logo
New Veterans Village breaks ground in Harrisburg

New Veterans Village breaks ground in Harrisburg

Yahoo11-04-2025

HARRISBURG, Pa. (WHTM) – The nationwide nonprofit, Tunnel to Towers Foundation broke ground in Harrisburg along South Front Street on Thursday.
'Where we will build a permanent supportive housing program for 84 veterans in the Harrisburg area,' said T2T Homeless Veterans Program, Gavin Naples.
There will be a 64-unit apartment complex and 20 one-bedroom 'comfort homes.' It will offer support services including job training, benefits assistance, mental health support, and addiction treatment, plus basketball courts, gym, and game rooms.
'It will provide safe, stable housing for veterans in need. It will offer them not only shelter, but most importantly, dignity,' said Harrisburg City Mayor Wanda Williams.
The nonprofit was born after the devastation of 9/11.
'On September 11th I lost my brother,' said Chairman and CEO of Tunnel to Towers Foundation, Frank Siller.
Stephen Gerard Siller was assigned to Brooklyn's Squad One in New York. He has just finished his shift and was leaving the city when he got the call.
'He drives his truck to the mouth of the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel,' said Frank Siller.
Siller couldn't get through the tunnel due to abandoned cars.
'So, what does he do? He straps on his 60 pounds of gear on his back and runs through the tunnel to the towers up the stairs and while saving people, he gives up his life,' said Frank Siller.
The foundation has built smart homes for injured veterans and first responders, and it provides mortgage free homes to gold star families and fallen first responders. Now, they build veterans villages across the U.S., but why Harrisburg?
'Why we're on this ground is that what's uncovered right here on this property is a beautiful stone that says September 11, 2001, that was buried here in the ground,' said Frank Siller.
Tunnel to Towers Foundation says it will take around 12 to 14 months to complete the village.
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

Is Gen X The Cursed Generation? Let's Unpack
Is Gen X The Cursed Generation? Let's Unpack

Yahoo

timea day ago

  • Yahoo

Is Gen X The Cursed Generation? Let's Unpack

They were the latchkey kids raised on divorce, debt, and disillusionment. The in-betweeners who came of age before therapy was mainstream but after the collapse of long-term job security. Gen X has been called forgotten, overlooked, and even lucky—but some argue their silent endurance masks something deeper: a generational curse few talk isn't about blaming boomers or whining about millennials. It's about unearthing the hidden emotional, economic, and cultural burdens Gen X absorbed—and still carries. If you're Gen X, some of these might hit harder than expected. Gen X was raised to suppress, not express. Emotional expression was often seen as weakness, and therapy was taboo or simply inaccessible. That stoicism may look strong, but it often results in deep emotional disconnection—even from themselves. Because no one taught them how to name or navigate their inner world, they often dismiss their pain as 'normal.' But bottling everything only fuels isolation. This unspoken burden keeps many Gen Xers stuck in silent suffering. Millennials dominate the cultural conversation, and boomers hold the power. Gen X? Often left out of the narrative entirely. They're rarely represented in ads, trend pieces, or political discourse unless it's as a punchline. This erasure reinforces a lifelong feeling of invisibility. It's not just annoying—it's alienating. When a generation gets no mirror, it starts to question its relevance. Gen X came of age believing hard work meant stability, homeownership, and retirement. Instead, they got dot-com busts, 9/11, the 2008 crash, and now an economic landscape that rewards hustle and punishes loyalty. The rules changed mid-game, but no one told them. As outlined by Harvard Business Review, Gen X workers were the first to experience the breakdown of long-term corporate loyalty and the rise of precarity. Now, many feel stuck—too young to retire, too old to pivot. The promised dream became a bait-and-switch. Boomers didn't grow up with emotional literacy—and they didn't raise Gen X with it either. Many Gen Xers grew up in homes where feelings were ignored or punished, and generational trauma was buried under toughness. This emotional drought left them hyper-independent but emotionally malnourished. They now wrestle with intimacy and vulnerability in ways they don't always understand. It's a legacy of silence they didn't choose. And the trauma has impacted their own lives even though they are committed to addressing and healing it. When Gen X became parents, suddenly everything they did was scrutinized online. Social media created a culture of judgment where every parenting decision could be criticized, dissected, and canceled. There was no guidebook—only pressure. As The Atlantic points out, Gen X parents were the guinea pigs of digital-age parenting. No other generation raised kids with this level of visibility. That emotional labor isn't just exhausting—it's traumatic. Many Gen Xers have little to no retirement savings, skyrocketing healthcare costs, and no generational wealth to fall back on. They're financially squeezed between helping aging parents and launching struggling kids. They're too busy surviving to plan for thriving. It's not just about money—it's about existential panic. Who takes care of the caretakers? They also feel overwhelmed by the ever changing digital landscape and a work force that values youth. Organized religion often failed them, but wellness culture hasn't filled the void. They're skeptical of trends and too disillusioned for easy answers. So they coast in a state of quiet spiritual starvation. As the Pew Research Center notes, Gen X leads in spiritual 'nones'—people who believe in something but don't trust institutions. They want meaning without dogma. But where do you turn when nothing feels real? Gen X didn't get participation trophies. They got neglected, hurried, and expected to grow up fast. But no one asked what that cost them. They became adults before they had the words to describe their losses. Now, decades later, the grief still lingers—but it's unnamed. It shows up as numbness, overfunctioning, or deep fatigue. Unprocessed grief is its own kind of curse and it's left them traumatized and unsure. Boomers won't stop talking. Gen Z won't stop reinventing the wheel. Gen X? Often too tired or disillusioned to fight for a seat at the table. Their silence gets mistaken for apathy—but it's actually burnout. They've been holding emotional, financial, and societal weight for decades. No wonder they're exhausted. But no one sees their fatigue because they never complain. Gen X humor is biting, sarcastic, and brilliant—but often a mask for despair. Irony was their armor in a world that let them down repeatedly. But sarcasm can become a cage that keeps vulnerability out. Underneath the wit is often a deep yearning for connection. But they're not always sure how to let people in. Emotional safety feels like a language they never learned. Gen X internalized the grind long before burnout became a buzzword. Rest was indulgent, not necessary. They still feel guilty doing nothing—even when they're running on fumes. They were taught productivity equals worth. But that mindset is cracking. Learning to rest feels like rebellion—and they're still not sure if they're allowed. From politics to Wall Street to Hollywood, Gen X watched all the institutions they were told to trust implode. Scandals, lies, and betrayals became background noise. Now, they don't believe in much—except self-reliance. That's why so many Gen Xers feel disconnected. You can't build hope on broken systems. But what replaces it when you don't trust anything? Despite raising families, leading companies, and participating in community, many Gen Xers feel a strange emptiness. They're surrounded—but unseen. The emotional loneliness runs deep. They're good at showing up for everyone but themselves. But being the reliable one takes a toll. Sometimes, the curse is being everyone's anchor—and no one's priority.

Veteran known as ‘Cowboy Dave' brings hope to tornado survivors
Veteran known as ‘Cowboy Dave' brings hope to tornado survivors

Yahoo

timea day ago

  • Yahoo

Veteran known as ‘Cowboy Dave' brings hope to tornado survivors

LAUREL COUNTY, Ky. (FOX 56) — When disaster strikes, most people run from the chaos. Cowboy Dave runs toward it. Dave Graham, better known as 'Cowboy Dave,' is a military veteran on a mission — traveling across the country in a pickup truck and camper, bringing comfort to communities hit by crisis. His latest stop: London, Kentucky, where an EF-4 tornado tore through homes, lives, and livelihoods just weeks ago. Investigation underway after KSP trooper shoots, kills man Veteran known as 'Cowboy Dave' brings hope to tornado survivors Lancaster native hopes to put an end to 'period poverty' in Kentucky 'I move in with the community — as close to the disaster as I can,' Dave said. 'I live with them. I feel it. And they sense that. They know it's genuine.' With his trademark cowboy hat and ever-open camper door, Dave stands out. But it's his presence, not his appearance, that leaves the biggest impact. Through his nonprofit, Hearts Hurt, Cowboy Dave has responded to more than 30 major disasters, including 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, the Maui fires, and flooding in Eastern Kentucky. What sets him apart? He does it all on his own dime, using his military pension to fund the mission. 'People knock on my camper and say, 'Cowboy, you want to talk?' I'm like, 'Absolutely,'' he said. 'It's a military thing — you do what it takes, for as long as it takes.' Airbnb generates an estimated $590 million in Kentucky in 2024 Study shows Kentucky among the poorest states Kentucky's most misspelled word, according to study Local residents say his arrival brought an unexpected sense of calm. 'Oh, he's a character,' said Matthew Cawood, who survived the recent tornado. 'It can be pouring rain and he's out there, waving at cars and talking to everyone, saying, 'Bring your Bible or bring your beer, I'll take you either way.' He just gets people.' Cowboy Dave's work isn't about recognition. It's about restoration — of hope, of humanity, and of hearts that hurt. 'When you create life in the middle of death and disaster, people are drawn to it,' he said. 'It's been a blessing for me. But it's not about me — it's about them.' Latest central Kentucky weather forecast As long as there's a need, Cowboy Dave said he'll keep showing up. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

Column: A grieving dad opens up about his veteran son's death by suicide
Column: A grieving dad opens up about his veteran son's death by suicide

Chicago Tribune

time3 days ago

  • Chicago Tribune

Column: A grieving dad opens up about his veteran son's death by suicide

'My son,' he told me, 'should be on that wall also.' At the same time, as I found out later when Waddell and I connected via phone, the longtime North Aurora resident, who retired to Wisconsin in 2006, also understands why former U.S. Army Master Sgt. Michael Waddell's name is not included on the Illinois Fallen Wall among those who gave their lives in service to this country since 9/11. Death by suicide is far more complex. Far too hard to categorize in terms of cause and effect. And there are far too many. Twenty-two a day has been a call-to-action statistic, although the most recent data from the 2024 National Veteran Suicide Prevention Annual Report (using 2022 numbers) puts it at 17.6 veterans committing suicide per day, which is significantly higher than among non-veteran adults. 'Can you imagine,' asked Waddell, 'how long a wall it would have to be to contain all of them?' And yes, when the Chris Patterson Memorial Foundation took over the Illinois Fallen Wall display a year ago, founder Bob Patterson – whose son, a West Aurora High School grad, was killed in 2012 in Afghanistan – noted some 'upset' feelings by loved ones grieving a suicide. But like Waddell, he noted, after some discussion they understood the reasoning behind the decision not to include those who took their own lives while in service or later. Still, the pain Waddell feels more than two years after his only child shot himself is palpable. It's a pain that needs acknowledging, as does his son's service to this country. After graduating in 1988 from West Aurora High School, Mike Waddell worked for a year in a warehouse, 'with no direction,' until his dad, a Marmion Academy graduate who worked for UPS, saw the names and addresses of those serving in the military printed in The Beacon-News, and encouraged his son to reach out to some and find out how they liked the experience. Because the feedback was positive, Mike enlisted in November of 1989, and spent the next 22 years in the U.S. Army, including two deployments in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom where, according to his father, he suffered traumatic brain injury when his vehicle hit an IED. The younger Waddell retired as a master sergeant in 2011 and worked for the Army Corps of Engineers until shortly before his death in Jacksonville, North Carolina, according to his father, but struggled with PTSD, which eventually impacted his personality and relationships. Suffering from those invisible wounds, Mike became more verbally abusive, self-medicating on weed and wine, said Ron Waddell, adding that while his son would call the V.A. when 'having a bad day,' he never sought counseling, even with loved ones begging him to get help. With his 30-year marriage crumbling around him, said the elder Waddell, Mike used a gun to take his own life on May 8, 2023. 'As a child, he literally passed out when getting a shot,' recalled the father. 'Imagine the mental anguish he was going through' to end his life in this way. 'Had his mother been alive,' he continued, referring to his wife Andi's death in 2014 after a long battle with cancer, 'it would have killed her.' Waddell described their son as a 'good kid … a funny guy when he was not the way he was in the end.' And he was an excellent soldier, his father noted, referring to the many military commendations he received, as well as a flood of personal accolades from peers following his death. 'Your son was a good man … one of the best non-commissioned officers I have ever worked with,' wrote a fellow soldier who served twice with Mike during his service. While Mike Waddell's career meant most of his adult years were long distance from his dad, he was buried with full military honors at Northwoods National Cemetery in Harshaw, Wisconsin, just 15 minutes from Ron's home. And that gives a still-grieving father tremendous comfort knowing his son is 'finally at peace.' 'I can't emphasize enough how impressed and proud I was of him,' he told me. 'I have so many memories, all good.'

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into the world of global news and events? Download our app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store