Photographs by Jeff Fusco

The Long Road Home

Less than a year ago the city unveiled a plan to end homelessness in 10 years. But with service cutbacks and no provisions for the possibility of a new influx of homeless Iraq war veterans, could a crisis be far off?

by Cassidy Hartmann

When attorney Michael Taub walks through its doors on a glossy April morning, he's quickly accosted by prospective clients-men familiar from street corners and stairwells, with scruffy chins and wobbly gaits.

They approach him eagerly but also with doubt. Taub, a lawyer for the nonprofit Homeless Advocacy Project (HAP), has come this morning to provide free legal services to the center's many patrons. Most of them are wary of false promises. They've been disappointed before.

By 9 a.m., 11 men and one woman have signed up to speak with Taub, who's become known at the center and beyond as a savior to homeless veterans in need. Over the last three years 33-year-old Taub has represented approximately 107 veterans seeking Veterans Administration (VA) and Social Security benefits, among other things. He's lost only one case.

Taub reads aloud the first name on the list to a group of about 25 men watching TV in the lounge. Some of them arrived this morning with legal questions. Many came just for a warm breakfast and a place to clean up. Nearly all live in a shelter or on the street.

A blue-eyed man with a graying beard walks slowly over to Taub's corner of the room, wearing a U.S. Army veteran hat, a T-shirt and camouflage pants. After little more than a greeting he pulls up his shirt to reveal a thick scar 10 inches long, traversing the left side of his ribcage.

"I had a lung operation," he says, his free hand trembling around a paper coffee cup. "They said they found chemicals in my lungs ... "

Upon more questioning from Taub, he explains his whole history: A Vietnam-era veteran, he became addicted to painkillers in '76 after suffering a knee injury while in the service. Other problems followed: hepatitis C, substance abuse and a DUI. He gets partial VA disability benefits, but has been sleeping on park benches and doorsteps in Philadelphia for the last several months.

Taub listens carefully and determines the man has a criminal matter that needs to be cleared up before he can get financial assistance. He refers the man to the public defender's office and provides him with his business card should he need additional help.

"Feel free to call me anytime," he says.

The man is grateful for the personal attention, but clearly frustrated by a system that hasn't been able to get him off the street.

"We didn't know anything about benefits," he says of his release from the military following Vietnam. "We were just kids comin' out."

Taub calls the next man in line.

Purple heart: Perimeter program director Marsha Four frets about an influx of homeless veterans on Philly's streets.

The Perimeter program began in the spring of 2000 with two grant sources: a VA homeless grant per diem and a grant from the city's Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD). A year later the center received a $250,000 homeless veteran reintegration grant (HVRP) from the Department of Labor, which allowed its directors to expand their programs, bringing in Michael Taub to provide legal services, as well as job developers, case workers and other trained professionals.

In six years the Perimeter has served around 3,200 veterans facing homelessness in Philadelphia, some of whom come from as far as California and South Carolina to take advantage of the unique services it provides. The center takes a comprehensive approach to homeless assistance, offering vets food, showers, clothing, haircuts and laundry access as well as residential and job placement, group discussions, medical assessments, classes, legal counselors and access to onsite VA representatives five days a week.

On any given day 50 to 100 veterans visit the Perimeter. Nearly 60 percent of them served in or just after Vietnam.

But these numbers could soon be changing.

Last year the center's HVRP grant was marked for cutting. It had paid Taub's salary as well as those of six or seven other crucial employees who were subsequently laid off.

"Our staff has been stretched very thin," says Edward Lowry, executive director of the Multi-Service Center. "We have people who were doing other jobs or worked in other programs now picking up the slack from the loss of manpower we suffered."

On top of that, last summer the Perimeter was notified-as were 15 other programs citywide-the city would no longer consider supportive services programs for renewal of HUD funding. In order to stay competitive on the national playing field for federal HUD dollars, the city will now fund only programs that directly provide permanent housing, which means the Perimeter's $315,000 a year will be redirected to other non-veteran-specific housing programs.

"We've had to make some difficult decisions to ensure we continue to get funded," says Rob Hess, former deputy managing director of Adult Services in Philadelphia, the organization that provided the HUD grant. "We're working hard to find other funding services, without success up until now, unfortunately. The reality is we all are subject to the new federal rules and funding cuts. That's life at the moment."

Fifty percent of the Perimeter's funding stream will disappear come December.

The cutback announcement also meant no future salary for Michael Taub, but fundraising efforts and a recent profile in The Philadelphia Inquirer allowed HAP to pull together his yearly $45,000 for 2005 from private donations.

Unfortunately, it seems, there aren't many organizations able to step in and pick up the tab. Despite aggressive searches, neither the Perimeter nor HAP has found reliable sources of alternative funding.

"I'm not sure the city is evaluating what the loss of all these supportive services programs will do to the social services agencies and systems in the city," stresses Marsha Four, the Perimeter's program director. "All the people we see won't be coming to the supportive services programs any longer. They'll be back in the community."

In the case of the Perimeter's clients, that could mean back on the street-where a 2005 Inquirer article put the city's number of homeless veterans between 750 and 2,500.

Which brings up the question, if budget cuts threaten to curtail the efforts of the city's most comprehensive service provider for existing homeless veterans (who make up nearly one-third of the nation's total homeless population), what'll happen when a new wave of veterans emerges from Afghanistan and Iraq?

On the case: Attorney Michael Taub has represented more than 100 veterans seeking VA and Social Security benefits.

More than a million Americans have circulated through Iraq since the war began in 2003. Already some of them are seeking homeless support services, even though homelessness typically doesn't occur for years after returning home. But how many new homeless vets should we expect? And more important, will the city-and the nation-be ready for them?

"The city and state are definitely not prepared for the influx of veterans that are coming in with very unique problems," says Lowry. "And the federal government, which is the usual provider, is struggling to get a handle on what the needs are." "I don't know how the VA is going to handle the flood of veterans who return," agrees Michael Taub, "because it's obviously having a hard time keeping up with the veterans who are here now."

An Army report estimates that 30 percent of soldiers returning from Iraq are now reporting symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) or other mental health issues. (Ten percent of Vietnam veterans reported symptoms.) The increase is likely due to the decreased stigma surrounding mental illness as well as the unpredictable and gruesome nature of the Iraq war.

PTSD, a psychiatric disorder often characterized by flashbacks and nightmares, and accompanied by depression or substance abuse problems, is strongly correlated with homelessness in existing veterans. According to the nonprofit National Coalition for Homeless Veterans (NCHV), nearly half of current homeless vets suffer from mental illness or substance abuse.

And although the VA has made a significant effort over the last year to step up outreach and overall services to soldiers during and after their time in the military, it now reaches only 25 percent of the estimated 400,000 homeless veterans in need over any given year (which is a 5 percent improvement from recent years).

"That's great and that's progress, but it also underscores the need for community-based organizations to help fill the void," says John Driscoll, a spokesperson for the NCHV. "There are a lot more access points now where veterans can get help and counseling and referral services. We know there's going to be a significant number of vets who are going to need assistance. Whether that ultimately means they're going to be at risk for homelessness, we can't say."

Part of the uncertainty lies in the delay that occurs between veterans returning home and their seeking homeless services. Driscoll says that with Vietnam veterans, it took an average of eight to 12 years.

But he also points out: "The nation is more sensitized to the fact that combat veterans need assistance. It's not the same kind of negative perspective the country once had, like in the Vietnam era. We think the access will be easier. The systems are in place that have proven effective. That's what we hope will decrease the likelihood of veterans becoming homeless."

That may be true, but the numbers already beginning to trickle in raise concerns. A recent study by the U.S. Department of Labor Veterans Employment Training Service found 15 to 20 percent of Persian Gulf vets between ages 20 and 24 are unemployed, compared to 4.5 percent of their civilian counterparts.

There are myriad reasons why: combat-related stress, injuries, anxiety. Some are simply taking time to readjust, and others are going back to school. In addition, a larger percentage of veterans from the Iraq war were drawn from the National Guard and Army reserves, which means many are older, and more likely to be married and have children.

"We're dealing with a whole different category of vets than we've had since probably World War II," says Lowry.

"When you first get out, you have physical problems, behavioral health problems," he says. "You survive, but it's like doggy paddling in the ocean. And then all these things, if not addressed, they start to pull you under. That's when the homelessness comes about."

According to most recent estimates, that progression has already run its course for some new vets. With only 20 percent of NCHV chapters responding to a survey conducted by the organization last year, 400 Iraq war veterans have received homeless services from either the NCHV or the VA. Without the tallies from 80 percent of NCHV's 250 member organizations in 47 states, the actual number is likely higher.

Considering the number of veterans yet to emerge from the war and Pennsylvania's high numbers of National Guard and reserve members, it seems a crisis could be looming.

"Many of those who've served in Iraq and Afghanistan are still in uniform," says Marsha Four. "There may be some time, but they'll be seeking care and services. So there'll be a new generation of veterans. It's a matter of when they'll hit the streets."

The good fight: Marine Corps veteran Melvyn Baynard battled alcoholism after returning from Vietnam. He now gets help from Joe Rossi (background) and attorney Michael Taub.

For five years Melvyn Baynard, 64, lived in a box under the overpass at 23rd and Market streets. A Marine Corps veteran, Baynard served between 1960 and 1967, including a combat tour in Vietnam. After the war, he says, he had symptoms of PTSD and knee problems, but was turned down three times for disability payments from the VA when he applied on his own.

For a brief time Baynard worked as a manager at the Wal-Mart in the Franklin Mills Mall, but he began abusing alcohol soon after starting the job.

"I was functioning and would go to work every day, but then I'd just come home at night and drink," he says. "I drank to the point that I'd pass out in the streets. I passed out one night, and when I woke up someone had beat the mess out of me, and I didn't have any recollection of that."

After the incident Baynard sought help from the VA, which sent him to a rehab center for drugs and alcohol in Lionsville, N.J., for six months. After he was released, he tried to go back to work but quickly started drinking again.

"I lost my apartment. I lost my job," he says. "I just hit total rock bottom and wound up on the street."

Baynard began visiting the Perimeter in 2001, and stopped in about once or twice a week for the next three years. It was there, in 2003, that he met Michael Taub, who listened to his story and told him he was still entitled to benefits.

"He was the major shot in the arm because he kept giving me hope," says Baynard. "When you're homeless and keep getting frustrated, you feel like there's no hope. You need someone to give you that extra little boost."

Taub got Baynard's Social Security benefits turned on and won him 100 percent disability benefits from the VA. Baynard was also able to have his right knee replaced, and Taub is now working on a proposal to help him with his left one, which he now supports with a knee brace and a cane.

"It's very difficult dealing with the VA without a lawyer," says Baynard from his $860-a-month apartment in South Philadelphia. "Without those services, and if there hadn't been Michael, I probably would still be homeless, because it's a mindset. He came to visit me while I was in the hospital. It's helped me tremendously to know I don't have to wind up back on the streets."

Rallying the troops: Multi-Service Center executive director Edward Lowry laments a staff stretched too thing.

In January 2005 the NCHV posted an article on its website stating, "there are enough studies, historical data and present-day indicators to conclude the nation is woefully unprepared for the increased demand for homeless veteran services the 'War on Terror' will generate."

Since that time there's little doubt that conditions for the VA-the nation's largest integrated network of homeless assistance programs-have improved. In February President Bush announced he'd seek an $80.6 billion VA budget for next year-a 12 percent increase-with $100 million of it going toward mental health services for veterans returning from Iraq and Afghanistan.

And since 2004 more than 100 outreach counselors have been hired to encourage veterans to use vet centers that have been erected around the country to teach them about VA services and benefits, and coordinate efforts with family assistance centers and the military.

Locally, this past March the VA issued two $400,000 grants for homeless veterans shelters in Philadelphia, adding a total of 41 beds in two buildings operated by Impact Services Corporation and Project HOME.

Yes, there's progress. But many outside the VA say it's not nearly enough.

On second thought: Dr. Jon Bjornson was an Army psychiatrist in Vietnam. He later joined the antiwar movement.

"The VA doesn't have adequate funding to deal with a million-plus vets-that's the bottom line," says Amadee Braxton, coordinator and fundraiser for the Philadelphia chapter of the group Iraq Veterans Against the War (IVAW). "I think the staff of the VA, the frontline workers in the VA vet centers, are trying to be sensitive to this new wave of veterans coming back, but they're still dealing with Vietnam vets."

Braxton says her organization, which has members in 37 states, is already encountering Iraq veterans facing homelessness. She mentions one young vet from Seattle who's living in his car, and another with severe PTSD whose family of five was evicted from its home.

"He's calling us, asking what to do," she says. "He's acting erratically. He says his wife is getting ready to leave him and his children are afraid of him."

Braxton adds, "For many of them it's an economic struggle as well as an emotional struggle to put their lives back together. Most people who join the military in the first place are joining for economic reasons. It's a lot of pressure, and I think homelessness will be a continuation of that."

Dr. Jon Bjornson was an Army psychiatrist in Vietnam. When he returned in 1965, he became involved with the antiwar movement, and in the late '60s he ran a PTSD treatment program for veterans serving time at Graterford Prison, less than an hour's drive west of Philadelphia.

Now retired, Bjornson can only speculate on the current state of the VA, but he predicts the number of homeless veterans created in the aftermath of the war in Iraq will echo that of this country's last major military catastrophe.

"I'd anticipate the number of homeless is going to be large, very similar to Vietnam," he says. "The Iraq vets are in the same kind of war. There are insurgents and a lot of atrocities, a lot of killing of innocent people. When you see one of your buddies killed by one of these IEDs, that makes you pretty angry. You're out to get revenge. Then afterward you have to deal with it.

"But that's down the road," he adds. "Initially these guys will come back, and if they're really mentally disturbed, they'll start to drift away from their families, and they'll have no place to go. They'll end up on the streets because they're too dysfunctional to get employment."

Bjornson acknowledges the importance of community-based veterans' services that encourage interpersonal relationships between vets, particularly in the treatment of PTSD-a form of therapy the NCHV also cites as the most successful in treating mental health problems for homeless vets.

"You get these people who don't trust anybody," he explains, "who aren't very good about taking care of themselves, and they develop a relationship with one particular group. There are a lot of veterans' self-help groups, but there are very few places able to take care of homeless vets."

In Philadelphia one of those few places is the Perimeter, which maintains a cooperative relationship with the VA (a necessity in the world of veterans' services) in addition to providing the accessible personal attention many homeless vets require to get off the street for good.

It's also, thanks to its partnership with the Homeless Advocacy Project, one of the only places in the country that provides legal services and representation for homeless vets.

"The VA very much needs a partnership in the community," says Four. "Many veterans aren't comfortable going to the medical center, so they come here."

Last October the city unveiled its plan to end homelessness in 10 years, identifying $10 million in resources to fund a variety of programs, including the construction of four safe-haven houses that'll focus on people with substance abuse problems and mental illness.

But nowhere in the city's plan is there any mention of the potential for new Iraq war veterans to care for-a segment of the homeless population that demands a unique combination of services.

"It's almost asinine when you think about it," says Lowry. "We have our young men and women and reservists over there in significant numbers, which we haven't had since World War II. You'd think our elected officials and people involved in these programs would be fighting hard to bring in and create additional funds. They want money for all these particular groups, and vets have never been mentioned. It's embarrassing.

"If we didn't learn anything from Vietnam, we should've learned we're going to pay one way or another for not taking care of our veterans up front. What we're looking for in the veterans' community in Philadelphia is a hero."

Joe Hatcherwas stationed in Ad Dawr, Iraq, just south of Tikrit, between February 2004 and March 2005. While there, he "scraped dead bodies off the pavement with a shovel, threw them in trash bags and left them on the side of the road."

A 25-year-old from San Diego, Hatcher returned home last spring and took the first job he could find-working as a cashier at a 7-Eleven.

"It was the easiest job I could get," he says. "There aren't enough jobs for veterans on the market right now. The recruiters promise training and job placement, and none of that's actually provided."

Hatcher soon began having trouble at work.

"I had flashbacks. I have trouble dealing with public situations, high-traffic jobs where you see a lot of people."

He stopped showing up for work and sought help from the VA in San Diego, which informed him the paperwork he needed in order to receive services was still at the U.S. military base in Landstuhl, Germany, where he was sent before returning from Iraq to the United States.

Hatcher explains that his service was involuntarily extended past his termination date, so when his unit finally made it to Germany, "we were pretty much railroaded out as fast as possible.

"A lot of us didn't go through the ACAP [Army Career and Alumni Program] process, which is the civilian training reintegration. Most of us didn't get that. Most of us didn't get much in the way of job placement or job offerings either."

Hatcher went on unemployment, but his checks recently ran out. Desperate and still waiting to be able to apply for benefits from the VA, he moved to Colorado Springs, Colo., where he had some friends, and began bouncing from couch to couch, living out of a backpack.

He's attempting to get a disability rating based on his symptoms of PTSD, but it'll be months, maybe years, before he'll see any benefits-if they come at all.

Hatcher's current plan is to head to Oregon, where a buddy said he could get a job as a fireman for the summer. But when he arrives, he'll have nowhere to stay.

He talks heatedly about other Iraq veterans he knows who are also homeless but are too embarrassed to talk about their situation. He says there'll be more struggling vets like him for decades in the wake of this war.

"Whenever someone goes through a conflict, they're going to have some sort of mental trauma, and they're going to have to deal with it one way or another," he says, anger rising in his throat. "Some people will get the help they need, and some people won't."

Cassidy Hartmann (chartmann@philadelphiaweekly.com) has written frequently on Iraq war-related issues.

Documenting the New Postwar Veterans

Docu-dramatist: Dan Lohaus began his quest with a question about Vietnam vets.

Four years ago, when Dan Lohaus decided to make a documentary about homeless Vietnam veterans, he began traveling around the country, trying to understand why so many of them had wound up on the street.

He found a generation of soldiers abandoned by their government, men and women who'd watched the last 30 years of their lives go by from wheelchairs, under bridges or from the dark recesses of their broken minds. He also heard a persistent warning from the Vietnam vets: "Keep an eye on the kids coming home from Iraq. They're gonna end up on the street too."

"And it was true," says Lohaus, 35. "Ten months after the war started I began to see articles, and then it occurred to me the film had to be about history repeating itself."

When Lohaus met Herold Noel, a homeless Iraq veteran with a young son and PTSD who was living in his car in Brooklyn, he knew he'd found his film's centerpiece. Noel was part of the Army's 3rd Infantry Division 7th Cavalry, which delivered fuel to the first wave of soldiers to enter Iraq in the March 2003 invasion. He ended up on the street after he was unable to hold down a job and was deemed unqualified for disability from the Veterans Administration.

The 70-minute doc, titled When I Came Home, chronicles Noel's struggles to find housing for himself and his young son and to readjust to a society that seems to have no place for him.

"When I was working on the film, I'd tell people what it was about, and they'd immediately assume I was talking about homeless vets from the first Gulf War," says Lohaus. "Everyone kept saying, ‘How can this be possible? They're not even home yet.'"

When I Came Home debuted two weeks ago at the Tribeca Film Festival and picked up first-place honors in the documentary category. Though When I Came Home doesn't yet have a distributor, Lohaus hopes to bring it to Philadelphia in the near future.

"What I'm hoping for is that some kind of leadership will come out of Washington," he says. "We need to get some legislation on the table that would provide a year's worth of rent for our troops. They need a year to transition, and they don't need the extra stress of possibly becoming homeless as they're trying to reintegrate into society."