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2 veterans help others battle debt

Eli Williamson, left, and Roy Brown are pictured at the Jesse Brown VA Center. (Brian Cassella / Chicago Tribune / MCT)
Eli Williamson, left, and Roy Brown are pictured at the Jesse Brown VA Center. (Brian Cassella / Chicago Tribune / MCT)Read more

Ironically, it didn't happen in combat but while the Chicago South Sider was on the phone, doing battle with a bank over his college loans.

"I'm on the other side of the world, worrying about (bombs) and where my unit would be moving next, and some loan officer is harassing my mother over $82.67," said Brown, shaking his head. "I just felt so disheartened and let down."

His high school pal, Eli Williamson, dealt with similar phone calls while overseas: "You can't even print what I was feeling."

Brown and Williamson, both 29, have found office space on LaSalle Street, assembled a board of directors, connected with donors and erased the tuition bills of two servicemen and enrolled another 100 or so applicants, all of whom have been dogged by college bills.

Leave No Veteran Behind uses private donations to pay off a veteran's outstanding loans. In exchange, the soldier commits to 100 hours of community service, which helps provide purpose for someone who might have difficulty re-entering civilian life.

The GI Bill pays for the education of those who have served honorably, but it does not pick up the tab retroactively, and funding has not kept pace with skyrocketing tuition costs, requiring many cash-strapped GIs to sink further into debt to cover the difference.

Then came 9/11.

"I was totally stunned," he said. "I'm on a college campus and then, 30 days later, I'm in the sandbox ... in a whole other reality."

At one time, the soldier was so desperate he played guitar on streets, working for tips.

"I didn't want to go to my parents," said Williamson, who is now married with a baby and owes about $70,000 in loans. "I felt like it was my issue."

But when the men heard similar stories from other veterans, they felt they had to tackle the problem head on. Since March, they have raised almost $23,000 with the hope of reaching $160,000 by this time next year. (No funds can be used for their own debts).

"When I first got the call, I couldn't believe it. ... I thought it was a scam," said the Marine, unemployed and expecting his first child. "With the economy the way it is, any bill is a worry."

Profiles of enrollees can be found on the group's Web site, leavenoveteranbehind.org. But the founders stress that their purpose is not to be one more charity soliciting donations but to offer something in return, Williamson said: "We want people to know that if you make an investment, they are not just benefiting a veteran but the community at large."

That aspect spurred the Field Foundation of Illinois to give the fledgling initiative $5,000 for its Chicago Public Schools Veteran Engagement Project, which puts soldiers on the streets in the Bronzeville neighborhood to provide an adult presence and resolve conflicts for students en route home.

"We were impressed with the mission and leadership of the organization," said Mark Murray, the Field Foundation's senior program officer, "and their ability to create a positive impact in neighborhoods of need."

That is why the two men — ties crisply knotted, shoes polished to a high gloss — were shivering on a slushy corner of 35th Street and Martin Luther King Drive, where 10 schools converge and a few sharp words can easily erupt into violence.

The intersection is a detour from the high-powered careers and six-figure salaries on their original road map, said Brown, who previously worked as a district manager for Aldi groceries before starting the nonprofit.

"All the perks didn't equate to moral wealth," he explained. "A life with no purpose is no life at all."