One weekend a year, nearly a thousand military veterans assemble in a camp in San Diego. What brings them there is what they have in common: they're all homeless. The vets gather for something called "Stand Down," started in 1988 by a solider-turned-clinical psychologist named Jon Nachison and his colleague, Robert van Keuren.
Back then, it was an emergency response to homelessness among Vietnam vets but, 23 years later, Nachison is welcoming the generation from Iraq and Afghanistan.
Stand Down is a three day campout that's part job fair, part health clinic, part sobriety meeting. The name is a military term for the time when a solider can put down his weapon and stop fighting. The homeless go for a shot at redemption.
"60 Minutes" and correspondent Scott Pelley went to Stand Down to understand why so many people who've served their country find coming home so hard.
Correspondent Scott Pelley was skeptical when this story first crossed his desk. Three days at a San Diego camp for homeless veterans changed his mind.
Extra: Helping Veterans
Extra: Back on the Streets
Extra: Homelessness Among Vets
Link: Veterans Village of San Diego
Link: Services for Homeless Vets
It's was a Friday morning in July when Nachison was greeting his troops as they waited in line - homeless vets and their families who had waited all night to get in.
They were literally a battalion, 947 men, women and children.
"When people come in, they're instantly transported back to the military, a time when they wore the uniform, where they were proud, where they were walkin' tall," Nachison told Pelley.
"You want them to remember a time in life when they were proud of themselves," Pelley remarked.
"I wanted to evoke that person in them," Nachison replied.
Nachison does that by putting them inside a military-style base on a San Diego high school athletic field: 30 sleeping tents, erected by Marines from nearby Camp Pendleton.
Also at the campout, there was hot chow, warm showers, clean clothes and fresh hope.
Asked who he can save, Nachison told Pelley, "People can save their self, I can't save anybody."
"You don't expect a miracle to happen when they came here for three days?" Pelley asked.
"Oh I do," Nachison said. "I do."
The chance at that miracle came with over 3,000 volunteers who helped the vets check into VA (U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs) benefits and look into jobs. There was medical care, dental care and even a temporary municipal court where they could clear tickets for loitering or sleeping on the street.
Why are these people on the street?
"There must be some gap that exists between military service and becoming a civilian," Nachison explained. "You're told what to wear you're given everything and then suddenly you've lost your entire family, you've lost your identity."
"You think some people fall through that gap between military life and civilian life?" Pelley asked.
"And for some people it's a chasm," Nachison said.
It was a chasm for Charles Worley, who served with the Marines in Iraq. He's still in the reserves, subject to being recalled. Based on his clean-shaven appearance, we mistook him for a volunteer until we heard a volunteer coordinator ask him how long he had been homeless.
"A few months, about six," he replied.
Worley left the Marines in 2008 and joined the "Great Recession." Like everyone at Stand Down, he had his service record verified by the VA, then he was assigned to one of the tents that go by the names "Alpha," "Bravo," "Charlie," and so on.
"Delta" tent was Worley's first home in a long time.
The night before he came to Stand Down, he told Pelley he slept in Old Town Park in San Diego.