By Jack Pachuta

I was raised in Canton, Ohio. Long before the city became known as the home of the Pro Football Hall of Fame, it was the place where William McKinley campaigned for and won the presidency in 1896 and 1900. The McKinley Monument where he, his wife Ida and their two daughters are buried sits high above the landscape in Monument Park.

Growing up, my friends and I used to climb on pieces of the battleship Maine that had been salvaged from the ship after it exploded and sank in Havana harbor. The artifacts were in the park because McKinley served as president during the Spanish-American War, before he was assassinated and laid to rest in his home town. We never really thought about the significance of those relics. We were kids and they were simply in the park for us to do “kid things” with.

One 4th of July, the mother of my friend Phil took the two of us to the parade. It always terminated at the foot of the Monument. Since, even then, I enjoyed drawing, I took along a small pad and a pencil with me and drew some of the people. The war veterans, of course, were marching that day. The Korean War had ended a few years before, so a large number of vets from that conflict were present. Some of them had fought in two wars because the ranks of the World War II vets were even larger. Then came a smaller contingent of World War I vets. But, what attracted my attention were several men in what seemed like uniforms out of a history book. They were veterans of the Spanish-American War who had climbed the 108 steps to the top of Monument hill to pay their respects to their fallen president. To them, the war probably seemed like yesterday. To me, it was something that had occurred long, long ago.

Years later, when I left my parents home to report for active duty as a signal officer in the United States Army, my father said, “Every generation has its war.” In my case, it was the Vietnam War. I remember the date vividly – July 22, 1969. Two days before, Neil Armstrong had set foot on the moon. I had just graduated from Kent State (yes, that Kent State), earned my commission through ROTC and was reporting to Fort Gordon, Georgia.

The Vietnam War was unpopular and the draft was in full force. Protests against the war were regular occurrences and people were uncertain what the future would hold. To be upfront, I never saw the war close up because I was sent to West Germany where I was given a top secret clearance with crypto and atomic access. My position was deemed to be “critical,” so my anticipated orders to Vietnam never arrived. Yet, I saw what war can do. Many Vietnam vets spent the last few months of their service in West Germany. Some outwardly handled their experiences well, but others only left the war behind physically and were mentally still fighting battles.

Fast forward to several years ago. In late 2011, my physical condition changed. I began to get dizzy spells and literally walked into walls because my equilibrium was affected. I tried to minimize what other people observed by walking slowly and holding on to anything nearby. Since I have been self-employed since 1989, I was relying on medical insurance that paid little (if anything) of my medical care. In the archaic days before the Affordable Care Act, my condition was regarded as “pre-existing” and, therefore, not covered by insurance.

Without telling my wife (it’s a guy thing), I applied for my veteran’s medical benefits through the Veterans Administration. As soon as I was informed that I was eligible, I called the Milwaukee VA and described my symptoms. The nurse on the phone said, “We need to get you in here right away.”

After a series of tests and scans of all sorts, I was diagnosed with cervical stenosis. My spinal cord was being pinched to the point at which it looked like an hourglass on the CAT scan. My primary care physician told me, “If you turn your head the wrong way too quickly, you could sever your spinal cord.” My only option was surgery to relieve the pressure. I had to be taken apart and put back together – not something that one looks forward to. Look it up and you’ll find that the cost of this type of surgery is easily in the six figures. Plus, you’ll see the horror stories about some of the results.

My medical condition is not as important, though, as my experience with the VA and with my fellow veterans. That’s really the point of this narrative. You see, I LOVE THE VA. It saddens me to see the negative headlines because the Milwaukee VA is the reason I avoided spending the remainder of my life in a wheelchair. Every big organization has good and bad stories. In the case of the Milwaukee VA, it’s a GREAT story. Let me share some of that with you through the eyes of a veteran.

When people ask me about what the VA is like, I tell them it’s a cross between “MASH” and “House, MD.” Those who never served wouldn’t understand the environment, but it is in many ways comforting and familiar to veterans.

Parts of the VA hospital need a coat of paint or new wallpaper. Many of the signs are made of paper, run off on computers. The money is spent on fixing people, not on the types of art and expensive furniture that I see in the facilities of hospital corporations. I can feel my temperature rise when I visit medical facilities that look like art museums.

My nurse is a Marine (once a Marine, always a Marine). He’s in his 50s and, when I met him, he was wearing a tight-fitting green T-shirt and told me of how he was beating 18 year olds at handball. On the walls of his office were a large Marine Corps flag, pictures of planes taking off from the deck of an aircraft carrier, and photographs of UFC fighters. Then, he showed me the tattoo of the portrait of his deceased younger brother who is memorialized on hisupper arm. With him, it’s no BS and get straight to the point. I like that.

On one of my pre-surgery visits to the hospital, I was waiting for an elevator, got a sudden dizzy spell, and fell to the floor. Three other vets rushed to me to help me up. I declined their assistance and said I could get up by myself. They watched as I grabbed whatever I could to get myself to my feet. I appreciated that they stayed until I was upright and that they understood why it was important to ME to be able to do it on my own. There’s a certain unspoken understanding and camaraderie among my brother and sister vets that is difficult to explain.

The doctor who performed my surgery simply introduced himself as “Jerry.” When I asked, he told me he does about three of these surgeries per week. My condition was apparently common among vets, although my case was an extremely bad one – so bad in fact that the surgeries of other vets were delayed so that I could be handled
quickly. His professionalism was outstanding. He made it sound as if I had nothing to worry about.

My surgery lasted three hours and I now have eight screws in my neck holding me together. I tell people I was screwed eight times in three hours. “Not bad for a man my age.” After the operation, Jerry talked with my family and made them feel better about the situation.

I spent three days in the hospital recovering from the surgery, sharing a room with a rotating series of vets. One of them was a Korean War vet who snored loudly all night and kept me awake. The nurse on duty came in three times and tried to quiet him. She apologized to me and said she’d put me in another room, but the hospital was full with other vets who needed medical care. He deserved to snore. I got used to it.

The VA was wonderful with its follow-up. I came to know certain members of the staff and they recognized me – to the point at which they shared photos of their families and personal stories. Many of them have been with the VA for 20 or 30 years. When I asked why, the most-common reply was “I love vets.”

During one of my follow-up visits, I stepped outside to make a call on my cell phone. About 10 feet away was a young vet on his phone. He was wearing shorts and walking around. When I looked down, I saw that he had two prostheses for legs – but it didn’t stop him from wearing the shorts.

When people ask me how I am, I tell them, “I’m walking and talking and not embarrassing myself in public no matter what my wife and daughters say.” Thanks, VA!

A good writer always tries to tie thoughts together, so here’s my wrap-up. For the past 20 years or so, I’ve been coordinating the local 4th of July parade here in Cedarburg, Wisconsin. Our event is bigger than you might think. We have over 100 units and the parade lasts a good two hours. I’m the one at the front gate making sure that everything is on time and in the right sequence. It’s a volunteer position that I enjoy – and I even did it a few months after my surgery.

And, the veterans are still up front in the parade. The Gulf War, Iraq and Afghanistan have added to the list of conflicts. Until three years ago, one local vet proudly rode his moped in the parade with a sign that read, “Pearl Harbor survivor.” He has sadly and predictably passed.

Our parade staff always rides the mile-long route as the last vehicle. We sit in the bed of a pick-up tuck and receive applause from a crowd that numbers 20,000 to 25,000. Norman Rockwell could have painted Cedarburg for an Independence Day cover of the Saturday Evening Post.

I look at the young kids waving flags and picking up the candy that’s been thrown their way, and can’t help but think of the parade in Canton. What’s in store for them? Who knows? But, as my father said, “Every generation has its war.”

SO . . . now for a few final thoughts.

I am angered by politicians who are willing to spend billions on unnecessary military weapons, but who refuse to fund the needs of the men and women who are “hired” to use those weapons. The numbers are staggering. Every 18 hours, a soldier or sailor in a combat zone commits suicide. Even more staggering – 18 veterans commit suicide each day. Listen to the recorded message when you call a VA facility and it will shock and embarrass you. I won’t tell you what it says, but it is a wake-up call to what my fellow vets are going through.

I am infuriated by bombastic media personalities and politicians who wrap themselves in the mantle of super-patriots, but who have never worn a uniform and who declined the opportunity to do so when given the chance. You know who they are. I recall watching an interview with Dick Cheney. He was asked why he didn’t serve (he received eight deferments) and his response was, “It wasn’t in my plans.” Do you find that answer as ridiculous and insulting as I do?

Yet, I am encouraged by the men and women I’ve met who truly believe in the values and traditions that will be passed on to that young flag-waving generation who watches our 4th of July parade. No one asked me at the VA who I voted for or what I believe. We shared a common bond. That’s just how it is.

Enjoy your Memorial Day – but not TOO much!

END

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