Stories of Changed Lives

"I'm Getting Too Old for This"

There’s no retirement party and no gold watch when a man decides to quit dealing drugs.  And after he leaves the business, there’s no401K money to live on … and no family to share it with anyway.  But when he starts dealing drugs and sees the money flow in, a man just doesn’t think about those things.

Veteran Sergeant First Class Harrell Bragg served in the armed forces for six years and during that time he did a tour of duty in Vietnam.  “I was a regular grunt in the Army,” he says.  “It was scary going from civilization to fighting in the jungle, but it made you grow up real quick.  A lot of guys couldn’t cope with it and they used drugs.  A friend of mine even put his car on the train tracks.”

Harrell survived the war, but was soon diagnosed with spinal disease.  “I had three back surgeries.  Rods in my back keep me standing straight and walking,” he says.  Unable to work regularly, he qualified for a veteran’s pension and disability—enough to support himself comfortably — but Harrell wanted more.

After moving to Chicago in the late 1980s, Harrell found he could make fast money dealing drugs.  “I never used drugs myself,” he says.  At first he found the pace exhilarating.  He stopped communicating with his family and concentrated on making money. 

But 10 years later, the long nights, endless covert meetings, and the need to “look over his shoulder” caught up with him.  “I got shot at.  The police said they’d get me one way or another.  I knew I was pushing it at my age.”

Harrell’s brother Kenny had completed the Mission’s Pressing On Men’s Ministry program (now know as GEM) a few years earlier.  He urged Harrell to come to the Mission.  Fearful and weary, Harrell agreed.  “I came to the Mission June 2002.  I hadn’t been in this kind of predicament before and it humbled me.”

On the program, Harrell accepted Christ and joined a local church.  He was given the responsibility of receiving food and clothing donations.  As he moved from Phase One to Phase Four of the program, he gained the respect of the staff and others on the program.

Though memories of the war and drug dealing still haunt Harrell, he says, “I get mental rest now.  I go to church.  It’s peaceful.  I don’t have to look over my shoulder because someone knows I got money.”

Now 52, and reunited with his family, Harrell looks forward to visits from his daughters and grandchildren, and continued fellowship with his brother, Kenny.  “I’m content,” he says.