The Worth of a Man, His Service and His Medal  

Today is Memorial Day. In large cities and small towns like mine in suburban Closter, New Jersey, there are parades to remember the military service of the past generations. In Closter, community groups, firefighters, ambulance corps, dignitaries, and children march through our town center to Memorial Field, where veterans are honored. The names of the fallen are pronounced never to be forgotten. Flowers are placed on our monuments. Guns salute. Speeches are made. The mournful playing of “Taps” dignifies the loss of life in America’s wars.

On a much more personal level. I want to tell you the story of Tommy, a most worthy man and Vietnam veteran. I have been working with Tommy, who is a kidney transplant recipient and now 71 years old. He has been plagued with anxiety and depression for decades, and on too many occasions will go through episodes of verbal anger, when he is made to feel disrespected, stupid, or less than. Tommy was ridiculed throughout his academic years as he was severely dyslexic. There were no special education services prior to 1975 before PL 94-142 made help for learning disabled students possible.

Tommy has artistic talent. This was discovered by his art teacher. She was so impressed that she had Tommy create an art portfolio that was presented to the School of Visual Arts in New York. He was granted a full scholarship, but his parents did not want their son to go to art school. What would he be able to do with that?

Later in life, Tommy wound up painting. Exterior and interiors of people’s homes became his canvas. He can match color with exquisite precision, was always reliable and charged less than what the local market would bear

Tommy wound up fighting in the Vietnam War. As a kid, Tommy would love to fish and sail the waters of Long Island Sound near Montauk. So, it was natural that he would pilot gunboats and did so up and down the Mekong River.

I had worked with Tommy for 14 years. He only disclosed his Vietnam service four months ago. For 52 years, he kept it a secret that he withheld from everyone. I was the first to bear witness

On a mission down the River, Tommy’s gun boat was attacked by what he thought were Vietnamese people on shore. The windshield was shot out and the rear gunman was badly wounded. Tommy returned fire and killed several people—he thought he killed a woman who had a baby on her back. Tommy radioed ahead and had his warrior brother airlifted out.

For his actions, Tommy was awarded this Medal of Honor in 1970. The box that contains this metal has only been opened five times. It sat in the basement of his house for decades, along with other metals for saving lives as a firefighter and as a Good Samaritan.

When Tommy told the story, he was reliving it as if he was there, a typical feature of post-traumatic stress disorder. He then began to sob away all the pain of his secret.

When Tommy returned stateside, he was eligible for an array of veteran’s benefits including funds for education. He wanted out of the service with nothing to do with any connection to it. Such was the depth of his anger, distrust, and trauma.

It all made so much sense. And how terribly sad that this worthy American suffered so much guilt and anguish locked up in his psyche for decades. I told Tommy that I was privileged and honored to bear witness of his history, and valor.

A few weeks later, Tommy arrived for his usual appointment in a US Army shirt and dog tags. In his hand was a box with his medal of valor. What happened next was unexpected. He presented the medal to me, “for service, to me, the community and everything you do.”

I was not worthy to receive the medal as I was just doing my job, what I was trained to do. If I said I couldn’t accept it, this would be highly insulting and hurtful. So, with some instinctual thought, I told Tommy the following:

“Tommy, I am honored to accept this medal from you, and I am fully cognizant of the sacrifices, duty, and valor that you and others who have served our country have endured for us. What I will do is to be the custodial guardian of your metal and will instruct my sons to make sure that either your son or daughter will have it returned upon either my death or yours as its rightful legacy owners.”

We hugged each other. I then placed Tommy’s metal in an antique cabinet in my living room, prominently displayed. On the bottom of the box is a label with instructions and contact information.

I think about the current sorrowful state of America right now on Memorial Day. The noble and worthy ideals that we are taught to uphold are being questioned, trashed, and eroded. In 1968, as a 17-year-old, I felt very much the lyrics of Barry Mc Guire’s recording, “The Eve of Destruction.” Here we are now in 2022 with similar feelings of despair and angst. I see and hear it every day, 13 hours a day.

So, people, on this Memorial Day think about Tommy and all the others who defend our country so that you can express differences of opinion. We better do so lawfully and respectfully, including exercising our duty and obligation to vote. We need to be civil, respectful, accepting, giving, kind and Worthy Warriors if we want to have a livable and enduring country.

Tommy didn’t serve so that Americans would hate Americans