I never knew that Roscoe had a purple heart
Jeri Rowe writes about Roscoe, a homeless man I first met at a Wednesday night dinner at Grace Community Church, years ago.
undated family photo of Roscoe; published in N&R
He was 17 when he was drafted into the Army and given a parachute and a gun to fight the enemy in Southeast Asia.
He earned a Purple Heart for the two bullets lodged just beneath his scalp. He also got lost in the jungle for 27 days , living on bugs, tree bark and snakes he killed and ate raw.
He saw his buddies torn apart by bullets and watched young children offer his fellow soldiers shoeboxes purported to be gifts. The shoeboxes contained live grenades.
Davis could never shake those memories.
Wow, I never knew this about Roscoe. The purple heart, the war memories. There’s a lot I didn’t know about Roscoe.
In the summer of 1967 , on the day he came back, he walked into his house in his uniform. He had his helmet, his duffel bag and a distant stare his little brother, Dwight, will never forget.
“The light had gone out of his eyes,’’ Dwight says today. “He came back like an empty man, like he was walking around in a shell.’’
Roscoe was never the same.
Like so many of the homeless vets I’ve met.
He blamed Agent Orange for his ailments: his diabetes, his schizophrenia, his high blood pressure, his cirrhosis.
He sued the federal government, and he complained every time he went to the Veterans Administration hospitals in Durham and Salisbury. But his complaints went nowhere.
He got about $900 a month — $400 from the military; $500 for disability – and spent much of it on alcohol and drugs.
His life was one big disconnect. He spent weeks in mental hospitals, and his family would see him disappear for years at a time.
When he talked, Roscoe mumbled and growled. He made up words. He told people he was Italian, went to Harvard and once played baseball for the New York Yankees.
And he told them he lived on the streets.
That’s when his former probation officer, Daniel McDuffie , spotted him a few years back. Roscoe was in a Greensboro homeless shelter.
“Roscoe, what are you doing here?’’ McDuffie asked him.
“I live here, and I’m homeless,’’ Roscoe told him.
McDuffie helped run All Stars Group , a private agency geared to help drug addicts, alcoholics and the mentally ill. People just like Roscoe.
I remember the growls and the made-up words. That’s Roscoe.
Lisa Ross had found her father.
They talked every day and saw each other several times a week. She even brought over plates of food to his hotel room. And always, he’d be out front with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Give Daddy some sugar,’’ he’d tell her.
He had plans. He kept telling her that one day he would get his settlement money from the government for his Agent Orange ailments, and he’d buy a house and settle down so they all could be a family.
“Baby Girl,’’ he’d tell her, “Just hold on. You just hold on.’’
She did. He didn’t.
He died Oct. 2 , 18 days after his 63rd birthday . He was found in his hotel room, taken down by a heart attack. He had died in his sleep.
This breaks my heart. But I’m so thankful that Roscoe was able to be with his daughter again at the end of his life. What a gift!
James Roscoe Davis: father and grandfather, brother and uncle, soldier and decorated war veteran. A man to remember.
Every homeless person has a story. They all have history, family, lives before the street. Some folks share their story with us, others choose not to, or sometimes, they’re unable to. I was never able to get to know much about Roscoe, and I’m thankful to read his story. He is a man to remember, indeed.
» Read all of Jeri Rowe: After war, a veteran kept on fighting (News-Record.com)
