Ironically part of my 2015 Memorial Weekend was spent with and without a close friend and neighbor, who is also a Navy veteran. No, not that war, silly, the Gulf War … he is 28 years younger than I. Soooooo what could we possibly have in common? RR, as I’ll call him, is a technical whiz, very bright and articulate. An attractive, gay man, he is tall, a bit on the rugged side, and imposing. One of the things we have in common is an interest in technology. My adventures in Linux sparked our first conversation.
RR has an apartment down the hall from me. We live in the same LIHTC (tax credit set-aside, for anyone unfamiliar with the terminology.) He has family in Alaska’s Copper River Valley, who trace their heritage to the state’s Norwegian settlers, Lutheran, of course. He is one of the most kind, most generous and most genuine men I have ever met. He is also troubled.
There is a great deal of commentary and news surrounding veterans’ issues, I don’t know that I can add anything meaningful to the dialog. I have been on hand, however, for RR’s struggles. I do have some background for my perspective. My father was a Navy veteran of World Wars I and II, who enlisted in his late teens, and earned his commission by working his way up through the ranks. I knew little of what he had suffered, when my father retired from the Military. Nor did I entirely grasp how my parents, both orphans, had fared in military life, both managing to have what appeared outwardly, very successful lives as survivors of constant displacement, resettlement, horrors beyond my comprehension (they lived in prewar China for a decade, before my dad was ordered to duty in the Philippine Islands.)
I want people to take the initiative to find veterans who need help, veterans that are suffering and in need of assistance reintegrating from combat back into society, into normal family lives and jobs. We need to take a real 'boots on the ground' approach to helping veterans in need. ~Max Martini
I have not been surprised, but have observed closely, while the Veterans Administration did the minimum for RR. Like my parents, he’d returned home from duty in the Gulf, had begun anew, founded a cloud computing business, formed relationships. As does everyone he suffered the slings and arrows, but, somewhere along the line, it all ended in heartbreak and loss. No, I mean a shipload of loss.
When RR landed here, it was with the help of a veterans’ housing counselor and program. RR still struggled with an array of symptoms, and Denver, Colorado, has a V.A. hospital, not far from our apartment complex. It seems to me, has always seemed to me, the facility is a grand pill dispensary. My friend can access care … his physical impairment, if any, is nothing obvious. Psychiatric care, sure, if there is an emergent situation; otherwise there is a lot of jumping through hoops to access a “continuum of care,” if there could be said to be a continuum of care.
So RR has pills thrown at him. Some work, some don’t, others seem to make him worse. Ups and downs sometimes look more like episodes, exacerbated by stressful situations. Look, all I can say about us and our housing is this. It should not add to our difficulties or stress. Occasionally this is very stressful housing. This is too brief to discuss all the reasons why. Recently our investors/landlords have decided to declare us smoke-free, right down to the insides of our apartments. This called for, at least, a shallow effort to get the consensus of the tenants here. A questionnaire came to my door a couple of months ago (more or less,) asking me to opine and vote. A lifelong non-smoker, I declined to vote, and sent their document back with a note, saying I knew this had nothing to do with consensus. I said I knew this landlord, knew it would do whatever it saw fit. Over approximately 6 years we have been bombed, off and on, with directives and other nonsense directed toward marijuana use. Needless to say it is strictly forbidden, and includes medical marijuana. We occasionally get a bombardment concerning cigarette smoking on the premises. I’d have to say everyone ignores these.
Bingo! Of some 200 residents, something around 10% responded to the questionnaire. A few weeks later, we received a memo, “inviting” us to a sort of non-smoking, new-lease-signing meeting. Woo Hoo. The featured guests were people from Denver Health, who attended to give a non-smoking and stop-smoking lecture. Keep in mine, friends, attendance was mandatory. Following the presentation and lukewarm pizza, the celebration ended in a signing of the rules, regulations and new policy in the form of a lease addendum. I refused to stay for the non-smoking presentation. (We had one in high school.) When I returned to sign the lease addendum, I had my doubts. I felt coerced, particularly, since the Site Manager sidled up to me and said, “Anyone who does not sign within the next couple of days, we will assume, has no further interest in living here – they will be evicted.” I thought, “Why is she saying this to me? I am here to sign. I signed, but above my name, I wrote, “Signed under protest.” I felt coerced.
Meanwhile RR had “lost it.” He’d posted a letter in the elevator foyer on our floor. Essentially it said he felt he’d earned the right, bottom line, to live his life as he wishes. What a novel concept. I guess they didn’t get it, so he also telephoned them and said the fatal words, “I will not comply,” or something to that effect. With neck-snapping rapidity, the Manager served RR with a notice to vacate. In spite of his V.A. housing advocate’s intervention, this was closely followed by an eviction posting. The management here is currently not answering the advocate’s phone calls.
We soon became embroiled, RR and I, in one of his stress-induced outbursts, followed by me telling him we could not discuss the matter further. Before the outburst I had forwarded him a number of links and a good deal of legal information, to defend himself against eviction. I am not an attorney, so I can only direct someone to a place where they can get advice. That said I know the laws in Colorado, especially real estate and corporate statutes.
All good, but RR would not (or could not) simply stop. I received, maybe, fifty or so texts, numerous phone calls and a flood of e-mails. I have boundaries, very strong boundaries, and there was an emergent family situation worrying me. So I blocked the man. I issued a warning, saying there would be consequences, if he did not, simply, stand down. I was not angry, but, not going to accept further intrusion.
This ended between us with peace and tranquility, followed closely by apologies. All is well, except that, on this Memorial Day Weekend, rather than being honored, the man is frantically trying to pack and move to God knows where! He has not violated his lease. He simply disagreed in a dramatic, overstated manner. Believe me, this is Archdiocese-run housing. You don’t want to go there, even if there is a trail of tranquilizers to follow. I hope somebody besides me thanks RR for his service, and cuts him some slack for Memorial Day.
K.
No comments:
Post a Comment