Flowers reveal that soldiers who die by suicide aren't forgotten

They come to the cavernous Hennepin County Government Center to solve problems, large and small. One by one, they drop by the information desk in the lobby to ask questions that say a lot about their lives.

Where do I take a urine test? How can I find my divorce file? Where do I pay my parking ticket? My landlord kicked me out; where can I get help? Where do I get a bus ticket back home?

Sometimes there are moments of joy, like the couple holding hands, looking for a marriage license, big smiles on their faces.

The noon hour is a typical rush of lawyers and judges and their customers, a blur of suits, outlandish outfits and lots of jackets and hats emblazoned with the logos of sports teams. One guy wearing a loud Pillsbury Doughboy jacket waited for his public defender amid the din.

When the rush died down, it was quiet, and all that was left behind was another fistful of flowers, placed alongside the fountain on the marble wall. This time, they were mums, tied with a ribbon and attached to a small cardboard card that said: "In loving memory, SPC Thomas Johnson, U.S. Army, 7-10-13."

The bouquets started shortly after an exhibit was installed in the Hennepin Gallery, a small space in the tunnel between the government center and City Hall. "The 8030 Project: Remembering veterans and soldiers lost to suicide" is a display of photos of "everyday objects in everyday spaces" in patterns of 22, to symbolize the 22 U.S. veterans and soldiers who take their own lives every single day.

Mara Pelecis created the exhibit (8030project.com) and invited visitors to send in their own photos of everyday items in a participatory gallery of support for the fallen vets, and a reminder of what can happen to soldiers when they return home, still lugging the emotional scars of combat.

Downstairs, the exhibit features several giant posters of photos submitted by people whose lives have been affected by the suicide of a vet or soldier. One, by Caroline Houdek, shows a scene from a garden, with 22 green tomatoes lined up on a windowsill. The photographer took the picture because an acquaintance, a vet, dropped off a load of dirt for her to plant her garden. It was the last time she saw the man, who took his life several hours later.

Pelecis said the anecdote is typical. "There are a lot of examples of soldiers and vets who want to help, but they come back from combat and their roles have changed," Pelecis said. "People say, good job, thanks for your service, but then a month later people forget all about it."

But not the person or people who have been bringing the flowers to the government center. Pelecis said that kind of personal tribute is exactly the kind of response she had hoped for.

"We recognized immediately that someone was doing this as their own personal memorial and we left the flowers where they were laid," said Diana Houston, special projects coordinator for Hennepin County public affairs department. "More arrived over the next few days and weeks. I never determined any pattern as to when more would arrive, but most of them memorialized the same service person. A few flowers were laid in the same vicinity without a memorial tag, so we thought other people might have laid some flowers, too."

"It's been a mystery," said Houston. "But that's kind of sweet."

A few of the memorials to Johnson have been lost, perhaps to janitors perplexed by the meaning of the bouquets. Houston has collected some of the memorials and kept them in a box, in case the person who made them wants them back at some point. She will leave them at the information booth after the exhibit closes on Oct. 28.

Others lay withered along the wall, quiet, anonymous reminders that SPC Johnson, and many like him, are not forgotten, and dearly loved.

jtevlin@startribune.com 612-673-1702