My story begins the day I arrived by Jeep to my infantry company in Vietnam. I was asked if I could donate blood for a fellow soldier who had been shot that day. I said, “yes,” and was told to wait in the Jeep while a telephone call was made. A few minutes later the soldier returned and thanked me for volunteering, but sadly commented that the wounded soldier had just died. All I knew about him was his nickname "Short Round." The soldier then pointed out the hooch (barrack) where I was assigned. When I entered the hooch, there were soldiers sitting on their cots smoking marijuana and drinking liquor. They asked if I wanted some, and well, I said, “yes.” They had no idea that I had never smoked marijuana or drank liquor before that day. I was just 20 years old at the time, and I continued to do drugs and alcohol until August 18, 2007—the day I found RECOVERY at a place called Samaritan Village Veterans Program here in New York City.

During my approximately 40 years of abuse and addiction I used cocaine, tried acid and all types of alcohol, and was eventually introduced to crack cocaine in 1994, when my life spiraled downward so fast I didn't realize it until I was homeless.

But first let me back up to January 1968, when I was shot in combat while serving in Vietnam. I spent eight months at Walter Reade Hospital recuperating from my wound. I received an honorable discharge in 1969 and went on to receive a B.A. degree in Business Administration and accept a wonderful job with the Department of Defense. I married and raised my loving and caring son and daughter. I had all this, but still I was convinced that I did not have a problem with drugs and alcohol. Then, around 1993, I found myself divorced with children who had grown apart from me, I could not offer them anything anyway. I turned to crack cocaine because it made me feel good—so good that I lost my job and had to move in with a brother who also had an alcohol and drug problem. I spent years doing odd jobs for cheap pay, and all I was really doing was supporting my addiction.

I continued to live from "pillar to post" until February 2007, when I had an emergency hospital visit and was informed by the doctors that I had a serious heart problem and might not make it home alive if I left the hospital. A week later, I had triple bypass surgery. Six weeks later, I was out of the hospital with no place to go but Wards Island Shelter. I was depressed, and felt that I could only turn to drugs.

And then came the miracle—a representative from Samaritan Village visited me. I chose recovery that day and have been blessed ever since. I'm retired now and still supporting myself. My children are in my life forever. And I have learned to I love myself.