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Feb 28, 12:13 PM (ET)

By VICKI SMITH

FAIRMONT, W.Va. (AP) - Harleigh Marsh was tough enough to scrape ice from the frozen deck of a Navy aircraft carrier in the North Atlantic. Smart enough to strip and rebuild a cockpit. And responsible enough to maintain survival gear for pilots. So when he found himself homeless six years ago, he figured he could handle it.

Like many of the estimated 500,000 veterans who will become homeless at some point this year, Marsh had the "Army of one" mentality that the armed forces demand.

"When a squadron or something needs you, you don't ask questions. You never say no. You salute and you do the job," he says. "And when you get out, you don't want people telling you what to do."

Veterans account for nearly one-third of all homeless men in America, even though the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs says they comprise only 13 percent of adult males in the general population. In West Virginia, where Marsh now struggles to rebuild his life, one in nine people is a veteran - the highest per capita rate in the nation in the 2000 census.

Marsh, 48 and single, has a job at a nursing home but earns too little for a place of his own. For months, he's lived at Scott Place, a shelter overlooking a town of about 20,000 - the town where he spent several years of his childhood and the closest thing to home.

Marsh doesn't mind the lack of privacy in the men's quarters, a third-floor maze connected by doorless doorways, or sharing a 14-by-14 space. "In the Navy, we'd have nine to 12 people in a room this big," he says.

And his bathroom has both a shower and tub. "The other guys just have showers," he says.

Pete Dougherty, the VA's director of homeless programs in Washington, says there are two kinds of homeless people: Some are short-timers, driven to the streets by pure economics. Others have psychiatric or substance abuse problems that contribute to chronic homelessness, meaning they are homeless for more than a year or four times within three years.

Veterans are twice as likely as other people to be chronically homeless.

"One reason for that is, I think, is that military service is a great place to learn to live in the harsh environment. They're much better prepared than non-veterans," Dougherty says. "They seemingly have a higher tolerance and a certain degree of pride and toughness that they - more than the rest of us - can endure tough circumstances."

Many who are now homeless were successful soldiers, sailors and Marines. "They've not simply been incapable of getting along in society," Dougherty says.

The VA sees hundreds of thousands of veterans each year, and their skill levels and intelligence are, in Dougherty's words, "sometimes amazing."

"There is no IQ quotient on mental illness and substance abuse. A lot of very, very bright people have mental illness or substance abuse issues," he says. But homelessness can happen quickly for a person with no support system, "and once you're down in that pit, it can be very, very difficult to get out."

Marsh joined the Navy in 1975, working as an aviation structural mechanic on aircraft carriers and a Florida base for almost four years. He loved the military, particularly the travel. But when an officer told him to re-enlist because he'd be good at nothing else, Marsh heard a challenge.

When his tour ended in 1979, he tried college. For a few months.

"One day I just said, 'I'm going down to Louisiana,'" he recalls, smoking a cigarette as snow wafts onto the porch of the shelter. "And I've been traveling ever since."

He found work as a drywall hanger and a painter, traveling whenever the phone rang and renting rooms by the week. He tried to settle down in Milwaukee, where he fathered a child. But in February 1999, his relationship broke up and he fell apart.

The VA says about half the nation's homeless veterans have some form of mental illness, and nearly 70 percent struggle with alcohol and drugs. But Marsh won't say exactly what he did during his downward spiral.

Though he says he'd once made $1,000 a week, he suddenly found himself unable to hold a job. For years, he traveled between Wisconsin and West Virginia. His mother and stepfather bought him cigarettes and food, sometimes letting him crash on the couch.

Last year, he decided to settle in Fairmont, about 70 miles south of Pittsburgh. He went to the Union Mission, where a W-2 shows he made $874.94 on a drywall job. He tried to start a business, but when his tools and employees went missing, he checked into Scott Place.

"He was a totally different person then. He was totally noncompliant," says case worker Linda Ashby. Marsh ignored the rules, avoided the day staff "and generally kept things in a turmoil."

When he left, Ashby wasn't sorry to see him go. And when he returned months later, she was skeptical.

"But since then," she says, "he has totally changed."

Marsh admits he was difficult. Reeling from depression, he was also taking drugs for a tumor on his forehead, polyps in his nose and hepatitis C.

"They made me sick, tired, and I didn't want to be bothered," he says. "Somebody said something or did anything, I'd snap at them a little bit."

Marsh says veterans are difficult to reach, physically and emotionally. Many lack access to a newspaper, TV or computer. They have learned to do without.

"Some people want help. Some people don't. I was one who walked in the doors and really didn't want it," he says. "Then, fortunately, I came to the realization that I wanted it. ... Now, I listen and learn."

At Scott Place, he discovered a state program that would pay for classes to become a certified nurse's aide. When he graduated, Sister Mary Stephen hired him at St. Barbara's Memorial Nursing Home in the old coal mining village of Monongah, about 5 miles from Fairmont.

Marsh had no car and no home, but she took a chance. And not because anyone asked.

"It's what you're supposed to do," she says. "They're our fellow men. No one should have to be told to do this."

After taxes and child support, Marsh puts what's left of his pay in the bank. He plans to get a driver's license, find a used car and buy insurance. He's applied for federally subsidized housing, and friends at work are looking for an affordable efficiency apartment.

This fall, he plans to apply to nursing programs at West Virginia and Fairmont State universities. He wants to work and study full time, getting help from the nurses at St. Barbara's.

But he's reluctant to set deadlines.

"I don't want to set a time line now because it would be an unrealistic goal, and it might not be achievable," he says. "And then I might not get it done by a certain date, and I'd get all depressed again."

Though it doesn't reach everyone, the VA spends nearly $179 million a year on programs for the homeless.

"Our job is to get you to that place where you were accountable and responsible for what you did," Dougherty says. "The truth of the matter is, when veterans come through these programs and they find that accountability and responsibility again, they're happy to do it and happy to be there. That's what they want."

Marsh agrees. But he wants one thing more.

He hasn't seen a dentist since 1996. Many of his teeth have shattered and blackened, and a cracked back molar causes constant pain. He carries numbing gel in his pocket.

"Dental care is still my major need, and it's a major concern to every vet I've ever talked to, homeless or not," he says.

Though the VA offers drugs, X-rays and extractions, Marsh can't bear the thought of losing another tooth. But reconstruction, he says, could change his life.

"I could smile again."

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On the Net:

Veterans Affairs: http://www1.va.gov/homeless/

National Coalition for Homeless Veterans: http://www.nchv.org/index.cfm

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