Holding Fast: Helping Veterans Find Their Way Back

By Daniel Knott '94

Hello, my fellow Hokies. My name is Daniel Knott, known by many as “Lt. Dan." I graduated and commissioned in August 1994—just after Forrest Gump was released—so the nickname stuck early and never really went away.

When I look back now, many of the themes from that movie parallel the lessons that shaped my life and ultimately led me to where I am today. That journey began the day I showed up to tour Virginia Tech and the Corps of Cadets. We met at Lane Hall with Capt. Lane from Army ROTC—my mom’s maiden name is Lane. It certainly felt like fate.

A Foundation Built on Service

I was raised in the small rural town of Buckingham, Virginia, in a community deeply influenced by service to neighbors, to the Commonwealth, and to the nation. My mom, Tana, was the local reporter for the Farmville Herald, and my dad, Frank, was a Virginia State Trooper. Though neither is a Hokie—and, unfortunately, both are loyal Cavalier fans—they are living examples of what Ut Prosim truly means.

Many of the mentors who shaped my life served in the military. My father served in the Army. My grandfather, “Pop” Lane, was a boatswain who drove a landing craft on D‑Day. My closest mentor, L.K. Williams, was a WWII plank‑holder for the UDT/Frogmen. Irene Ellis ’56, Dick Ellis ’53, Charlie Hall ’43, and Henry Morris ’63—each a Hokie—were part of the fabric of my upbringing.  

Growing up surrounded by those examples created a true sense of community—almost a tribe, as Sebastian Junger describes. It’s something I wish every young person could experience.  

That sense of belonging only deepened when I arrived at Virginia Tech and joined the Corps of Cadets—an experience that challenged me, humbled me, and ultimately shaped how I understand leadership, service, and what it means to have someone at your back when you need it most.

The Corps: Learning What “Right” Looks Like

From the first day’s pickle‑bag issue and wardrobe party to my first Metallica wake‑up during D‑94 rat period, I entered a world that was unfamiliar, intense, and demanding. But it wasn’t without purpose.

There was an underlying calm, a shared understanding that this environment would challenge us to grow and would also help wipe the sweat and dust off our backs when we were knocked down. The daily lessons in leadership and the seemingly endless examples of what “right looks like” from genuinely kind, patient leaders left a lasting impression. Every cadet and cadre wanted each of us to succeed and become the best version of ourselves. That mindset was ingrained in every aspect of Corps life.

I wasn’t a perfect cadet. I tested limits. I made mistakes. And some of the most formative lessons came during moments of real failure.

My senior year, after branch assessments and influenced by poor decisions and beer, I disobeyed a police officer and was arrested. The next morning, I reported to Deputy Commandant Col. Wesley Fox—one of my greatest mentors.

After an hour of standing at attention and having one of the hardest conversations of my life, Col. Fox taught me the true meaning of leadership and compassion. He had taken the time to speak with witnesses, doctors, and university leadership. He had mapped out a path forward.

Then he said a sentence I will never forget:

“Cadet Knott, you will survive this—and please call me when you get promoted to general.”

The easy answer would have been to kick me out. Instead, he assumed risk, showed grace, and picked me up when I needed it most. It took years to fully understand what he had done for me.

A Life of Service—and Its Cost

After commissioning, I served as one of the first gold‑bar recruiters for the Virginia Tech Army ROTC program before heading to flight school. My career took me from AH‑64 attack aviation into research and development, Joint Special Operations Command, and eventually serving as director of operations for a joint interagency task force. I was blessed to work alongside truly great Americans.

After 22 years of service, I knew I was burned out. Family needs and life events made retirement the right decision. When people asked what I planned to do next, my answer was usually met with surprise.

I told them I was going to work on the water—following the happiest memories of my life, crabbing with my grandfather, John “Pop” Lane, in Sandbridge, Virginia.

“Lt. Dan is going to go work on a shrimp boat!” I can’t even begin to count the number of times I hear that and each time it brings a smile.

But beneath the humor, the transition from military to civilian life was not easy.

Over time, I began to struggle in ways I didn’t understand. I went down a dark path and reached a point where I hated who I saw in the mirror. The joy I once felt was replaced by anger, resentment, and isolation.

I was surrounded by people who loved me, yet I felt completely alone. I hit rock bottom believing the world would be better off without me in it.

The Moment Everything Changed

One day, lost and desperate, I was driving without direction when a church welcome flag blew directly in front of my truck. I had no choice but to stop. In that moment, I knew, just as Jeff Foxworthy states—"Here’s your sign."

I walked into the church and immediately connected with the preacher. He truly saved my life. Over time, we became close friends. After about a year of friendship, I was honored to get to commission him into the Air Force as a chaplain.

One day out crabbing, he told me something that changed everything. He said being out on the water—working, talking, being present—had cleared his mind, put things in perspective, and changed his life. Then he told me I needed to find a way to share that experience with others.

At that moment, I decided to start Knott Alone—Hold Fast, and my mission became trying to help fellow veterans and first responders find their way back from the darkness—or not travel that dark road in the first place. We do this by combining peer‑supported, work‑ and nature‑based activities with integrative therapies. Our primary operation is crabbing on the Chesapeake Bay out of Gloucester, Virginia.

Why the Water Heals

To me, healing begins with connection. That connection can happen anywhere, but place matters.

The Chesapeake Bay is uniquely powerful. Its natural beauty invites presence. Eagles and dolphins are common sights. History is everywhere—from Indigenous stories to the Revolutionary War to the civil rights movement. Gloucester’s past offers countless entry points for human connection. All of this helps provide opportunities to connect on a human and American level and then we add experiential learning—crabbing, oystering, and working together. Those experiences build belonging, competence, and purpose—values essential to human happiness.

Knott Alone—Hold Fast

Knott Alone—Hold Fast grew from one simple truth: peer support opens doors that nothing else can.

For years, I hid my struggles behind what I now call the “John Wayne syndrome”—the belief that toughness means silence. I isolated. I drank. I took risks. I believed I was weak because others who had “seen worse” seemed fine.

That changed one night sitting with a fellow veteran.

I only opened up because I knew deep in my heart that he would not judge me and that he was my battle buddy and would have my back. When he told me he was struggling too, the weight lifted instantly.

We weren’t alone.

If you can just hold fast for a bit longer, I’ve learned, the storm will pass.

Shared Work, Shared Healing

Commercial fishing creates something many veterans miss: shared hardship.

The hard work inherent in commercial fishing sets the conditions for a sense of shared suck, and being on the water allows for a release that opens hearts and minds. Even those who come out “just to see what crabbing is about” often begin sharing before we even leave the creek.

That, in itself, is healing.

Measuring Impact

There is no typical day at Knott Alone—Hold Fast. We meet early, check in, work if conditions allow, and let people guide the pace. Sometimes the most meaningful moments happen quietly, around a campfire or over coffee.

One moment stands out: At a birthday celebration, an adult son hugged one of our members and said, “Thank you for giving me my dad back.”

Not every story ends neatly. Some people aren’t ready. That’s a hard lesson. But we do this work to serve—not for recognition. Selfless service.

Ut Prosim, Lived Daily

So many of the key figures in my life were shaped by the Corps of Cadets. From the first morning at Virginia Tech, we were taught to have each other’s backs. Those names on the Pylons remind us of sacrifice and service. My work with Knott Alone—Hold Fast has only strengthened my belief in Ut Prosim. Every day, I try to approach life with gratitude—to see each task as a “get to,” not a “have to.” Because so many who came before me no longer can.

That is how I hold fast. That is how I serve.