Ever the soldier
Veteran won’t seek treatment for old wounds until his friend with autism gets help; app could help find him
Local veteran Glenn Brymer says he must complete a mission to find his missing friend with autism before he’ll seek treatment for his old wounds.
Glenn Brymer brushes the dust from the older grave markers at Spring Peaceful Rest Cemetery. Other than the occasional small American flag, they bear no flowers, photos or anything current like those closer to the entrance.
Here lie Alva Douglas Burks, 1896-1971, and Herbert Mitchell, 1890-1966, both of whom served in World War I.
For the past few months, Brymer, a veteran himself, has been helping the caretaker of this historically black cemetery on East Hardy Road near Old Town Spring. They clean the granite and clear brush to uncover these largely forgotten plots. The 66-year-old plays gospel music for the World War I veterans and Big Band for the World War II ones while he works.
Brymer says when he got to Isaiah Williams, gone since 1937, Williams asked him, “Could you take care of the civilians first?”
Not out loud, of course. But a near-death experience from an Army accident 47 years ago left Brymer sensitive to those who came before him, and compelled to help his fellow man.
Brymer wants to do more clearing and leveling, but not on this sweltering day. Compensating for that old left arm injury with the right arm hurts. Besides, nearby living souls need him more.
Decades of putting others’ needs before his own have caught up with Brymer. But he won’t seek treatment for his considerable health issues until he gets help for a friend with autism. First, he’s got to find him. If his fellow Spring-area residents download a free app called LocalHero, Brymer says, Harvey Smith may be found.
Half a mile from the cemetery sits “The Point,” a property outfitted with trailers and a large porchlike spot. For years, it has provided rest and relaxation for retired oil-field and construction workers and the like — folks who work hard and play hard and need a place to stay for a while. Guys like Brymer and Smith.
“It was set up as a rest home for modern-day Vikings,” says Charles Marler, 47, a former FBI investigator who brought a
small RV trailer there to live in briefly after a breakup.
“Harvey and Glenn have rough exteriors and rough pasts,” Marler says, “but they would help you if you broke down in the desert.”
A mutual friend managed “The Point.” Before he died in January 2017, he asked Brymer to look after the place, his dogs — and the now missing Smith. Brymer’s been there ever since.
By all accounts, the 63-year-old Smith is highly intelligent, strong as an ox and resourceful. He grew up in Oregon. Nobody knew what autism was back then; Smith was just a difficult child and, then, young man who fixated on a narrow range of interests. He made his way to Texas as a day laborer for oil companies. Brymer’s known him for years, in the background at “The Point.”
The two settled into a routine. Smith has helped Brymer with the heavy lifting, including at the cemetery. And Brymer has gotten Smith set up with an ID from the driver’s license office, Social Security benefits and a bank account in which to deposit the monthly payments.
Though Smith has no official diagnosis, Brymer has seen him miss social cues, a common trait of those with autism, even the high-functioning kind known as Asperger’s syndrome. He’s had to shoo off those who take advantage of his friend, namely the homeless who let Smith talk on and on about favorite subjects — oil drilling or conspiracies or health and nutrition — as long as he’s buying their beer, or those who pay him for odd jobs only in tacos or take his money.
Brymer’s talked with Smith about the way he perceives and functions in the world. Once they watched videos on wrongplanet.net about the sensory experiences of those on the autism spectrum. Smith could relate.
“I told him, ‘You’re not crazy,’ ” Brymer says, choking up a little. “‘You’re just disabled like me.’ ”
Things haven’t always been kumbaya. Brymer says the fiercely independent Smith may be fed up with him. Or maybe he thinks he’s letting him down. In any case, Smith has left “The Point.” He’s taken off before, but never for this long. It’s been a month.
Before the falling-out, Brymer already was worn down. He’s long compensated for his disabled left arm with his right, and now his rotator cuff is shot. As are his knees. He increasingly finds himself hypervigilant, a result of post-traumatic stress. It’s exacerbated by looking after his late friend’s three dogs plus a foster and his own fluffy MoMo. Marler visits “The Point” every couple of weeks, but for the most part Brymer feels like he’s on his old Hawk missile site alone.
He’ll go, grudgingly, to Veterans Affairs for aid. But there’s a lot to coordinate. The cost of his surgeries will be covered, but he’ll need a place to convalesce and some help afterward. His van broke down. Someone will need to foster the dogs. And he’s got to line up something for Smith. After all, he told Smith, “I’m your soldier.”
“I’ve got the whole government backing me,” Brymer says. “Harvey has nobody.”
Brymer was put in touch with Spectrum Fusion, a Houston-based nonprofit dedicated to improving the lives of adults with autism. Spectrum Fusion collaborates with other organizations that provide services.
“We are trying to support both of them. Of course, we need help because there are so many needs,” founder and CEO Heidi Stieglitz Ham says. “We have a vision of creating a community where adults on the spectrum can live with veterans and other individuals who are lonely and are seeking connection.”
For now, the priority is to track down Smith and get rides for him to see a doctor and dentist. Above all, he needs correct diagnoses (Ham, a psychologist, suspects more than one cognitive issue) to get a support plan and possible living arrangements in place. One of his homeless friends told Brymer that Smith is fine, but so far he hasn’t turned back up at “The Point.” Enlisting law enforcement is a no-go, Spectrum Fusion caseworker Brittany McElroy says, because he is likely to flee.
This spring, Chris Martin, who sits on the Spectrum Fusion advisory board and has autism, learned about a free app called LocalHero from an advocate for preventing domestic violence and bullying in Perth, Western Australia. He immediately thought of Aaron Pajich, a teenager with autism who went missing and was brutally murdered in Perth in 2016.
“Some people are clearly more vulnerable to predators than others, and there need to be safeguards in case they do go missing,” says Martin, who brought the app’s potential usefulness in cases of autism to the attention of its developer and to Ham.
Spectrum Fusion partnered with LocalHero to bring the app to the United States. Launched in June, it allows users to create alerts and pin them as markers on a map so they know about a potential threat or a missing person in their neighborhood. Anyone in the community who downloads the app can share information in real time. If Smith were to go into Raceway or Goodwill, for example, app users could alert Brymer or Spectrum Fusion.
While they wait and work to build a team around Smith, Brymer helps others when he can.
He and Marler hosted a taping at “The Point” of “Can I Cook It?,” a YouTube video series by Spectrum Fusion client Matthew Curran, in which they teach him grilling basics. And Cathi Bruhn, a board member for Montgomery County’s Operation Pets Alive, calls Brymer “invaluable” in helping during dozens of the nonprofit’s Saturday adoption events at pet stores, which he’d like to get back to once he has a working vehicle.
“He’s the real deal. I’ve had enough interactions with the general public to know when I’m being scammed,” laughs Bruhn, who says working with pet owners in stressful situations is like social work without the degree. “Income and relative stability don’t define what (our volunteers) are trying to do.”
And so Brymer is gearing up to head to the VA with his friend never far from his mind. “I’ve never met anyone like him,” he says of Smith. “I need somebody who cares.”
But he can’t put this off any longer. Otherwise, he’s no good to those veterans in the cemetery or Smith or the dogs — or that other living, breathing soul who needs him now, whose name is Glenn Brymer.
“A Special World” relates programs and experiences by and for the disabled community in Greater Houston. suzanne.garofalo@chron.com