Showing posts with label memorial day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memorial day. Show all posts

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Veterans




"The willingness with which our young people are likely to serve in any war, no matter how justified, shall be directly proportional to how they perceive veterans of earlier wars were treated and appreciated by our nation."
                                                                        -- George Washington

            This writer is a totally blind, 100% disabled, service-connected, medical officer veteran of the Korean War era. I have been honored to stand at the 25th anniversary celebration at Normandy, where thousands of our finest Americans died; honored to stand at the large cemetery in Manila, Philippines, where 18,000 are buried, to have visited Arlington many times, where thousands are buried. The recent disclosures regarding veteran's care is not news to many of us. I was honored to have served my country, and since, to have been fortunate enough to travel most of the world. I know the pride of saying, "I am American," with its warts, as well as its thrills.

            I was born in poverty on the parched earth of Easter North Carolina's tobacco fields. I know the sweat and hard work of parents and ancestors. I know what it was like to work an entire day to make one dollar. In the blight of the America in which I grew up, life was built around hard work, frugal living, the church-house, and the schoolhouse.
           
            I graduated from a small country school, with 13 in my graduating class. Concerned educators, seeing my possibilities, got me into the university at Chapel Hill. Back then there were no scholarships or grants. I still feel now, as I felt then, that I had died and gone to heaven-- all that knowledge. I worked at night so that I could go to school during the day, and worked my way through eight years of education, selling bibles door-to-door in the summer, covering every pig path in Eastern North Carolina. I matriculated through eight years living on one dollar per day. I graduated without owing any money, and since then, now at the age of 84, I have invested 50 cents of every dollar I have made. This has enabled me to live without help from anyone. Even the NC Commission For The Blind told me recently that they had never heard of me. I can say, with all honesty, that until recently, this blind veteran has never received anything from the V.A.-- not even a white cane, not one minute of rehabilitation.

            The greatest concerns of any blind person are robbery and fire. I still put cement blocks to the interior of my doors each night. Living alone, I take care of myself, totally.

            I jumped through every hoop to pass the boards, necessary to gain my commission as an Army officer. I had hoped that my diligence in life, hard work, hard studying, frugal living, would pay off in social and financial acceptance. I have brought the plight of the disabled veteran to the attention of many people in written letters, published articles, as well as speaking on radio talk shows. Speaking before a college group recently, I said, "The greatest sorrow involved in my disability has not been spending most of my life in blackness, the poverty I grew up in, the struggle to obtain my education, but the fact that I never received much encouragement." This blind veteran introduced Senator Jesse Helms at many meetings, yet he wrote me once and told me to apply for food stamps. I hear from many disabled veterans, "Bring their attention to power brokers, opinion molders." Rep. McIntyre (NC 7th), a member of the House Armed Services Committee, actually told me that I was not in his district. Sen. Burr, ranking member of the Senate Veterans Committee, and I am sorry to say, Rep. Walter Jones (NC 3rd) are unconcerned with my letters. I could give many examples of personal harsh treatment at VA facilities, mostly at the VA hospital in Durham, NC. I have this on tape: the chief of staff telling me, "We do not need your suggestions; we are just waiting for you to die." This is after I suggested that they have volunteers to help blind patients navigate the maze of clinics, such as they have at the Duke University Hospital - Eye Center, right across the street. At one time, I was physically able to travel the whole day. Able to pay someone $100 to drive me there, but the driver was completely lost, attempting to get me around. Durham opened a satellite clinic in Raleigh. The VA doctor there told me, "Your record is flagged. It says that you are a trouble maker," and he refused to do anything for me. At that time, and for about 40 years, I was using the fee-basis method of paying for treatment, whereby I could go to a private doctor, and the VA would pay the bill. Likewise, any meds prescribed by the private physician (Wilmington Health, etc.), were send directly to me from the VA's pharmacy in Salisbury, NC. All of this has been cut out. I am no longer in the program. The difficulty I encounter in getting meds from the VA's pharmacy in Fayetteville, NC, is a matter of record (blood pressure, eye problems, etc.)

            Through years of sick-care and struggles involving the VA, I have gone through ten eye surgeries at Duke, Massachusetts General, etc. Alone, with no family, trying to take care of myself (food, clothing, etc.), it has been my Christian faith, and nothing else, that has kept me from ending it all. I well understand why so many veterans commit suicide. One surgery, across from the VA in Durham, at Duke, Dr. Banks Anderson Jr.,  the best surgeon, was trying to save a shadow of vision. I was in the corner room on the second floor, right across from the VA hospital. Vietnam protestors were surrounding the VA facility. A black nurse came into my room, and, in great detail, told me how much she despised veterans. She punctuated her remarks by spitting in my face. No one at Duke, or at the VA hospital, did anything about the incident. Considering what I went through to be able to serve in Army hospitals, what I have lived through since, in a world of unconcerned people, perhaps I would have been better off if I had not been such a good student, if I had not worked so hard for my education, if I had not been such a good citizen.

Friday, May 27, 2011

Memorial Day 2011



My English guide and I were at the St. Mary's Roman Catholic Cemetery, North London. We had become friends and he wanted to help me find one of my favorite poets, Francis Thompson's grave... best known for his famous line, “[love] is a many-splendored thing” from his poem The Kingdom of God. At that time, I had a shadow of vision in my left eye.


He said to me, “you will not believe what I see coming down the walk.” A cemetery employee was pulling a small three-wheeled cart on which was a coffin covered with a tattered American flag. Walking behind the cart was a Catholic priest, along with a very frail woman in a wheelchair, being pushed by,evidently, the driver of the vehicle which had brought them there. This was the extent of the funeral cortege.


Earlier, we had almost walked into a freshly dug grave, and I spoke of the danger of such for a blind person. They stopped at the open grave and two other cemetery workers put the casket in the ground and began to fill the grave with dirt. The priest was saying some words as we walked up, he turned to us and said, “she is not very cognitive, but will appreciate your being here.” She looked at me and reached out a gloved hand, which I squeezed. I told her that I was American. She handed me the folded American flag.


The priest said they were in separate nursing homes, but had been married 50 years, he was an American veteran. You note that I said to her, “I am American.” It is like saying, “I believe God.” Many say, “I am an American” like those who say, “I believe in God.” All sorts of people believe in God, even the devil; many American citizens, traitors, say “I am an American”, but when you say “I am American”, you believe this country, just as you believe God. When you believe this country, you believe all the history, the patriots who made this country.


I sold that old, tattered flag many years ago, along with several other 48-star flags I owned. I do remember that on the hoist edge of the flag was written these words, “Battle Flag, December 1944”. This flag was possibly flown during the Battle of the Bulge. You will note that there was nothing pertaining to veterans or the military at this grave service. Like so many WWII veterans, they had probably met in London after the war, and he stayed there. But, he probably wanted his casket covered with the American flag, it still meant something to him (and her).


On this Memorial Day, we think of the 126,000 buried on foreign soil (not in a casket, just wrapped in an American flag), the thousands buried in Arlington and other national cemeteries. They believed America and would be dumbfounded to see what has happened to their country. Until Korea, most of the fallen were buried on foreign soil. I stood at the great national cemetery in Manila where 18,000 are buried, and on the 25th anniversary of D-Day, I stood at Normandy at that great cemetery there. What a waste! What a expenditure of life: 50,000 in Korea, frozen bodies stacked like cord wood; 58,000 killed in Vietnam.


I was still in the hospital from the Korean era, when the Vietnam tragedy was going on, I still remember the screams of the woman across the street from me when her son's casket was brought into her home on his “return” from Vietnam. We have a tendency to forget the civilian tragedy of war, on both sides. Even today, while several wars are going on, drones overhead dropping bombs, missiles being fired from oceans as well as from “the enemy's” homeland...do not forget the children who will never recover from the sights and sounds of warfare, children on both sides, in the clutches of man's inhumanity to man.


Never forget that many prosper from the greed of war, fortunes have been made from war. The veteran caught in the dilemma of warfare, the one who survives...blind, crippled, sown back together, is the blessed survivor; those in the soil are the heroes. Many of us worked very hard, while others were having a good time, to get the schooling necessary to sufficiently serve our country...doctors, engineers, weapons/utilities experts. Disabled, we give up everything, accept the patriot's zeal.


The tumult and the shouting dies—
The Captains and the Kings depart—
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

Recessional – Rudyard Kipling (1897)