Patrick Smithwick has written three previous memoirs, all connected to horse racing, family, and loss. His father, A.P. Smithwick, one of the greatest steeplechase jockeys ever, died at 46 from cancer. Readers are likely to find his latest work, however, his most heart-wrenching.

In War’s Over, Come Home: A Father’s Search for his Son, Two-Tour Marine Veteran of the Iraq War, the Monkton author, longtime teacher, horse trainer, and former competitive rider chronicles his family’s struggle to help their oldest son as he suffers through PTSD after two tours in Iraq.

The “search” in this case is literal. Andrew Smithwick eventually became homeless after returning to civilian life, using his U.S. Marine training to survive in far-flung corners of the country as his family desperately sought to track him down and get him mental health assistance.

Although he also has a newspaper and magazine background, including a brief stint at this magazine, Smithwick has not set out to objectively report on veteran PTSD or homelessness. Instead, he keeps the focus on his son’s struggles and the loving, frustrated efforts of his family—which in turn brings PTSD and the tragedy of veteran homelessness into extraordinarily sharp relief.

As a parent, one of my first thoughts was around what must be Andrew’s profound loneliness as he spends day after day simply walking and camping by himself.
Yes, definitely. He was our most social child. You can tell from one of my favorite pictures in the book, where my wife is reading to him and he’s looking up at her. He loved being with the family. When he was in the Upper School at Boys’ Latin, his friends would come over [a lot]—he was sort of the leader of the pack. It really hurts thinking of him alone.

For the most part, the book was written in real time, between 2017 and 2019, as you and your family search for Andrew in several states. How hard was writing during that process?
Sort of painful. But I just got up and did it, because I knew from my writing experience that things would drift away and become foggy. I was making notes and I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do [with it] initially, but I knew if I didn’t get it down immediately that I wouldn’t be able to do it.

Why did you write the book?
I knew when we started on these searches this was a microcosm of experiences other people were going through. I met so many people who had similar experiences. I met parents who had lost children, relatives, or friends to PTSD and homelessness. And I met homeless people themselves. Every time I’d talk to someone, I would learn more about it and realize maybe one out of every four or five people would have some relationship to this story. I’m writing this for all of them, too.

The book ends with a late-2022 update on Andrew. He seems to be doing okay physically even as he continues to live “off the grid.”
Working on the book and getting a publisher, more time had passed. So, I put an update in the postscript and it kind of ends in an upbeat way, with some positive information about my daughter getting married on our farm and hearing that someone had seen Andrew.

One of things you point out is that you, like most of us, during periods of great personal difficulty tend to compartmentalize as a means of coping. At the same time, beneath that, a part of you remains hopeful that someday Andrew will either tire from—or heal enough from—the outdoors, the hiking and camping, that he connects back to some type of services or returns to the family fold.
Yes, either one of those two things. The main thing that I notice from talking to so many people that work with the homeless is the main ingredient for them to have a successful recuperation is to have a place, a little place, where they can live and it can be their home. A small apartment or whatever to keep their stuff and get cleaned up and go out. There are 67,000 homeless vets the last time I checked. I’m hoping they can start getting more help. And Andrew is one of them.

What do you hope people take away?
Well, if you see a homeless vet on the sidewalk or in a city or somewhere, you don’t have to just be afraid, walk away, and lower your eyes. You can say, “Hi.” You can look them in the eye, talk to them, and ask how they’re doing, realizing it’s an individual. Maybe there’s something you can do to help, like get them a sandwich or a cup of coffee.

Anything else?
Just to keep an eye on these young men and women when they come back. If you know one, maybe you can help them with their transition into normal life, because normal life is just so, so incredibly different and hard after what they have been through.

When Baltimore’s Lewis McIlwain, known to all as Mac, went on a mission trip to the Congo in 2007, he didn’t know he’d return home with an entirely new goal.

“During the trip, I came across a lot of poverty,” he says. “There was so much need for clean water, education, and many other things.”

After that experience, McIlwain realized that he had the opportunity to do more—on an ongoing basis—for both local and global communities in need, including right here in Baltimore, rather than just make one visit. “I committed to putting something in place as it relates to the basic needs of people.”

Of course, job one was finding the financial support, but since McIlwain had worked for a CPA firm for most of his career, he had contacts in the corporate sector who became donors to his nonprofit.

“I created Thirst No More, a Maryland-based 501c3 nonprofit in 2009,” he says. “We had done some outreach in Baltimore, but it was a board member who had the vision to bring another local nonprofit, R.A.P. (Reaching All People) under the umbrella of Thirst No More in 2011 to focus on local issues.”

Thirst No More is currently focusing on issues in Guatemala, Nepal, and Rwanda, with recent projects including building a school and clinic in a rural Rwanda area. R.A.P., meanwhile, focuses on Baltimore City, where the biggest need is among the homeless population.

“We like to say we are a small but mighty group,” says McIlwain, who is responsible for getting the funding for all the projects. “Most of the R.A.P. money comes from private donations through Thirst No More. The monetary donation goes towards food and toiletries, the clothing is donated in kind.”

But he wants Baltimore housing solutions, too. R.A.P. conducts outreach programs in downtown Baltimore city every fourth Saturday of the month. During COVID, they saw about 60 people, but otherwise they’ve had as many as 150 homeless and transitionally housed men, women, and children show up for help.

“We don’t just hand out the items,” he says. “We offer them an opportunity to sit down with us, so we can have a dialogue. We have a file of other resources and places they can go to get help. Over the years, we have seen people we’ve worked with now have careers and others have gotten suitable living quarters. Many come back and tell us that we were there when they were in crisis.”

Before a R.A.P. outreach, they canvas the area. Many times, McIlwain does it himself to let people know about their group. “The majority are living on the street, but many are not. All are welcome,” says McIlwain.

“The vision for R.A.P. is at some point to have more of a daily presence in the community, and perhaps one day have low-income housing for qualified residents,” he says. “For now, it’s just exploratory, seeing how to do it economically within the community. We’ve investigated options from tiny homes to container homes. I’m retired and fully dedicated to the causes.”

Most advocates don’t live with the people they serve—especially when they are fighting for services and support for the homeless community. But minister Christina Flowers is an exception, or as others say, “the angel of the streets of Baltimore.” Day in and day out, and during many a dark night, you can find her handing out food and supplies to those currently unhoused across the city.

“Many want to bundle all homeless people together, but they’re unique individuals who need to be treated as such,” says Flowers. “We have to think outside of the box and find ways to engage with humility and compassion.”

Flowers’ advocacy began in March 2013, when she came across the conditions of the homeless encampment underneath the I-83 bridge at Guilford Avenue and Centre Street and was stunned by the rest of society’s lack of urgency to help. “It’s as if the homeless are invisible, like we’ve become numb to their humanity,” she says.

At the time, the city was planning to raze the encampment without a plan to relocate the people who lived there, but after public outcry, then-Mayor Jack Young allowed them to stay. Flowers’ self-funded mission to provide housing and stability for homeless individuals in Baltimore began the very next week.

“God said, ‘When I was hungry, you fed me,’” Flowers says. “I founded the Real Care Providers Network to bring the power of God to the front lines.”

RCPN may not be well-known, but Flowers is no stranger to aiding the vulnerable. Her first nonprofit business, Belvedere Assisted Living, cared for the elderly. She also founded Belvedere Homes, a support service in its namesake neighborhood, which has housed hundreds over the years. RCPN is now her full-time focus, and it’s far from a 9-to-5 gig.

“We’re bootleg, but we get it done,” says Flowers. “My volunteers are humble, compassionate, and amazing at what they do. I don’t care about your degree; I care about your heart.”

 

“It’s as if the homeless are invisible, like we’ve become numb to their humanity.”

 

While the city’s methods of dismantling encampments have historically been mired in bureaucracy and policy issues, Flowers embraces a radically different approach. Starting last fall, her small but mighty team showed up under the bridge every day for eight months, providing warm meals, portable restrooms, and personal protective equipment, among other resources. On stormy nights, Flowers stayed through the morning to make sure everyone was safe.

“We became like a family, taking blows as they came,” she says. “I didn’t see those big-name organizations under the bridge. It’s like having a grown child, but completely forgetting the baby stage. You have to start on the streets first.”

There were plenty of trying times, like one wintry morning when Flowers found two women frozen to death in a tent. She held other organizations’ feet to the fire to advocate for the people coming in and out of the encampment, whether it was to place a roof over their heads or secure treatment for substance abuse and mental health disorders, a common root of chronic homelessness.

After eight months of effort, RCPN successfully secured housing for every last individual, without any state or grant funding.

“They are still God’s sheep and he has appointed me as a shepherd,” says Flowers, who became an ordained minister in September but is continuing her current work before leading a congregation. “It saddens me that we look at our brothers and sisters sleeping on the streets like it’s their fault, instead of looking at the core of our social ills. People say the poor will always be amongst us. I say, amen…and?”

With 18 homeless encampments and an estimated 500 unsheltered individuals in Baltimore City at last count, Flowers says her work is far from over.

“It takes a village, and we can do so much more if everyone uses their resources to help those in need. When I think about all that needs to be done, I’m reminded that the harvest is plentiful and the work is our fruit.”

What is Smalltimore Homes and how did it start?
I started investing in Baltimore real estate in 2014. I was fixing and flipping homes, and I was very intentional in selling to first-time homeowners, because, to be honest, I wanted those homeowners to look like me. Over time, it morphed from investing in the city and building up black homeowners to addressing people who are experiencing homelessness, which is something that impacts our community in a big way because two out of three people experiencing homelessness in Baltimore are black. So Smalltimore Homes was founded in February 2018 because I decided to start an affordable housing nonprofit and that would provide tiny homes outfitted with sleeping bags, clothes, and other supplies to people experiencing homelessness.

Why microshelters?
I think transitioning out of homelessness starts with having an address and a place to rest your head. Because how do you think about anything else if you don’t know where you’re going to sleep at night? I plan to partner with groups that provide things like job training and education to attack each piece of the issue so that someone can start by living in one of these microshelters, get the resources they need, and then work up to finding a room for rent and acclimate themselves back into life.

What kinds of challenges has Smalltimore Homes faced so far?
Because of their wheels and size, our first three microshelter models are not legal dwellings in Baltimore. But through volunteer builds, donations, and grants from the community, we’re able to continue improving the design and having conversations about how this will help homelessness in the city. Within the year, I’d like to create at least three microshelter communities with anywhere from two to five of the shelters for people to visit and experience. By the end of that year, I plan to acquire a piece of land to build the final, allowable model that people will be staying in.

How does Baltimore compare to other cities that have started micro-shelter communities?
We’re unique compared to other cities that have these kinds of shelters because we have blight and vacant buildings. I hope to partner with an organization that’s breaking down these vacant homes, take what’s salvageable, and use those materials to create new tiny dwellings.

What kind of feedback have you received from potential tenants?
One volunteer brought a homeless woman he knew to one of our monthly builds. I gave her some supplies and I asked her for her feedback on the homes. I asked her if she would sleep in one, and she said yes because, at the time, she was sleeping standing up in a corner of the Lyric every night. So I asked if she would stop if she had one of the microshelters as an option, and, if not, what would she change about it. All she suggested was bigger windows. And I was like, “I can do that! Someone give me a saw!”

What are your long-term goals for Smalltimore Homes?
In three to five years, I want to have a permanent plot of land with at least 15 tiny homes for people who were experiencing homelessness. I want it to be temporary housing for them, no more than three years, which will give them time to get back on their feet, save some money, and, hopefully, find a place of their own. On the plot of land, I’d love to implement a vertical garden that tenants can contribute to. If we could have a whole city block with no blight and full of microshelters and sustainable living for people experiencing homelessness, that would be bliss.

Why do you think this idea will work?
I think it’ll work in Baltimore as long as we can address blight as part of this initiative. A lot of people have said, “How can you start something like this when there’s so many abandoned buildings in the city?” But people can’t move into those places. That’s the thing that I recognize is unique about doing this project in Baltimore—we can address both issues at the same time. Overall, I think if we can contribute to this growing ecosystem of people and programs working to help people transition into society then this city will be a much better place.