INDEPENDENCE DAY

4th of July

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” (Preamble: Declaration of Independence)

“We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.” (Preamble: Constitution of the United States).

So many of us take so much for granted, we can get together with others where we want, associate with whomever we choose, worship where we want, live where we choose and live how we see fit. But sometimes those who we elect fail us miserably and prove no more loyal to the Constitution or to the nation than Benedict Arnold. In my humble opinion, even a President of the United States has proved less loyal than Benedict Arnold.

Even in the face of a failed administration, “We the People” live in what is still the greatest nation on the face of the earth and the greatest republic since the Roman Empire. We take for granted we can say what we choose and express thoughts in opposition to the very government that we elect. We take for granted the price paid for this wonderful freedom. This coming 4th of July remember what some men and women sacrificed for your freedom.

There are countless stories of heroism of men and women in uniform who fought in war or paid a price in combat for our liberties. Then there are the heroes out of uniform who by civil example or righteous indignation, changed the way we live by forging freedom by the force of their will or their faith.

Davie Crockett, Fredrick Douglas, Susan B. Anthony, Harriet Tubman, Daniel Webster, Earl Warren, Thurgood Marshall, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Abraham Lincoln changed America by their determination to challenge hatred, social separation, racism, sexism, division and evil where they saw it. In even these tough economic times, we can be thankful for the comforts and rights we have as citizens of the United States of America.

We will have our barbeques, our fireworks, our alcoholic beverages and our ball games. We should be thankful. Some who made these things possible will never really appreciate that freedom. Some suffer from terrible afflictions as a result of their service to this nation. I speak not only of the maimed and scarred who are in wheelchairs or have artificial limbs, also of those who have scarred souls, maimed minds, shattered spirits and broken hearts.

I speak of the Prisoners of War who are still unaccounted for, I speak of those who died before the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, I speak of those tortured by conscience and regret, those marginalized by their government and their society; I speak of the unneeded, the unwanted, the unnecessary, the unappreciated, I speak of the discarded Veterans among us.


We see them everyday, panhandling, walking like zombies down the street, or mumbling to themselves as they sit alone. I thought that they were the ‘institutionalized’ or ‘broken’ who were unable or unwilling to be part of the work force, non-hackers looking for a free ride. One day, I realized that everything I worked for was worthless because the government refused to disclose information on a neighborhood that was poisoned by toxic waste. I discovered by accident I lived there. I was also grieving the death of a friend.

I went to my State Senator, my Assembly Person, my County Legislator and my Town of Hempstead Representative. I was treated like I was radioactive, like I was a troublemaker, like I no longer belonged to society, they treated me like I was pitiful, they all referred me elsewhere until someone told me that my situation was beyond help. After all the calls I grabbed my chest and rocked myself slowly until the resounding empty ache subsided.

I felt warm and my finger was infected, I went to the VA Hospital. Once there, things went downhill quickly. My fever and my blood pressure was now a priority. I told them I needed something for the constant pain I have been battling from a badly injured back. My doctor asked me what was wrong, I told him. The Doctor asked me how I felt, I said, “astonished”. He sat down with me and asked a bunch of questions.

I just wanted to go home, no matter how toxic it was. I just wanted to get a bottle of whiskey, sit in the dark and punish myself for being me. My Doctor had me talk to the triage nurse who then took me at the Doctors request to another Doctor. I knew something was wrong. I got a shot of something in the Doctors office before I got walked to the ER.

I was put in a room by myself and I started to get really worried. Then the Doctors came in and sat down. “Sir, the medication we gave you will lower your blood pressure but may have side effects.” “Like what” I asked the female Doctor who spoke to me in a soft and compassionate voice. “It could make you very, very, dizzy…did you drive here?” “Yes Doctor I did and I want to drive away after my finger is treated.”

“We can’t let you go because it was a narcotic we gave you, besides you look very distant, very upset, can we talk about that?” “Why? Its not as if you could help me, it’s a problem with my house, government, death and my life, which is in near ruin…just fix my finger and let me go.” “Sir, please talk to us, we know something is very wrong and drugs alone may not fix it or the wrong drugs could do a lot of damage…we have your record and want to ask some questions.”

After several minuets of questions with just one Doctor in the room and feeling sick to my stomach, I was admitted. After a night in a Cardiac Unit, I was moved to another floor. That morning I had a meeting with a room full of Doctors, Nurses, and Shrinks. “We have determined from blood tests, muscle degradation and your neurological responses that you are suffering a Major Depression.” “No SHIT! Can I go home now?”

“Not until we figure out what medications work together without hurting or killing you” said the Psychiatrist as she had two really big muscle bound orderlies escort me to a room. “Am I being held here against my will?” “No. If you choose to leave, you can sign yourself out and absolve the hospital of anything that happens if you leave and hurt somebody or yourself” said the Psychiatrist as she crossed her legs.

“I don’t want to be drugged up, locked up or marginalized because you think I’m going through an emotional trauma…I don’t want to be made a statistic, I don’t want to be put in a system that’s going to take my freedoms, my rights or privileges I fought hard to get in life, do you understand?” “Absolutely! We are not going to do any of that” she said as she got up to hold my hand. She said “I promise, you’ll be able to go anywhere you want on hospital grounds.” I took the Doctor at her word.

For the next few days I lived in a mini-campus with several Veterans from all the Wars except WWI. Everyone was there for different reasons, but all of us had one thing in common, some kind of trauma that effected us physically or mentally. I got to know some good people and heard their stories. I was outraged and amazed that our country treated some of these men so terribly wrong.

Here are some stories: There is the tall young tank commander from a decorated Armor Unit who fought in Iraq. His tank had to hold its position and fight, the logistics train that was behind them had been hit and their tank had nearly no fuel. They fired on the enemy coming from all directions. The next morning after being refueled he learned that his girlfriend an officer in the logistics train was killed. He went bezerk with an M1A2 Abrams tank. PTSD they called it, he was suicidal over the guilt of killing people and not saving his lover.

There was the Army Ranger who was on a reconnaissance patrol who was in a vicious night battle, the lead vehicle was hit and two of his close friends and fellow soldiers were killed. They kicked down doors, found the enemy and he killed a lot of bad people. After being in another firefight that left him as squad leader he again took care of business, but fell into a deep depression. He was sent home to be treated for PTSD.

Before the Ranger could get medical attention, as soon as he arrived in the United States he was sent back to Iraq for a second tour. After several firefights he got considerably worse and went to pieces after getting his squad back to his firebase. They saw bodies of women and children caught in the middle of the firefight. He was sent back to the States and taken to Northport to be treated for depression and PTSD.

Two days after he had been hospitalized the Army sent two officers with orders to send him back to Iraq for a third tour. The VA, his Congressman and a Senator stepped in, he won’t be going back to Iraq. He told me if he had to go back a third time that he would have been sent home in a body bag. He was guilty about having survived the firefights, the dead kids and angry that his unit treated his buddies like trash because of him.

And the last story is about a Lieutenant Colonel of the Green Beret who taught killing and tactics to the South Vietnamese Army, Vietnamese Villagers and Clandestine Resistance fighters. He also taught, fought, killed and destroyed forces in Guatemala and other South American countries. He was married had two kids a house and a stellar career. One day he came home, his house was empty, his wife and kids were gone.

He found his wife doing pole dances in a strip joint working for a scumbag. After he confronted her, the scumbag came after him. He was court-martialed for manslaughter (he terminated the scumbag) and was found not guilty. His wife divorced him and he could never see his kids, he had to pay child support and attempt to salvage his career. After being passed up for promotion and having failed a clandestine mission he decided to eat his gun.

He hung out with the wrong buddy from ‘Nam and found something that helped him with the pain. Paraphrasing Neil Young, “the needle took another man, gone, gone, the damage done.” After being honorably discharged, living in the streets of Manhattan hooked on junk he had a real bad trip. While tripping he made another attempt to see his kids and was arrested. He was released after paying a fine and gave himself the last injection he thought he would ever need.

It didn’t work out the way he wanted. He is getting his life back together. His friend, who told me this story said when he lost his kids, he lost his humanity, he felt he didn’t belong to society anymore, “he said he was a nobody” and to bury him face down and “pin his Distinguished Service Cross to his ass so that God could see it as he fell into hell.” Some scars are so deep and pain so bitter you just go numb.

When I left the hospital after my blood pressure, pain medication and elevated temperature had been taken care of I thought about the fourth of July. Some of us have much to celebrate, a country that has been good to us and a life that has been prosperous or fruitful. Others will be thankful they live in America just because its America. When you do celebrate, consider someone paid the price for that freedom, and some are still paying the price.

RJ