Barely a veteran

This has been a week of recognizing and honoring our veterans. My dad was a veteran. Barely.  At 19 years old, he enlisted in the army in July of 1948. About a year and a half later he received a medical discharge in March of 1950, just months before the Korean War. He never saw combat, and he never talked to me about his time in the service.  Add this to the list of things I wish I could have learned about him before he died. And while I’m wishing, I wish I could recount this with a more multi-faceted perspective then that of his pre-teen tomboy.

My mom told me Dad always felt terribly guilty about his service, or rather, lack of service. The story I recall is that he was released from the Army after being injured in an alcohol-related car accident. His dismissal date is 15 days after his 21^st birthday, so I imagine he’d been out celebrating. I can’t substantiate that, but it makes a good—as in tragic—story. Drunk driving wasn’t illegal at the time, but he still held a gratitude-laced guilt.  He undoubtedly knew a lot of guys who fought and lost their lives and minds in the Korean War while he got to move on with a mangled knee and a medical discharge after that car wreck. He got to marry a couple of different women, have a few (terrific) kids, and chase the American dream of running his own business in Smalltown, America.

I can still remember his disfigured knee and wrapping ritual. Most of his leg was bumpy and discolored and he bound it with a dingy ace bandage. He’d light up a cigarette and either with it resting on his lips or in his bedside ashtray, he would weave his wrap through plumes of smoke every single day. His bedside table overflowed with fanged metal bandage clips and cigarette butts.

I can’t recall if he had a limp or not, but I know he hurt. He lauded the healing hot pools in Lava and tried to soak every morning before opening the Lava Lounge after noon.

Dad drank and smoked with nary a consideration of health insurance. His military guilt was exacerbated after he was diagnosed with lung cancer. Those 20 months in the Army qualified him for care from the Veterans Administration, and the VA hospital in Salt Lake City accepted him with open arms.

The Band-aid and bland gravy smells of the VA cemented my memories of my weekly visits to see him. Other weathered old men walked the halls with their IV’s wearing paltry hospital gowns, slippers and prestigious black caps with pins and patches. I’d see some gathered in meeting areas and could hear snippets of war stories. Dad never socialized. His months in the hospital were quiet and lonely and a complete contrast to the life of the charismatic and charming bar owner who knew everyone in town.

His care was top-notch over the course of a lung removal and emphysema treatment. In addition to his short stint in the service, my dad resented paying taxes, and was often in the sights of the IRS. He had a list of things that would make one question whether or not he deserved to receive the quality care and compassion he did while at the VA. He spent a lot of time in silence over his last months and while I wonder if he was in deep reflection, he might have just been wishing he was fishing.

I have no idea what Dad’s motives were in joining the Army. I doubt it was inspired by a deep patriotism, but it could have been. He may have enlisted for an education or a thrill. He may have been bored. He may have been avoiding an ex-girlfriend who’d just had his son, but whatever the reason was, he did enlist. He did sign up to serve, and there might just be some shred of honor or distinction somewhere surrounding his time in the US Army. I will never know.

During this week I’ve seen local businesses from restaurants to dry cleaners to furniture stores say “thank you” to veterans through sales and discounts. I’ve seen articles about what we can do to better serve the men and women who’ve served us, and I’ve read numerous accounts of military personnel that make me so grateful for the sacrifices and service of so many. As we remember veterans this week, I remember my dad, and while he we was barely a veteran, he was a veteran nonetheless.