At the end of the long corridor, five guys begin to gather and before 9:00 a.m., the group has doubled to 10, including a couple of women. Laughter and banter abound, with a mixture of sports talk and chatter about the local news. “Alright, keep it down,” someone scolds the group. “You know this is a hospital.” This is no ordinary hospital--this is the Jesse Brown VA Medical Center, nestled in the midst of the medical district on Chicago’s West Side. The group members are all U.S. veterans, including combat war vets who have served in Vietnam and Iraq. They range in age from 24 to 62 years. All are unemployed, except one who has a job elsewhere but has the day off. Five are receiving Social Security benefits or VA disability compensation. Most appear to be physically healthy; except one that is wheelchair bound. Two are homeless and have spent the previous night at a local shelter. Eight are diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), a diagnosis common to those who have served during wartime. With the exception of the homeless vets, they are all members of Veterans Strike Force—a not-for-profit organization formed eight years ago by 10 vets attending a PTSD support group.
These veterans hang out at the VA hospital nearly every day and are representative of a much larger group of vets throughout the U.S. Although Vietnam veterans comprise the majority, the presence of the young Iraqi vets is unsettling, members say.
The significance of “Strike Force” can not be overstated, as it is the only group of this type allowed to operate inside a VA hospital. Strike Force, whose motto is “Vets Helping Vets,” was created as a result ofveterans deciding that accessing the VA system was complicated and could be better simplified by those who had already experienced the challenge. Their role in the hospital has expanded over the years and involves manning an information table and assisting other vets around the VA. Most notable, however, is the outreach services they provide to fellow veterans, particularly the homeless and those who might be reluctant to see a doctor.
John Mundt, Ph.D., licensed clinical psychologist at the Jesse Brown VA Medical Center, has worked with veterans for more than 14 years and says that veterans are unique.
“Most [of the vets who visit the VA daily] need to have some connection with a community of veterans, so that they are around people who can relate to the experiences that they’ve had who understand the culture of the military,” says Dr. Mundt.
The Strike Force information table seems to be a popular spot for a variety of reasons. In the midst of several ensuing conversations, a member gives someone directions to the dental clinic, while another member assists a vet seeking housing information—the table is buzzing with action.
“Hey, man, you want some breakfast?” someone asks one of the homeless guys who is rummaging through his backpack. Another vet chimes in, “You get his breakfast and I’ll pay for the other one. The four vets head for the cafeteria.
Meanwhile, another Strike Force member notices a younger vet sitting quietly nearby.
“Nightmares?” the older vet asks.
The younger one nods, “Yes,” and the two of them step off to the side and talk for a few minutes. When they return, the older vet is saying to the younger one, “After you see your doctor, come back and hang with me today. Everything will be alright.”
The older guy is Aaron Streeter, a 60-year-old Special Forces vet, who was awarded the Purple Heart for being wounded while serving in Vietnam. He is also Strike Force's commanding officer. The highly decorated vet routinely sports a hat engraved with "LRRP," indicating the Long Range Recon Patrol unit where he earned two Bronze Stars for service above and beyond the call to duty.
"Nightmares are normal for a combat vet,” says Streeter. “That young guy just returned from Iraq and really needs to see a doctor. But he has trust issues. I told him that the doctors here are ok. I hope he comes back to hang out with us. It sounds funny, but many of us would not leave our house if we couldn’t come to the VA. PTSD vets just don’t trust anyone except other veterans.”
Trust issues are common to people with PTSD. The vets say that they feel safer around a community of people who are like them.
Dr. Mundt agrees and says, “The issue of veterans feeling safe at the VA hospital could range from the sense that they know that treatment is there if they need it; the promise of four walls and kind of being able to protect themselves from themselves; and safety in feeling understood and feeling accepted.”
Strike Force has developed into more than a veteran’s group. According to Dr. Mundt, it has transitioned into a mental health consumers group (functioning like NAMI, the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill, one of the country’s biggest lobbying groups for psychiatric patients and their families), where people with histories of trauma and depression can find structure and a purpose in what they are doing.
“The organization [Strike Force] is a place where people with severe mental illnesses can find a role in a place, can feel validated, and where people with addictions can get the right mix of limits and encouragements to get sober and stay sober,” says Dr. Mundt.
The hospital administration should receive credit, says the doctor, for nurturing the group by allowing them space for their information table, providing Strike Force an office, and for maintaining open lines of communication between veterans and the hospital.
"We are grateful for the hospital in allowing us to work with homeless vets," Streeter says. "Most homeless vets with PTSD become homeless through no fault of their own and, in most cases, they were living with relatives who just did not understand the nature of the illness."
Streeter says helping homeless veterans find permanent housing is one of the greatest challenges for Strike Force.
"Housing for homeless vets is scare to nil," says Streeter. "Other than the 141 units at St. Leo's Residence, there is no other readily accessible housing for the thousands of homeless veterans in the city of Chicago."
Gulf War vet rebuilds her life after living in car
When speaking with the confident and poised Angela Tyler, one might find it difficult to believe that she was homeless a year ago. At the age of 41, the Army retiree lost her job and apartment and, subsequently, ended up seeking shelter at her mother’s home.
After honorably serving her country, the Gulf War veteran would be home nearly 15 years before Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) symptoms began to surface, leading to significant behavioral and relationship changes.
“I would be fine and then drop into a deep depression, followed by crying spells and outbursts,” says Angela.
Angela would eventually end up sleeping in her car whenever her mother could no longer tolerate Angela’s erratic behavior.
“I think I frightened my mother,” says Angela. “None of my family members could understand what I was going through—I am not so sure that I understood what was happening.”
Angela was finally diagnosed with PTSD, three years after she first sought help from a VA clinician. As with many vets, her untreated PTSD symptoms contributed to her homelessness. Often, family members and loved ones are unequipped to deal with the personality changes associated with the illness that at times could be violent.
“These veterans [those with untreated PTSD who live with family members] are one argument away from being homeless,” says Dr. John Mundt, Ph.D., a licensed clinical psychologist who has worked with vets for nearly 15 years.
The doctor says that a traumatized person is one who has had both their sense of control and their sense of safety taken away from them, and will often “act out” on those feelings.
“I went from this mild-mannered person, to someone lashing out at family members for no reason,” says Angela.
Her family had no idea that Angela had been experiencing nightmares of being snatched from her home and thrown in the midst of a war-torn country. Stationed in Saudi Arabia during the Gulf War, Angela processed troops in and out of Kuwait, where most of the casualties occurred. She said the soldiers returning from Kuwait routinely brought back “souvenir” photos of dead troops and civilians, and the images haunt her today.
“My family tried to help me,” Angela says. “Everyone kept telling me to go and get some help.”
Although Angela’s mother would invite her to live at home time after time, she would eventually ask Angela to leave due to the vet’s unpredictable behavior.
“My PTSD symptoms had gotten to the point where I could not stand being around anyone, including my family,” the vet says.
Jobless and with no place to go, it was then that Angela would sleep in her car for the next few days. She eventually sought help at the VA and was directed to the homeless veteran program. After being on various housing waiting lists for more than a year, Angela was finally accepted into the St. Leo Residence, a Catholic Charities-owned 141-unit facility for veterans on Chicago’s South Side.
The rents are subsidized for vets with incomes and include a small number of units rent-free for those with no income. Veterans must be homeless and clean and sober to qualify for residency. St. Leo’s provides on-site counseling, employment assistance, 12-step meetings, and general aid in accessing the VA healthcare system.
A number of St. Leo vets are considered success stories, as they are now gainfully employed, attending colleges, and living clean and sober. Angela is one of St. Leo’s winners.
Since coming to St. Leo’s, Angela has stabilized her PTSD, attends Kennedy King College, and is an advocate for homeless women veterans.
“I am so grateful that I have someplace to live,” says Angela.
She spends her days studying and is an active member of National Women Veterans United, an outreach group consisting of female vets who have served from WWII to the Iraqi War.
First in nation, pilot program reintegrates vets back into society
Just blocks away from 79th and Halsted, in the heart of Chicago's Auburn-Gresham neighborhood where gun-fire and gang-banging are commonplace, sits an oasis for homeless veterans, St. Leo's Residence, a 141-unit facility equipped with counseling services, a job training office, and a computer lab.
The Catholic Charities complex includes the 141 fully furnished units, an adjacent home for disabled vets, a community-based VA clinic, and a memorial garden that houses a life-size statue of a military chaplain being embraced by Jesus the Christ. With the 6th District Police Station on the next block, the “Empowerment Zone” neighborhood gives the appearance that things are changing for the better.
But St. Leo’s is not exempt to the recent increase of violence in and around Chicago, as the Auburn-Gresham neighborhood ranks among the top most dangerous areas in the city. The police, however, have beefed up patrols near St. Leo’s and in early May 2008, held a roll call in front of the facility.
Opening in January 2007, and funded through a loan guarantee pilot program authorized by Congress, St. Leo's is based on a multi-agency, holistic model of care for veterans. It is the only housing program for veterans in the city of Chicago and the first of its type in the nation.
For veterans, St. Leo’s is the first step out of homelessness and into a more permanent lifestyle of gainful employment, continued education, and renewed family relationships.
"I am so grateful for St. Leo's," says Tyrone Pollard, a 50-year-old Gulf War Army veteran who credits the program for giving him a new life after being homeless for nearly two years.
Pollard says he was forced to live at a Chicago Christian Industrial League (CCIL) homeless shelter after becoming homeless due to drug and alcohol abuse. He says that the VA had no viable options for him.
"Today, I am clean and sober," Pollard proudly announces. He is employed as a custodian at St. Leo's and has recently moved from the veterans’ facility into his own apartment near Chicago's downtown.
St. Leo's has an aggressive social services program that emphasizes employment assistance (a full-time job counselor is on-site), help with accessing VA services and substance abuse programs, including 12-Step meetings and random drug screenings for tenants.
"Our goal is to reintegrate veterans back into society and with their families," says Danielle Gage, St. Leo's supervisor of Veterans Services. "We want our vets to learn to be happy within them selves."
Resident Lawrence Burns, a 53-year-old Vietnam vet, is taking full advantage of the services offered at St. Leo’s. He attends on-site 12-Step meetings, daily morning meditation and various recreational activities, such as art and music therapy.
"Finally, vets can get some help without feeling badly about themselves," says Burns, who found himself homeless due to substance abuse issues. He, too, is also clean and sober and works as a Parent Patrol Officer in the neighborhood.
"I am not asking for a handout--I'm just asking for my benefits for serving my country," says Burns.
Many other veterans share Burns' sentiment. With estimates of more than 38,000 homeless vets in Chicago over the course of a year, the waiting list for St. Leo's 141 apartments is a long one. Unfortunately, the future for this nation's heroes is not so bright, as there are no immediate plans for more housing like that of St. Leo's.