Constable: Home that's helped homeless vets really recover closing

Vietnam veteran Terry McGrath drove from his home in Wheaton in July of 2009 to the Veterans Affairs hospital in West suburban Hines, fully aware of how tough the looming battle was going to be.

“We started a meeting in the methadone clinic,” says McGrath, 68, who has decades of experience helping people kick their dependence on alcohol and drugs. Sometimes, the only person who understands war is another soldier. McGrath, who beat his alcoholism more than three decades ago, knows how to help those fighting addictions.

He and other volunteers are staples at Cooke's Manor, run by The Catholic Charities of the Archdiocese of Chicago as transitional housing for 41 homeless male veterans who have completed drug and alcohol programs.

On Sept. 1, Catholic Charities notified the VA that Cooke's Manor would close at the end of the month, says Rick Fox, chief of media service for the Edward Hines Jr. VA Hospital. That closing has been postponed until Oct. 11 as the two organizations continue to work together to find housing for all the residents, Fox says.

A shift in philosophy by the VA and the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development toward funding permanent housing has left Cooke's Manor only half occupied and short on funds, says Kristine Kappel, director of communications for Catholic Charities. She says the charity is “suspending” service at Cooke's Manor and that money issues concerning an old, brick building already needing $1 million in repairs has been part of discussions with the VA for years.

”These shifts may have impacted Catholic Charities' ability to serve a very specific population of homeless veterans, but on balance, many more veterans are being provided with permanent housing solutions,” Fox says.

The reasons behind the demise of Cooke's Manor aren't as important as helping veterans. Working with large institutions such as the VA, HUD and the Archdiocese of Chicago requires a little digging to find the right help as those bureaucracies pledge to do what they can for the men forced to move.

“We know the recovery program works. We're not leaving these men,” Kappel says.

“The remaining residents all have identified a plan and the Health Care for Homeless Veterans team at Hines is continuing to work with them and the Cooke's Manor staff to ensure they have an appropriate place to go before Oct. 12,” Fox says.

Some vets are old enough and poor enough to qualify for similar facilities. Others receive HUD-Veterans Affairs Supportive Housing, known as VASH vouchers, which subsidize housing costs.

But that's not the same as having veterans stay at Cooke's Manor, McGrath says. Veterans would come to Building 228, the part of the hospital that deals with substance abuse, complete an in-house program and then move into Cooke's Manor while they worked at the VA.

“They could stay in that sober environment for a year, 18 months or even two years,” McGrath says, pointing out the short walk from the home to the hospital. A place to sleep and a job are “just the tip of the iceberg for these guys,” says McGrath, envisioning veterans leaving work and driving or taking public transportation through a community filled with bars, old haunts and other temptations.

“We've had a very high success rate of recovery here,” says Catholic priest and Cooke's Manor chaplain Richard Bulwith, an author of books about recovery. “It was a great place.”

McGrath and other volunteers ran support meetings every Sunday and Tuesday night at Cooke's Manor, and gave people rides to a Thursday night meeting at a church in Elmhurst.

“It made a huge difference in their recovery. When you're in their face three or four times a week, it makes them feel better,” says McGrath, who voluntarily spends 25 to 30 hours a week at the VA.

“Just because you give someone a place to live and a job, that's not going to work. It's like putting a Band-Aid on a chest wound,” says Joe Kaminski, 54, who credits McGrath and 17 months at Cooke's Manor for saving his life. Kaminski served on a Navy ship in the Persian Gulf during the first Gulf War and was part of embargos across the globe, but in civilian life he changed homes and jobs often and ended up homeless in Lake County because of his drinking problem.

“Without Cooke's Manor, I'd be drunk, homeless, dead or in jail,” says Kaminski, who now lives in a suburban apartment, has a steady job with a maintenance company and has been sober for more than three years.

McGrath says Cooke's Manor success stories include an 83-year-old veteran now living in Wheaton and young veterans barely old enough to buy alcohol.

“Now what's going to happen is a guy is going to come out of here and they're going to stick him in an apartment, and that's going to be difficult,” McGrath says. “It truly is a life-and-death situation.”