“You won’t make it. I don’t think you know the first thing about running a business!” said Karl Jones, a Royal Marine and teammate of mine on our security escort team in Baghdad, Iraq. Karl said it with a laugh, but I knew better. “I’ll do it, mate,” I said, with a glare of self-assuredness. “You’ll see.” Karl’s commentary had a little bit of an antagonistic ring to it. We weren’t the best of friends-not all teams or platoons are. But I respected his intellect. It simmered, nevertheless. As we made our way past, into, and through the bullet-ridden buildings and high-threat areas of Mosul over the next few days on our missions up north with USACE Colonel Jon Christensen, I questioned myself- “Am I ready to run a business?”
The answer? No. How could I be? Growing up in Cleveland, we were no strangers to hard work, but no one in my family had ever started a business. My Iraq war combat experience was costly emotionally, mentally, and physically with my infantry unit, Weapons Company 3rd Battalion 25th Marines. For the most part, I had spent my 20s in the Marines and then kept on working in Iraq and Afghanistan for the U.S. Army as a civilian contractor into my 30s to avoid dealing with “real life”. The Iraq war had differentiated me mentally from the friends I grew up with. I spent a year and some change working for Bank of America in credit card collections. It was the kind of soul-sucking experience I could never imagine returning to. “How about 14% interest?” My manager Catherine counseled at the bank, having been asked by her superiors to question why I signed up so many severely indebted customers on zero-interest credit repair programs. “Well, according to their debt-to- income ratio,” I responded, “they’ll never pay their credit card off at this rate.” This was followed by a shrug and a terse look.
Needless to say, I soon found myself unemployed and “giving it a Goog”-as comedian Mark Normand would say, on my parent’s computer. “How to file for unemployment” and “Iraq jobs” were the new Google inquiries. January 2008. I was 27. I felt like a loser. On the bright side, at least I knew banking wasn’t for me. My infantry background wasn’t good for but a few jobs, so out of desperation, I focused heavily on searching far and wide for them. After a couple months with almost zero responses to my resume, I was finally approved (after getting fingerprinted, credit checked, and 10-year criminal/civil background checked) to participate in a vetting DD 214 Chronicle March/April 2025 course for a security contracting company in Moyock, North Carolina that liked to hire combat veterans. I proceeded to spend the next several years working with a few different companies, mostly with British veterans, for whom I have the utmost respect. I spent a great majority of my time working alongside Afghan and Iraqi locals, also for whom I had great respect and admiration, being the great- grandson of Lebanese immigrants. Consequently, the respect was duly returned by these proud men, and I never had a “green on blue”. “…When one door closes, another one opens,” they say.
After 5 years of moving from one uncertain future to another on non-guaranteed contracts, I felt I was falling behind in life and I finally left that industry for good (I could write more on the impression this time made on me and experiences, but that’s another story). With my neighbor, Gene, from two doors down in Willoughby Hills, Ohio, we opened up an LLC here in Las Vegas, where I now live. As I finished up my last months in Afghanistan, employing 100 Afghan troops in a base defense role in the Taliban haven of Kandahar, Gene brought on the help of his brother Ryan, who is still very much a part of the business today. For the first 2-3 years, we paid ourselves peanuts. The comfort of having a steady paycheck was gone. I ended up running through a good portion of the money I had saved up because during the recession years of our beginning (2011- 2013), being approved for a small business loan was nearly impossible. Perhaps if I could do it over today and give a word of advice to potential veteran entrepreneurs, I’d have looked more into veterans’ benefits programs, the SBA, and the VA’s VR&E program. Do as much research as you can, my brothers and sisters.
Going from fighting the insurgency in Iraq and bodyguarding for VIPs in a combat zone to getting on your knees and extracting an outrageous amount of urine under a bed in a customer’s cat pee cathedral will change your perspective on life. Seriously, it will humble you! If you can’t be humbled, being a small business owner is not for you. Customers are not always kind. Your machine breaking down that morning does not matter. You may be offended by comments. Don’t worry. Jacob Arnett One day, you get over yourself and realize that your customer might have had a bad day. They might also have encountered some of the scams and dirtbags your industry has to offer! Carpet cleaning is particularly known for “bait & switch” scams. We bucked trends and posted our prices online. Adapt and overcome.
Most importantly, entrepreneurship put me on the path to fixing my PTSD. How, you may ask? I gave away more tangible “gifts” to veterans over the years. A dozen or so free “whole house cleanings,” Toys for Tots, and free cleanings for veterans’ organizations. That’s all great. The real life-affirming benefit you get comes each and every day as you get to experience a deeper level of connection to your fellow veterans. Spending countless hours listening to Vietnam combat stories from a helicopter pilot suffering from Agent Orange (RIP, Pat). Holding a WWI gas mask from a mustard gas attack a customer’s Italian immigrant grandfather had survived 1917 with. Sitting down with more than a few Alzheimer’s afflicted veterans whose eyes well up with pride upon just getting the chance to pull memories with a fellow veteran themselves! For me, this part has been worth it all. I’ve often felt the vibe from my veteran customers that our quality work serves as valid representation of American veterans. Ten years on, they’re happy to see you. Time and time again. Frankly, that’s more than any “PTSD wizard” has ever done for me. Semper Fi.