Having like minded members that we can lean on, vent too, and that understands our mindsets means the world. 

As a superintendent and Army vet, I can tell you that programs like CVRS will make a real difference on the job site. It’s more than just work — it’s about camaraderie. Veterans bring a sense of respect for one another and a shared understanding of what it means to have each other’s backs. We’ve all been through something, and when you’re working with people who get that, it makes everything smoother. It’s not just about building a project, it’s about building trust, and that makes all the difference in the world.

As someone who has worked in mental health advocacy for over a decade, co-founded two groups related to mental health and substance use disorder prevention for the construction industry, I can attest that CVRS is exactly what our industry needs.   With the prevalence of veterans in the construction industry, and isolation being a key contributor to worker despair that leads to these issues, CVRS promotes connection, legitimate resources, and hope for all involved.
I wrote my master’s thesis on mental health interventions for construction and can see all the core tenants of best practice for worker wellbeing represented in the good work of CVRS!

The Construction Industry we know today is more diverse than ever before. It’s important that we provide support that, those that make up the industry can relate to.

CVRS does just that.

There is a large population of military veterans in construction. Thier lived experiences are unique, therefore, in order to support them, the approach should be unique.

There is no other program like CVRS, it addresses the need and meets our construction military veterans where they are.

I’m proud to be apart of CVRS and sit on the board.

It was somewhere around 2015, and I was several years out of the Army where I had served as a Combat Radio Operator. The transition to civilian life hadn’t been easy, but I found comfort in the brotherhood of other veterans. We were a part of an association of Combat Veteran Motorcycle riders, a group bonded by shared experiences and a common mission: to support each other and the local veteran service offices and efforts. We went to fundraisers, rode our bikes in parades, and performed small acts of kindness that we hoped would help veterans.

Every weekend, we would gather at a small garage on the outskirts of town. Together, we rode the Texas Hill Country, attended bike nights, and filled the empty space we had since leaving the military.

During one of our routine rides, we came across a small, struggling veteran service office. The building was run-down, and it was clear they were in desperate need of funds and support. Moved by their plight, we decided to organize a fundraiser, a charity ride that would draw bikers from all over the state.

The event was a huge success. Bikers from various clubs joined us, and together we raised enough money to renovate the office and provide much-needed supplies. It was a testament to the power of community and the strength of our shared mission.

One opportunity that came our way was attending a certified training session for the Prevention of Veteran Suicide, organized by the Veteran Service Office we had been sponsoring. They brought in a trained professional therapist at no charge to us.

As we sat in the classroom, the therapist began to speak about the warning signs and the importance of early intervention. It was a sobering reminder of the silent battles many veterans faced every day. We learned how to provide support, how to listen, and most importantly, how to offer hope. The class was filled with healthcare professionals from our local area, other VSOs, and military members.

I learned that I didn’t have to be a professional to help. I learned not only what to do, but also what not to do.

In a culture of alpha males, the common cure always seemed to be alcohol or other drugs. You grab a bottle of what is handy and go “drink it out” with your buddy. This only leads to recurring battles that are never won. The demons that haunt you only get bigger; the dreams get darker and last longer. It becomes self-consuming, as you literally feed the monster that is feeding on you.

The session ended, and I felt I had at least a path forward that I could help shine a light on for my brothers. I knew where to get the help that a brother might need. I knew how to talk to my brother about these issues so that he would understand and make the choice to venture down the path out of the darkness. I reported back to my veteran group about the training and the value I found in it. I suggested we all take the course if it were offered again. Sadly, it wasn’t.

When back in the life of the club, we went about our usual camaraderie. We had all become reliant on each other as our own support group of sorts. One of the standout leaders of our group was an amazing guy, a top-notch soldier in his days with the special forces branch. He was tatted up, in fighting shape even ten years out of service and my senor. He always had a clean-cut, high and tight haircut.

I will call him “Jimmy” for this story, but that is not his real name. We always gave nicknames to those of us in the club; mine is “Bull” after my grandfather who served in WWII. Jimmy went by “Gage” because if you asked him, you could only try to measure up to him and his riding abilities. Gage was a good leader for us. He owned the garage where we hung out and held meetings. Gage slept there in the garage too, as he was a dedicated lifelong bachelor. Or as he put it, what woman was going to conform to his life that he wasn’t going to change?

Gage and I became close friends and leaders of our club. I looked up to him and loved hearing his stories of missions that he would share with us. I loved his knowledge of all mechanical things and how to improve them. Most members did. Little did we know of the battle Gage was fighting on the inside. Not only did he have the scars from battle, but it seemed that the biggest demon Gage had was a feeling of no connection to life outside of those missions. He had learned to keep the monsters of battle locked away, or at least made peace with them. But his biggest monster was the yearning for what he saw in our lives as a normal life, with a wife, kids, a steady job, a home. Traditions like a nightly dinner with family where you let your guard down, enjoy, and breathe easy. One life would and did stand in the way of the other. He later was diagnosed with impending doom syndrome.

So, I knew something was up the night I got the call from Gage that he was wanting to sell his bike, give away his equipment and tools. He was going to turn in his patch and walk away from everything to just travel around. He was done with everything and everyone. I had just gotten home from work and finished dinner with my wife. Gage asked over the phone if I wanted to come over and, if I did, to bring something to drink. We had shared many a good bottle of bourbon or scotch together in the past. I told him I would be right there, even though it was about a half-hour drive. I told my wife, Gage was in trouble and that I would be back late, if at all that night. I have an amazing wife that understands me as much as she loves me.

I stopped by a local coffee shop and grabbed four large coffees to go in my truck. As I pulled up to Gage’s shop, he walked out and laughed at me for driving the truck and not the bike. “What kind of biker takes a truck over his Harley?” I held up the four cups of coffee and yelled back, “What kind of bike has four cup holders?” He shook his head at me, saying something about a waste of good bourbon.

“Look, Gage, we got some talking to do, and booze ain’t going to get us there. It may turn out to be a long night, so I brought the Joe.”

We both went inside and had a little casual talk about things. Then, I looked at him and said, “You ready to talk for real yet?”

He laughed and asked if it was an intervention, to which I said, “Well it beats an interrogation!”

Jimmy opened up to me that night about all the things he feared and why he couldn’t sleep at night, why he felt he was alone, and the pain it caused him. I saw that he needed to find that balance or order in his life, the line between what he once was, where he was now, and where he wanted to be in the future.

One of the biggest points I came to was asking him, “In all your missions, were you ever a lone wolf, a Rambo type? Did you do it all on your own?” knowing full well what he would say.

“Of course not, Bull, that’s why they call it the Teams. Even you Commo pukes are a part of it.”

I asked him then, “Why would you ever think it takes a team to do a mission in the service, but not in life? You have to look at life now as a new mission and pick your team to be successful in that mission. WE ARE YOUR TEAM NOW. I am your commo guy, Pops is your forward observer, Stew is your intel, and Yogi & Lefty are all infantrymen. If you are not relying on them to complete the mission, then you set yourself up for failure. You are not Superman, you’re not a one-man army, or Rambo. And we can’t do it without you either. You are our family as much as we are yours. The rest is surroundings, and we can change that when we want. Right now, the first leg of this mission is to get you in condition, get fit. Mentally fit. Equip you with the weapons you need, the intel you need, and the support for the mission. I have the road map, and we got to go through Alpha to get to Bravo. And you know I am a comms guy, so I am going to need radio checks, real-time.”

We laughed, cried, cussed, drank coffee, and most importantly came to an understanding and a path forward. As I was leaving to head home late that night, Gage said to me as I turned to get in the truck, “You know it’s time I ‘Charlie Mike,’ isn’t it?”

I leaned out the window and said, “You know it is,” pointed at him, put my thumb and little finger out like a phone, and said, “Charlie Mike.”

What you may not know is that in the military, when using the radio, we end each call with “Roger – Out,” and we use other acronyms for other responses. “Charlie Mike” is used for “Continue Mission” or “Continue on Mission.” And that is how we end each phone call we have now.

Jimmy leaned on us, and we on him. He found the proper ways to deal with his demons. He started a company making military plaques and signs. He started dating and actually found a lovely lady that I introduced to him who is now his wife. Jimmy plugged back into military reenactment groups, and I am proud to say that he made the 80th anniversary D-Day parachute jump into Normandy. He phoned me from the plane as they took off, and I got a few seconds of video time with my brother as he made a lifelong dream come true.

So, thank you for letting me share my story on how important training is at every level. And I say to you, “You are not in this alone – Charlie Mike.”