How a Camera Saved My Gray, Old Grumpy Ass


I was found freezing in an alcoholic coma on a railroad track in Maryland.

I woke up in a Veterans Hospital psychiatric ward.

A social worker visited me and said, “Craig, you’re taking disability this time. No questions— This is it.” (I had refused disability for my PTSD, since I thought the free money would turn me into an alkie.)

The psychiatric ward kept me locked up until my first check of $20,000 landed in my bank account. Before they let me loose, another social worker escorted me to his office to show me his wall of B&W photography. He said the camera saved him from the bottle.

So I bought a Canon Rebel kit from BestBuy and hopped on the California Zepyr to San Francisco.

I spent 16 days roaming the hills of San Francisco with my new dSLR and took thousands of exposure. Didn’t get drunk once.

But I did find the old Dakota Hotel on Post & Taylor where a carload of Berkeley girls spit on my uniform, yelling from their car, “Fucking baby killer!”

Now I live in Downtown Chicago (very photogenic) surrounded by lots of camera equipment. While photographing Chicago, people ask me if I’m a professional. “No. Just a sober enthusiast.”

The moral of this story: Buy grumpy grampa a dSLR and push him out the door.

How a Camera Saved My Gray, Old Grumpy Ass


I was found freezing in an alcoholic coma on a railroad track in Maryland.

I woke up in a Veterans Hospital psychiatric ward.

A social worker visited me and said, “Craig, you’re taking disability this time. No questions— This is it.” (I had refused disability for my PTSD, since I thought the free money would turn me into an alkie.)

The psychiatric ward kept me locked up until my first check of $20,000 landed in my bank account. Before they let me loose, another social worker escorted me to his office to show me his wall of B&W photography. He said the camera saved him from the bottle.

So I bought a Canon Rebel kit from BestBuy and hopped on the California Zepyr to San Francisco.

I spent 16 days roaming the hills of San Francisco with my new dSLR and took thousands of exposure. Didn’t get drunk once.

But I did find the old Dakota Hotel on Post & Taylor where a carload of Berkeley girls spit on my uniform, yelling from their car, “Fucking baby killer!”

Now I live in Downtown Chicago (very photogenic) surrounded by lots of camera equipment. While photographing Chicago, people ask me if I’m a professional. “No. Just a sober enthusiast.”

The moral of this story: Buy grumpy grampa a dSLR and push him out the door.

How a Camera Saved My Gray, Old Grumpy Ass


I was found freezing in an alcoholic coma on a railroad track in Maryland.

I woke up in a Veterans Hospital psychiatric ward.

A social worker visited me and said, “Craig, you’re taking disability this time. No questions— This is it.” (I had refused disability for my PTSD, since I thought the free money would turn me into an alkie.)

The psychiatric ward kept me locked up until my first check of $20,000 landed in my bank account. Before they let me loose, another social worker escorted me to his office to show me his wall of B&W photography. He said the camera saved him from the bottle.

So I bought a Canon Rebel kit from BestBuy and hopped on the California Zepyr to San Francisco.

I spent 16 days roaming the hills of San Francisco with my new dSLR and took thousands of exposure. Didn’t get drunk once.

But I did find the old Dakota Hotel on Post & Taylor where a carload of Berkeley girls spit on my uniform, yelling from their car, “Fucking baby killer!”

Now I live in Downtown Chicago (very photogenic) surrounded by lots of camera equipment. While photographing Chicago, people ask me if I’m a professional. “No. Just a sober enthusiast.”

The moral of this story: Buy grumpy grampa a dSLR and push him out the door.

How a Camera Saved My Gray, Old Grumpy Ass


I was found freezing in an alcoholic coma on a railroad track in Maryland.

I woke up in a Veterans Hospital psychiatric ward.

A social worker visited me and said, “Craig, you’re taking disability this time. No questions— This is it.” (I had refused disability for my PTSD, since I thought the free money would turn me into an alkie.)

The psychiatric ward kept me locked up until my first check of $20,000 landed in my bank account. Before they let me loose, another social worker escorted me to his office to show me his wall of B&W photography. He said the camera saved him from the bottle.

So I bought a Canon Rebel kit from BestBuy and hopped on the California Zepyr to San Francisco.

I spent 16 days roaming the hills of San Francisco with my new dSLR and took thousands of exposure. Didn’t get drunk once.

But I did find the old Dakota Hotel on Post & Taylor where a carload of Berkeley girls spit on my uniform, yelling from their car, “Fucking baby killer!”

Now I live in Downtown Chicago (very photogenic) surrounded by lots of camera equipment. While photographing Chicago, people ask me if I’m a professional. “No. Just a sober enthusiast.”

The moral of this story: Buy grumpy grampa a dSLR and push him out the door.

My friend Bill was that way. Came home from Nam with 2 silver stars, 2 purple hearts and a heron habit. VA? Zero, zilch, nada. When he overdosed, they hauled him off to the county hospital. Detoxed him and back out on the street. Couldn't get into VA. No body came to him with a camera or anything else in the form of help. Last time I was able to find him he was living in a cardboard box in an alley off Second St. in San Francisco. I don't think anyone spit on him to do that would be to acknowledge his presence, they just stole from him and worst of all ignored him. That was around 1978.

He's dead now and his name will never be on the Wall. Combat vets today have suffered terrible wounds, PTSD is real now--it wasn't in 1978. Finally VA is starting to respond to the needs of the patients they are supposed to represent, remember they are the Veteran's Administration. Television heralds today's vets as hero's due all kinds of support, from improvements in VA benefits to asking for contributions for various veterans support organizations. These veterans deserve all the help and support a grateful country and it's citizens can provide. Please remember though, there are still some vets out there that you younger folks ignored, spit on, demonstrated against. You're government ignored their plight and you did nothing help. Yes they are few and old and after decades of being ignored they, in many cases, don't want anything from you. You are 40 years too late!