EX-FIREFIGHTER FIGHTS TO TAKE CONTROL OF HIS LIFE

FORT WORTH -- From his bunk in the Salvation Army homeless shelter
near downtown Fort Worth, Greg LaRue can hear the wailing sirens of
fire trucks as they roar down East Lancaster Drive.

For most homeless people, it is background noise. Another fire.
Another person sick. Another person injured.

But to LaRue, the sound is a stabbing reminder of the life he had, the
career he cherished and the challenges he must overcome.

For 17 years, LaRue was a proud Fort Worth firefighter. Among the
ranks known as the city's bravest, a man who ran into burning
buildings, aided wreck victims and pulled people from
floodwaters.

He often rode an engine along East Lancaster, paying little attention
to homeless people along the away.

"I had my dream job," he said.

But his life unraveled about two years ago. Drug addiction, fueled in
part by marital problems, took his home, his car and his career.
Finally, he says, it took his dignity.

Instead of a fire station house, he found himself waiting in line at
shelters, living off free meals, without a penny to his name. He lived
with the homeless people he once ignored.

And, like many of them, he is fighting to recover. Enrolled in a
Salvation Army transitional housing program, he has been clean and
sober for a year and is getting treatment.

Last week, he found a job.

It is a journey that has opened his eyes to the reality of the city's
homeless community, he says.

"I used to think those homeless people I passed belonged to a
different society," LaRue said. "There was the society I lived in, and
there was the society they lived in.

"It's no longer me and them," he said. "There's just
us."

LaRue stands out among the city's homeless for reasons other than his
past profession.

Standing 6 feet, 3 inches tall and weighing 300 pounds with a cleanly
shaved head, he looks more like an NFL lineman than a homeless person.
The homeless are often gaunt from poor nutrition and hard living.

LaRue grew up in Colorado and after high school, he moved to Fort
Worth because he had family here. He attended community college for a
couple of years, and in 1990, at the age of 20, he was accepted into
the Fire Department.

"I had wanted to be one when I was a kid," he said. "And when I found
out the schedule was to work one day on, two days off, I really wanted
to do that job."

His most memorable call was a water rescue at Cobb Park. He was among
firefighters who used a ladder to cross the creek and rescue a family
from the floodwaters.

LaRue married a woman he met through another firefighter. But in 2004,
after about five years of marriage, his wife's mother died suddenly
and friction developed between them.

He was also diagnosed with bipolar disorder, he said.

To escape his problems, LaRue started using drugs, he said. He started
with marijuana, then progressed to harder drugs. Cocaine.
Methamphetamine.

His wife moved away.

"I basically isolated myself," he said. "I didn't want to talk to
anyone about my problems, just get high. Nobody starts using drugs to
become an addict, and I didn't either. But it is what happens."

After his wife left, LaRue's life continued to fall
apart.

He stopped sleeping, sometimes staying awake for four days
straight.

He relied heavily on adrenaline to perform his job. But during down
times at the station, he nodded off.

He stopped eating well and dropped 35 pounds.

"The guys would cook at the station, and I wouldn't touch it," he
said. "I basically would drink a soda and eat a bag of 99-cent chips
each day and that was it. I was a mess."

Eventually, he started abusing the department's sick-time policy, he
said.

In 2007, LaRue said, he was ordered to take a drug test. On the way
there, he watched a semitrailer with a flat bed merge into traffic in
front of him.

"I decided to crash my car on purpose to get out of the test," LaRue
said. "I knew the other driver wouldn't get hurt. So I crashed into
the truck from behind at about 45 miles per hour."

At first, his plan worked. He wasn't seriously hurt, but he was banged
up enough to go to John Peter Smith Hospital. However, the people
administering the drug test showed up at the hospital for a urine sample.

He took it. He failed it. He resigned.

By summer 2008, LaRue was at rock bottom. He had stopped paying bills.
He had lost his car and his home. He had burned his relationships with
family.

"I had nowhere to go but the homeless shelters," he
said.

Becoming homeless may have saved him.

While he lived for two months at Union Gospel Mission, he was
introduced to resources available to get his life together.

A spot opened in a Salvation Army transitional housing program for
people with chemical dependencies and mental illnesses. LaRue took it,
moving into a two-bed bunkroom with another homeless man. He began an
intense regiment of treatment, life-skills classes and other
self-improvement courses.

He befriended homeless people. He and one homeless friend still meet
at a downtown coffee shop every couple weeks for five-hour games of
chess. He listens to people's stories.

"I sort of hang on to a few old-timers and their success stories," he
said.

"They're good people. The Salvation Army saved my life."

LaRue came into the program ready to make changes, said Dametra
Stevenson, his case manager.

"He's not one of those clients that I had to push to do everything,"
she said. "He's a real good influence on others in the program. He was
ready to face his issues."

One issue that needed facing was his friends at the Fire Department.
LaRue said he ignored those who tried to stay in touch after his
resignation. He was too ashamed.

But last Christmas, firefighters at Station 33 pooled $300 to $400.
They bought him a sweatshirt with a hood, some shoes and other clothing.

LaRue wears size 14 shoes and XXXL shirts, hard sizes to find in
retail stores, much less among clothes donated to the homeless by
churches and good Samaritans.

LaRue was overwhelmed. He had to thank them, so he summoned the
courage to visit Station 33.

"It was emotional," he said. "I expected to be shunned, not get taken
care of. To see my friends step forward and help me like that meant an
awful lot to me."

Joe Lowrey, an engineer at Station 33, said: "Even though he's not
here, he's still like one of our own. He's a good friend to all of us,
and we're all pulling for him."

LaRue said he believes that he is on a path to recovery.

A few weeks ago, the former firefighter got a job gathering shopping
carts at Wal-Mart. He said it felt like he'd come full circle -- his
first job as a teenager was gathering shopping carts.

How far we fall, he thought.

"I was a firefighter during 9-11 when all firefighters were looked at
as heroes," he said. "You go from feeling like a hero to someone
working your way back from being an addict. It was one hell of a swing."

After a week or so, he was offered a better-paying job taking
patients' vital signs at a hospital. He went through orientation last
week.

He is back in contact with old firefighting friends. He even attended
a retirement party for one recently. He reconnected with his parents,
making amends as part of his 12-step program.

Soon, he will be ready to move out of the shelter, his caseworker
said.

LaRue is learning a lesson familiar to homeless people whose lives
have been damaged by self-destruction and are working to overcome it,
he said.

"It's not just about getting the stuff back, the job and everything
else," he said. "It's about rebuilding your relationship with people,
not isolating yourself and getting your life together. I think I'm on
my way.