Truth commission.

TRUTH COMMISSION "Jack" had a big story for me. The 60-year-old was beady-eyed and nervous and gave off a bad smell—like old clothes and mothballs. We sat down in a diner on 7th Ave.

He slurped coffee as he told me of being drafted and sent to Vietnam in 1965. He was wounded during a firefight, captured and jailed. He spoke easily about torture and said he'd witnessed his best friend get skinned alive.

When he smiled at the end of that story, something clicked. I was being played. So I hit him with some questions. Though his yarn stayed on point and he answered everything, something wasn't right.

Later that day, I checked out his story. Some of the details held up, but there were holes. Most notably the part about being a POW.

Mary and Chuck Schantag run a website dedicated "to information distribution on our POW and MIA Servicemen" (pownetwork.org). Chuck was a Marine from 1965-68 and earned a Purple Heart during the ferocious Tet offensive of 1968. I emailed them Jack's info; they wrote back to inform me that my new friend is a phony.

Schantag assured me that in 30 years, the database used at the Pentagon has never been wrong. POW phonies are a nationwide epidemic, Schantag said, which is why he and his wife have taken on the role of "unofficial historians for the 591 POWs who returned from Vietnam."

If Schantag finds a phony POW, he demands a letter of apology, which he then posts. From the website:

"I, James Braddock, declare that I have never been held as a POW. I regret and apologize for any anguish or inconvenience this misunderstanding might have caused."

"I, Elton B. Murphy, am a Liar. To any persons over the years I have threatened I meant no harm."

"I have represented myself as a POW. Of course this is not true. I make no excuse for doing this other than trying to find a reason to validate my being on this earth. I am a coward. I am 55 years old and it's time I become truthful and honest with all."

Reading through these apologies—these sackcloths and ashes—was like flipping through a stack of suicide notes. Here were a bunch of lost and lonely old men who'd been caught making up stories, trying to prove that their lives weren't wasted or looking to collect medical benefits or just hang out at the local VFW.

When I ran into Jack he asked what I planned to write about him. "Nothing," I said. "You need to do it yourself."