Once trapped in dark place, Smith thankful to see light
Defensive end hopes his comeback story will inspire others
The package arrived in February, delivered to Yves Cachuela about a decade after the explosion. He held the envelope with a nervedamaged grip and unsealed his Purple Heart, the medal providing a sense of validation for the medically retired Marine corporal.
Cachuela then passed it forward. On May 4, he gave his Purple Heart to a civilian whose strength and resilience inspired him — Aldon Smith.
The Cowboys defensive end’s bedroom in the Dallas area displays all the standard insignia of an NFL athlete. But near a trophy and decorative game balls, there sits a Purple Heart. It reflects the adverse path he has walked, a journey to overcome alcohol dependency, childhood trauma and depression that Smith hopes can inspire others.
Before presenting Smith the emblem, Cachuela wrote him a lengthy text message, conveying his desire to give Smith the medal. It is typically reserved for military members injured or killed in combat.
“As I explained it to him,” Cachuela said, “even though he didn’t go through combat like we do, you experienced the misery,
the hurt, the pain that we do go through. He has that courage to get back up and not give up.”
On Thanksgiving, Smith is thankful he didn’t hit rock bottom when out of the NFL the previous four-plus years. He kept plunging, reaching a depth below the surface where light cannot reach.
“I was in a bad place,” Smith said. “For anybody who listens to this story, who reads it, if you have been in a place where you can’t see anything other than the situation you’re dealing with and then things just pile up to a point where you lose hope, that’s what happened. I lost hope.
“Being in a place now where I have everything back and it’s better than it was before, I’m just grateful for being able to see the light.”
Bottled up
Smith was 20 years old when the San Francisco 49ers drafted him in 2011 with the No. 7 overall pick. His 14 sacks set a franchise record for a rookie.
It didn’t take long for Smith to convince the Bay Area he was worth embracing. Often around town, strangers excitedly approached him for photos and autographs, calling him by his first and last name.
But he could not convince himself.
Certain life experiences hampered his capacity to view himself as someone worthy of others’ love, Smith said. Success inspired public adoration. That only widened the divide between how he viewed himself and how others did. Alcohol emerged as a go-to coping method.
“When I drank, it was always to numb,” Smith said. “It was to not be anxious. It was to be liked. It was for me to like myself because I didn’t know who I was, and my self-esteem was all (messed) up. I was this guy who was this superstar, but I didn’t feel like that. When I would be around people, I would have to get myself into that type of zone to feel like that.
“And if I was going through something, I didn’t know that what I was going through was fear and unresolved trauma. I just associated it with anger, and I didn’t want to be angry, so (drinking) was my way of just trying to escape it. That was the tool I was using.”
Smith was 21 when, according to accounts from multiple attendees, one of his roommates organized a party at his San Jose home on June 29, 2012. Jon Hannah, a childhood friend of Smith’s, estimated “200-plus” people were there, “98 percent” of whom they didn’t know.
That included some people allegedly connected to a gang.
One of them stabbed Smith early on June 30, once in the chest — about an inch from Smith’s heart — and once in his lower abdomen. Outside, shots later were fired into a crowd.
Laurie Smith, Sheriff of Santa Clara County, publicly called Smith a “victim” in the matter.
But headlines about a party Smith “threw” lingered for years.
Two people struck by the gunfire sued Smith as the homeowner. After authorities helped dissolve the crowd, they discovered guns that Smith legally purchased in Arizona but had illegal specifications in California. The local district attorney did not file gun-related charges until October of the next year, shortly after Smith was arrested for a DUI. The case didn’t resolve until 2014.
That year, Smith told a reporter he is not a “thug” and, even today, he is mindful of how his character is perceived.
“I had a role in the situation, and I could have done things differently,” Smith said. “But at the end of the day, I didn’t write the story, and I didn’t create the narrative of how they wanted to portray me. ... I’m a person who has feelings, and I’m a caring person, and I want this world to be a better place. I’ve made my share of bad decisions, but my intentions were never, ever to harm anybody. And I just want what’s best for people in this whole world that we live in.”
Climbing out
Smith is technically 31 years old.
He believes his life experience push him closer to his late 50s. He has been a wealthy man, indulging as a self-described “foodie” and gallivanting around the world. He has been broke and famished, unable last summer to purchase the cheapest food item he could find inside an airport.
He contemplated stealing a snack.
“There were too many damn cameras,” Smith said.
He received a $9 million bonus upon signing his 2011 rookie contract, and he played in the Super Bowl his second NFL season. Last year, he worked in Kansas City — as the Chiefs prepared their Super Bowl title run — detailing vehicles at a car dealership. He struggled to deposit initial paychecks; a passport was his only form of identification, and it had expired.
Smith estimates more than 30 people he’s cared for have died over the past handful of years to suicide or overdose. Among them was a woman he dated who took her own life in 2018, he said. That year was perhaps his darkest.
Smith was arrested four times. In April 2018, due to a violated court order pertaining to an alcohol-intake ankle monitor, he spent 11 days in solitary confinement inside San Francisco County Jail 4, a facility so dilapidated it was shut down this year. He was allowed to read books and take an occasional three-minute shower. When he called his mother, he asked her what day it was. He spent one night beneath his car. He owned a home and had a second place at which to stay but felt too low and lost for sleeping arrangements to matter.
Smith had an extremely close bond with his grandmother. During their final encounter in 2018, she implored him to straighten out his life. She died in August 2019 from Als-related complications.
Now more than ever, it felt like time for a change.
He made the aforementioned trip from Kansas City to Arizona. After checking into rehab on a number of occasions, this time felt different. Unwilling to keep going like this, he was surrendering.
“I was completely defeated,” Smith said. “I’ve completely lost everything, and I’m at rehab again. … I’ll never forget, in the detox when you first get there, I remember sitting in front of the fireplace, just kind of isolating. And this girl made me a plate of food without me even asking. And gave it to me.
“That was like, ‘Somebody cares who doesn’t even know me.’ Having somebody who doesn’t even know me care, make me a plate and give it to me, that was special.”
Keep it light
At a Los Angeles gym in October 2019, Cachuela knew him when he saw him.
That’s Aldon Smith.
The San Francisco native and lifelong Niners fan sustained various injuries in 2009 when an Improvised Explosive Device detonated near a seven-ton truck by the Iraq-syrian border. Aboard as a machine gunner, Cachuela required hip replacement surgery in 2011. His recovery period coincided with Smith’s NFL debut.
Eight years later, Cachuela made an introduction, explaining how watching Smith dominate as a rookie lifted his spirits.
“I became like a little kid,” Cachuela said.
The interaction was their first of many. From the Arizona rehabilitation center, Smith moved into a Los Angeles sober-living facility and became a regular at the Unbreakable Performance Center, which is owned by Fox NFL insider Jay Glazer.
Glazer oversees a support group called Merging Veterans and Players. MVP meets Wednesday evenings, starting with a 30-minute workout (when no COVID-19) and leading into a 60to 90-minute group therapy period. A typical turnout has about 70 military veterans and ex-athletes.
In his first meeting, Smith didn’t say anything. Or his second or third.
Eventually, Smith told the group that this was the first time he felt worthy of love. From there, he talked about his own past. He asked questions of others. As he progressed in the mental health huddles, Smith physically trained for an NFL return.
Smith makes welfare checks on different members of the MVP community, sending occasional text messages or other check-ins to gauge how they’re doing. He shows up for them when needed. He has supported the program’s expansion into new cities. Soon, a Dallas chapter may begin development.
“Some of our veterans have been in dark places,” Glazer said. “He lifts them up.”
In early May, the NFL scheduled an appointment with Smith to hear his case for potential reinstatement. Cachuela was proud of the progress he’d seen Smith make. He was proud of him for positioning himself to re-enter the league, for gaining a handle on the drinking, for no longer shunning the light that his own presence has brought to others.
He wanted to give Smith his Purple Heart as a reminder to keep going.
“It gives me a confidence,” Smith said. “A sense of pride.”