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A healing house for hurting veterans

Veterans can chart the course for recovery at South Philly's Snyder House.

Joan Ryan, Veterans Administration director of Recovery Services and Anthony Fedele, an Army veteran on the advisory board of Synder House, pose at the Healing American Heroes in South Philadelphia. ( ALEJANDRO A. ALVAREZ / STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER )
Joan Ryan, Veterans Administration director of Recovery Services and Anthony Fedele, an Army veteran on the advisory board of Synder House, pose at the Healing American Heroes in South Philadelphia. ( ALEJANDRO A. ALVAREZ / STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER )Read moreDN

SHE SPENT THE weekends in her car, driving from one corner of the city to another, looking for something that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

On the one hand, Joan Ryan, the director of recovery services for the Philadelphia Department of Veteran Affairs, had an idea of what she was searching for: a building that could house 40 military veterans.

But it needed to be more than just walls and a roof. It needed to be a sanctuary for people whose lives had fallen to pieces, a place that could help them learn to stand again - and in a way that few VA facilities had ever tried.

During one of those weekend drives three years ago, Ryan found her way to the former Baptist Institute for Christian Workers, on Snyder Avenue in South Philly.

The mammoth, century-old brick building sat in the middle of a scrappy block lined with weather-beaten mom-and-pop shops, old jewelry stores and places to grab a quick bite - Texas Weiners and the Melrose Diner.

"I sat on the front steps and heard a basketball game going on down one of the side streets," Ryan said.

"I saw houses that had American flags up, and I knew the stadiums were close by. . . . I have three nephews [in the military], and I thought, 'Yeah, they could find their way in a neighborhood like this.' "

Plans were hatched to renovate the building, rename it the Snyder House, and start to move veterans into private apartments by last Thanksgiving.

It finally opened in July, the lengthy delay due in large part to the kinds of problems that lurk behind the walls of very old buildings.

"It was like peeling an onion," Ryan said. "Every time we tried to implement our design, we ran into another problem."

Twenty male vets and five female vets currently call Snyder House their home.

What makes this place notable is the way it operates: Each resident tells physicians, nurses, psychologists and other staffers what he or she wants from the stay, which could last up to 45 days.

No matter what a veteran is trying to do - cope with post-traumatic stress disorder, find a job or beat a substance-abuse problem - Snyder House caters its programs and services to individual needs.

"On the day they come in, we ask them about their goals in three domains: biological, psychological and sociological," Ryan said.

"This is where our programming can wrap around them, and then in our treatment meetings, we keep following up on those goals."

The approach was crafted with the help of a small council of veterans that meets monthly and advises Ryan on what exactly former soldiers need as they try to rebuild their lives.

Anthony Fedele can't help being honest.

Short, muscular and fidgety, he has thoughts that pour out in long, emotional bursts.

The South Jersey native did a six-year Army stint in the mid-to-late '90s, and ended up in the viselike grip of PTSD after suffering an injury in the service.

"I couldn't do life. I couldn't sit down and talk to someone one-on-one, and I couldn't be in a noisy place," Fedele, 39, told the Daily News during a recent visit to Snyder House.

"I was, for lack of a better word, bats - crazy. Medication wasn't working for me, and I went through therapists like a tornado through a small town."

Fedele was in a manic state, overweight and depressed, when he finally hit rock bottom.

He began to imagine how his suicide note would read, how the grief would consume his mother and the rest of his family.

He was admitted into an inpatient program at a VA center in Maryland. The care he received was less than ideal.

"I felt like I was just being herded into a certain diagnosis, and it didn't work for me," Fedele said, his leg bobbing up and down.

"We're not numbers. We're people. . . . [I wanted to say,] 'Stop pushing pills down my throat! You're not listening to me!' "

Fedele said he learned from other veterans how to put his swirling emotions into words, and found a therapist who stuck with him for four often-tumultuous years as he gradually repaired his psychological damage.

"Just listening can alleviate a massive amount of pain," he said.

Ryan reached out to a handful of veterans when she began to iron out Snyder House's mission.

She wanted a council composed of vets who had been through the VA's system to offer her feedback.

One former soldier she approached decided to invite Fedele to join the council. He wasn't having it.

"I didn't have faith in the VA," he said.

It isn't hard to see why. The agency has been haunted for months by local and national scandals involving the widespread doctoring of records, which made a massive backlog of old, unaddressed claims appear new.

Fedele said he begrudgingly decided to attend some of the council meetings. He was shocked to see Ryan scribble piles of notes as vets kicked around ideas - and then alter her plans for Snyder House.

"They were actually taking the suggestions we were giving. It was like, 'Holy cow!' " he said. "For the first time in a very long time, I felt like I was a part of something."

Fedele quickly became a prominent, valued voice on the council.

He and Ryan beamed as they recently strolled through Snyder House's long, winding corridors.

The sprawling building has a full-service kitchen, a library and plenty of spaces for residents to sit together, play games and watch TV.

Quiet spaces abound, too, from a library to computer labs to a family room that can host visits from vets' families.

A teaching kitchen is available for those who need help learning how to plan and cook meals, and a nurse is on hand 24/7.

The apartments have private bathrooms, and male and female residents have separate wings. Eight apartments have been customized to handle the needs of disabled vets.

Some can leave during the day, for example to go home to be with their kids, and return at night. Others can go hunt for a job or take in a ballgame.

"The thinking is that some people will need a short stay for stabilization, while others might need a longer stay," Ryan said.

The hope, both Ryan and Fedele said, is that Snyder House's focus on providing individualized care to a small number of people could serve as a new model.

"This whole idea, this whole concept, just exudes hope," Fedele said, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Maybe we're going to start getting this thing right."