Every day you can spot multiple homeless Vietnam Veterans, but we choose to not see them. Many just need a lift out of the hole. Been there, so this is what I do.

I have a story for you — one I never expected to tell. But I need your help. Not for me, but for someone who truly deserves a hand.

I’ll start with context by confession. I regularly work with homeless men — especially veterans — to find stability and plan for the future. Been at it all my adult life. I find working with individuals increases the likelihood of lasting change. I have never shared that before, but now you know how we got here.

Welcome to “The circus that never ends.”

It’s a story about Daniel Owens — one of too many homeless Vietnam Veterans that are stuck on the streets.

I try to be strategic when getting involved. You need to be able to commit and not waver. I wasn’t ready to help anyone when we met. I’m too busy growing my business. But Daniel radiates personality, he’s a Vietnam Veteran, and when I saw him, he was shrouded by death. I could not let a war veteran die on the street without honor. No Vet should end up in a pauper’s grave.

We discussed his declining health and death. After some tough but honest conversation, he asked if I would help him to the end. Daniel’s medical prognosis is unclear, because indigent healthcare is akin to putting out little fires until a big one kills you. I know he has cancer, among other significant issues, but no prognosis. Sensing time was short, I gave him my word. I would help him from that day until the last day.

It wasn’t always gloomy. We had fun lunches together. I enjoyed handing out copies of a US Supreme Court ruling that the homeless cannot be criminally punished for sleeping on public property. The police are targeting them pretty bad. Despite all my worrying, my steady presence seemed comforting. Thank God for a poker face.

Then one day, he was gone, and I expected the worst. He eventually appeared again after a stint at a hospital. I was reading his discharge papers when reality began to set in. Besides stabilizing him using his intake form, they did nothing. No tests and no referrals. Hell, they hassled him for taking a bed.

Then I saw his prescriptions. They had given Daniel a fist full of life-improving medications…for someone with $600 a month. The hospital staff never bothered to discuss the drugs they proscribed — not the interactions of these heavy drugs, nor that these (life-saving) drugs can be heavily discounted.

They didn’t expect Daniel to fill them. Actually, they just did not care.

In time, I got the drugs discounted to about $80. (Walmart should be applauded for their deep discount list — like seriously) And on the way to the pharmacy I began matching the ‘scripts to his ailments. I suspected change was coming with the help of a little modern chemistry.

 Except no one bothered to authorize the ‘scripts. They never intended for him to get this far. Daniel was defeated. I was wrapping duct tape around my head to prevent an explosion.

I could hear the organ grinder starting up with that loopy circus tune. Welcome to the circus that never ends. Live, die, whatever — you have no money to spend.

Clowns might swap a big nose for a nurse’s scrubs or the cubicle fashion of a bureaucrat — clowns they remain.

It dawned on me that Death might be stalking him because those tasked with helping — wouldn’t. Well, I can’t be half-pregnant, so we returned the next day and finally got some drugs.

Now, I am only an amateur psychoanalyst and armchair brain surgeon enthusiast, but it was clear he couldn’t start these meds on the street. They were heavy duty. Thankfully, a couple of church-affiliated people had reserved a hotel room for a couple days. They had done this separate from our quixotic adventure, but their timing was a miracle.

When I saw Daniel again after a few days, he was a new man. His friends bought him some clothes, and I could tell the meds had changed the game. But when your in the circus, with every success reveals another set of problems. Stabilizing Daniel’s short-term health would have been impossible if he was alone, but with help it was easy. Yet he was still dangerously exposed. This was way bigger than what I signed on for and the circus was just getting started.

On cue, temperatures hit 95 and then 102 degrees in the following days — early June. The summer is going to be a killer — quite literally. And as I bring this story to the present — we continue to have days at 103 degrees that feel like 115.

He’s had to be taken to the emergency room t̶w̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶r̶e̶e̶…four more times due to the weather. I have bargained with and even threatened restaurant managers to not throw him out in the heat. (I can buy one thing and work all day, but he gets tossed after an hour) The few people actively helping Daniel are doing all they can.

We tried to apply for various assistance programs. Everything is a roadblock for the homeless. It might as well be Mt Everest when people treat him like a nuisance. But when I walk in the door with my happy face on, all of a sudden people remember how to do their job. Still, at every step, he needed paperwork for this or a permanent address for that. Happen to have your tax returns on you, Daniel? How else are you gonna prove how poor are?

I was dropping Daniel off one night and feeling grim. I made a cynical joke about needing more friends. He responded by informing me that he had a friend back in his hometown who was willing to help him if he could get to Maine. The homeless often live minute-to-minute; not really thinking about financial projections. Daniel said he couldn’t ask me for that much money. Laughingly I informed him that his tiny band of fans and I would be investing far more to keep him here week-to-week. Staring at a record-setting summer — it was a no-brainer.

And there it was. Understand, in that moment I was facing the reality of failing my word and failing Daniel. Things were very dark— and then God delivered a Hail Mary. I had a plan.

In short order, we confirmed that his friend is willing and able to assist him. We have already contacted the VA hospital, and they set him up with a private general practitioner to manage his various health issues. He will be seen immediately upon his arrival. Once he has his VA paperwork, getting all the available benefits will be a breeze. It’s just a different dimension up there.

In Maine, he has a real shot at living. There is no doubt about it — we have to get him on a bus ASAP.

Our last hurdle is cost. I know we are close to tapped out between myself and a couple others. Everything costs money, feels like a crisis, and is well-timed for maximum pain. From food and weather to prescriptions and a broken cell phone — the people involved have done so much. Time after time, someone stepped in the gap just once more.

But the clock on Daniel’s health is ticking. So I’m asking….

WILL YOU HELP WRITE A HAPPY ENDING TO THIS STORY? WE’VE MADE IT EASY JUST CHECK OUT THE DETAILS BELOW.

Words fail in these situations. I cannot relate the emotional stress and feeling of helplessness these guys experience. For the last couple of months I have experienced that same rollercoaster. Working with the homeless has a lot of bad endings. But not this time. We as a citizenry really have failed the Vietnam generation. I see the guilt they carry and its unreal. But right now we have a chance to do some real good and have a positive impact.

For those who know me, I wouldn’t be making this request if I wasn’t fully committed. I just can’t do it alone. I am here on bended knee on his behalf. Every donation goes to saving a good man, a war veteran, and someone who’s earned a helping hand.

A small donation to save a life. Simple math.

Disclaimer: Working with the homeless is hard. After years of neglect, problems are complex, including potential addictions that could make them dangerous. You could get hurt or hurt others. Remember, a drowning man will drown you too and they  won’t even know it happened. If you want to get involved, it’s best to contact a non-profit or shoot me an email.