The Veteran Express - Don't Leave A Veteran Stranded - Help the Serving Project

 "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."

                                                                                              ~John 15:13

I have seen the face of every kind of veteran. Some, like the handful of World War II veterans I have met, have filled me with intense pride. They walk slow and steady with trembling hands, sometimes assisted one step at a time by a loved one, but with spirits still as strong as any I have encountered. They smile at me as I tell them it's an honor to meet them, and I feel small in their presence.

Other former soldiers make my heart ache with sadness at the broken state of the world. Men like the young Marine who, after donating a dollar to the Veterans Community Foundation, informs me he feels abandoned by Veterans Affairs because his counselor for post-traumatic stress is leaving the VA and he will have to go on a waiting list. An even more troubling encounter involves a Vietnam veteran selling newspapers on the side of the road. He is clean shaven, and seems proud of the bright orange reflective vest he wears. He is in good spirits even though he is likely homeless. He tells me he is trying to save up money for a trip to the VA in his home state, and hopes to see his family there. He's not sure how long it will take but he is determined. 

I give him a message of hope, for I had recently met an extraordinary man who would be able to help him. Keith Field gave up most everything he owned in April of 2004 to purchase a huge accordion-style bus. He founded the Serving Project with the vehicle and has spent the last nine years refurbishing the bus to accomplish his mission. Keith has dedicated his life to making sure any Veteran who needs him could get where they needed to go. This March, the bus will complete its final renovations, but it has already carried dozens of veterans across the continental United States.

"I was like ninety percent of the population out there," Keith tells me as he gives me a tour of the bus. "I thought, 'aren't they taken care of?'. I can tell you I learned real fast, they're not."

A public health study polling 23,797 veterans conducted in 2007 found that only 12.9 percent of veterans use their VA benefits at all. For 22.5 percent of these veterans, the VA insurance is their only health coverage. The numbers on veterans who do not use their VA benefits are even more troubling. Even though the majority not insured at the VA have private insurance or medicare, 8.6 percent of our American heros under the age of 65 are completely uninsured. The study estimated this number to be around a staggering 1.3 million veterans. (Public Health Rep. 2007 Jan-Feb; 122(1): 93–100.)

Mr. Field told me he was present at a speech given in 2012 by the Honorable Eric K. Shinseki, where the Secretary of Veterans Affairs confirmed these numbers and named lack of transportation as the main reason so many uninsured veterans do not seek their rightful healthcare. It is difficult to wrap my mind around 1.3 million people not having the funds for a trip to the nearest city VA hospital, but the more time I spend among other veterans as a non profit worker, and the more I think about men like the one selling newspapers, the more I realize our veterans are still being left out in the cold.

Over the next few years, the population of veterans will increase another thirty to fifty thousand as more soldiers return home from the Middle East. Secretary Shineski is concerned about how much this will compound the situation, and Keith's contacts at the Wounded Warrior organization are already feeling overwhelmed with the 47,000 Veterans they currently service.  

The road has not been an easy one for this project, and it has had its share of setbacks. The risk Keith took was enormous. The cost of keeping the bus running and upgrading it to be able to properly accommodate disabled veterans, amputees, or other handicapped individuals was incalculable. Wherever he went, people told him the project would never get off the ground, that it would never be sustainable. In 2013 alone, Keith has had to decline five veterans the trip they needed to make due to lack of funding for gas money. It has only been in the last six months that the project has begun to fully take shape and stand on its own two legs, all thanks to the efforts of several small charities, a wheelchair lift distributer who designed a custom lift for the bus capable of safely lifting 860 pounds, and even the efforts of a mother of three sons on active duty to help give the bus an artistic touch. 

Her quilt, the largest military-themed quilt in the world, adorns the entire ceiling of the front section of the bus. It is the largest symbol on a bus full of symbols of the price our veterans paid to preserve our liberty, from the stone stairs at the bus' entrance, to the "purple heart" hardwood floor, to the hand-made stone wall honoring those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice in our nation's conflicts. For an inside look at the bus itself, please take a look at this five minute video promoting the serving project. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJFzOGZtrK0&feature=youtu.be

Keith and his associates have big plans for the future of Serving Project, but they need our help to reach the goal of creating a unique charity enterprise capable of sustaining itself. The dream is to add three more vehicles equal in size and capacity to the first bus. In other words, each bus will be able to carry up to five wheel-chaired veterans and their families (or about a dozen people comfortably). Each will meet the same ADA standards for wheelchair accessibility, provide for all dietary needs during the trip, have easy maneuvering to and from specially designed restrooms, and be easy for a disable veteran to self transition from seats to bunks and vice versa.

The mammoth busses can cary up to 200 gallons of fuel and get around 1800 highways miles per tank, but in the city where stopping and starting is common place, milage drops to under three miles a gallon. Therefore, another goal is to commission a fleet of smaller buses for metropolitan areas. They would carry veterans from their homes to meet up with the larger buses. All of this infrastructure would save time and money, and give countless other veterans jobs under a business model being created by the newly founded Serving Project, Inc. Each vehicle would cost an estimated $400,000 to purchase and outfit, and around $250,000 to run annually.

We can help make it happen.  Please go to the link below and click the donate button. You can either pledge to cover a block of miles, or donate a fixed amount. If anything, we have the power to make certain no veteran who requests this service is ever left behind. Twenty two veterans a day commit suicide - one every sixty five minutes. Might we make a difference if veterans who feel stranded and alone could get to a VA center for the care they desperately need? Keith perhaps put it best as he closed his tour.

"We never leave a guy out on the battlefield. We go back and get him. Why when we bring them home, do we abandon them?"

Donate Here:

www.servingproject.org

You can also get daily updates on the Serving Project by liking and sharing this facebook page:

https://www.facebook.com/ServingProject

References:

1. Interview: Keith Fields 30 November and 7 December 2013

2. Nelson, Karen M., Starkebaum, Gordon A., Reiber, Gayle E., "Veterans Using and Uninsured Veterans not Using Veterans Affairs (VA) Health Care" Public Health Rep. 2007 Jan-Feb; 122(1): 93–100.

Seeing A Cappella Fire: The Inspiration of Peter Hollens

“Does everybody know what a cappella means?” I ask the choir section of seventh and eighth grade students. They are gathered around a piano, with one of their number having just finished perfectly playing the haunting melody of “Say Something” by Great Big World. Her classmates are already demanding she play something else, so they can sing along, when I interrupt them with my question. These fourteen choir kids of course all know the answer. Even though I am only their substitute for the day, I should have realized they love music too much to be ignorant of this proud musical art form. One of them surprises me.

“Yeah, like Pentatonix and Peter Hollens,” says a girl smaller than the rest of her classmates. The little brown-eyed Latin girl gives me a cheerful smile as she wedges her way forward. She has been quiet until now, but her timing is perfect.  I am set up to introduce Peter Hollen’s cover of Ed Sheeran’s “I See Fire.” I already have my phone out ready to play the video, and she eyes it with eager anticipation of what I have to show them.

“Exactly,” I say. “In fact, I wanted to show you Peter’s latest.”

 I hit play, and all crowd tighter around the piano to view my small iphone screen. They are transfixed, and with good reason. With Peter’s version of “I See Fire,” he brings an already amazing and haunting song to a completely new level. Instrumentals from guitar and violin accompany Ed Sheeran’s amazing original version, but with creative use of 98 tracks of his own voice acting as his own personal choir, Peter adds an emotional build up to the song with a power the original version seems unable to match.

The video itself is simple in nature, with a motif of warm and flickering flames in front of Peter for many of the shots. The video presentation is in his signature multi-split screen style which shows him singing both the main vocals and supporting roles. This simplicity is both beautiful and demonstrative of Peter’s talent—the viewer realizes the incredible voice range and ear for music Peter must have to perfectly synchronize such a high number of tracks.

There can be no doubt about Peter’s musical prowess, as almost half a million subscribers to his youtube channel could attest. Yet what do seventy million views mean for Peter, who has been making videos since 2011? I caught up with Peter via email to ask the former star of the second season of NBC’s “The Sing off” his hopes for the future of A Capella music.

 “I hope a cappella becomes a staple in the industry,” says Peter. “. . . something that isn't considered a fad, or a gimmick, but an actual genre with multiple grammy-winning artists, and radio play. Pentatonix and other artists are teaching the industry that they have to pay attention and listen.”

Peter modestly does not yet list himself with the “other artists”, but the faces of the fourteen kids listening intently to his video tell a different story. The talented young girl at the piano attempts to pick up the song by ear, experimentally plucking away at a few keys by the second time the chorus repeats. A few start to sing along with Peter. A fourteen year old girl already taller than me tries to figure out Peter’s clap, snap and stomp pattern. It turns into a regular jam session. They have me play the video again to see if they can get the song down.

I explain the original version of the song will be featured in the movie The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smog, and that Peter has done another Hobbit song, one by himself and one with violinist Jun Sung Ahn. They soon add their number to the over 4.6 million views of Peter’s covers of “Misty Mountains”. Of course, the ones who knew Peter already don’t let me leave out his jaw dropping Epic Disney Medley collaboration with singer Alex G. before moving on to some Pentatonix.

After the jam session is over and the bell rings, I realize Peter’s hope for a cappella music is already taking shape in the youth who are discovering music like his. Artists like Pentatonix, Alex G, and Peter are indeed teaching the industry they have to pay attention and listen but they aren’t doing it with their talent alone. Peter sings a gorgeous song about seeing fire, but today I saw fire too. I witnessed Peter’s singing help ignite the passionate flame of quality a cappella music in the young hearts of our nation’s future, and I am sure it will be burning brightly for generations to come.

See the video “I see Fire” here

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yymS1Pb7JfM

Additional References

www.PeterHollens.com

www.youtube.com/peterhollens

www.twitter.com/peterhollens

www.facebook.com/peterhollensmusic

Suddenly A Teacher

A low tone sounds - Klein Forest High School's "bell". It signifies the end of the period. I breath a small sigh of relief of twenty or more junior and senior high school students take their leave. One student recognized earlier in the class that I must have been in the military. I only have some idea what gave him this correct impression, perhaps it was the way I announced myself to get their attention over the noise they were making, or perhaps it was the way I walked, my posture, or the way I did not allow any nonsense to take place in the classroom.

"Congratulations for surviving sixth period," he tells me somewhat somberly. "The last sub had many more issues to deal with, including people having shouting matches and cussing each other out and stuff."

I nod and tell him thank you. In truth, the entire day had gone fairly smoothly, save for a mixup over which lunch I was supposed to go to. This left a class unattended for about ten minutes until someone found me as I tried to figure out where I was supposed to even get lunch - but one of the principles had taken control of things. I learned a lot just from watching her for a few minutes. She even scared ME. I digress. Allow me to "Tarentino" this story and start from the beginning.

First period. I arrived on time but found most of my half an hour before class occupied with figuring out where the heck I was supposed to go. I finally located my first classroom with ten minutes to spare, and walked into a room full of fish tanks and hydroponic gardens. The fish tanks have some pretty plain looking fish I have seen before, but some of them are rather large. The set up is much like a chemistry lab with long rectangular tables fastened to the floor. Each table has a fish tank. The hydroponic gardens seem to compliment some of the fish tanks, but one is an impressive brightly lit chamber growing tall tomato plants.

It is unlike anything I ever had in high school, and I find myself wanting to examine and learn the details of the hydroponic gardens - a subject I became something of an expert with in my own high school days. There is not time. The students have come, and I am their "Aquatic Science Substitute". 

Aquatic Science students are not necessarily honor or AP students, but they seem to have chosen an elective they found actually interesting. Of the three periods I preside over this subject, they all do their work quietly. My only issue is a student who felt it acceptable to eat a bag of Cheet-ohs in class. He put them away when I told him to. It was just as my friends suggested. I was a babysitter. Though I could have probably lectured at length about hydroponics, they were assigned to watch a power point presentation and video on their personal laptops on tidal movements and their importance to marine life. 

And therein lay a challenge I am not sure many of my teacher friends or family ever face. The laptops, called "Blackboards" were something issued by the school to the students, apparently for a fee. Not every student had one, but those who did shared with others to complete the assignment in Aquatic Science. The issue with these laptops was (although certain websites like youtube were blocked) they could get on the net and basically goof off if I did not play close attention. 

This tendency to play on laptops was especially a problem in the dynamic battle zone that was regular Physics class - my other assignment. (I was subbing for two different teachers over the seven periods). The students seemed to take me for an idiot at first, at least when it came to the laptops. They were good about keeping their phones put away for the most part (mostly because Klein Forest had somehow blocked cell phone connections in the classrooms), but I was constantly forced to police the laptops and make sure the kids were using it for their assignment or something useful to their learning. 

The laptop caused the only confrontation I had the entire day. One bulky male student refused to stop looking at shoes, of all things, and return to the Physics lesson he was supposed to be working on. I even suggested he apply one of the questions to shoes instead of tire treads, then show me his work. He didn't simply refuse, but he also gave me lip and felt it wise to order me to leave him alone. 

"I'm going to give you one more chance to correct your attitude and do what you're supposed to be doing," I told him. "Then you and I are going to have a problem. Are we going to have a problem?"

He ignored me. Unwise. 

I called the office to send someone to collect him. He was lucky I simply followed procedure, rather than release my inner drill sergeant completely. They sent a coach who had come to make sure I was surviving earlier. As he left, I turned my back on the thugish child, and he did swear at me. I was glad to see most of his classmates did not approve of the disturbance. There were one or two who tried to sneak cell phone games. Here I was perhaps too lenient. I could have confiscated these phones, but I let it slide a little as long as they heeded my instruction to put the phone away. The third time I made one student do this, he simply got up and left the classroom. 

We were briefed that in high school, if a student does this we are no longer responsible for them. I just make a note of it and they are now truant. I was glad not to have to chase him down, but without fail I had at least one person every class wanting to use the restroom and take the hall pass. It was another way to test the rules I would not have considered until my first day. 

The real key to keeping control of a rowdy physics class was the opposite of what even my teacher friends advised. Show no mercy they said. Release your inner "pisshead" another said. While in some cases I had to do this, it was my knowledge and ability to teach a little physics that kept the class calm. My ability to answer their questions and help them with problems kept them working on the assignment, rather than simply giving up and looking for ways to goof off. The students themselves did not expect me to be able to help them. Once I realized this, I told them up front each class of my capability. In this area, I believe I succeeded where other subs failed.

I even found myself mimicking my own high school physics teacher as I walked back and forth throwing my keys up and down to demonstrate principles of potential and kinetic energy. 

"Power is Watt?" I declared. 

They didn't get it. I had to explain I wasn't simply asking a question. Thanks for showing me how to be a good physics teacher Mr. Funkhouser. I should think I made you proud.   

I am proud of all my teacher friends. I know something of what you deal with every day now, and though I knew it was not easy job it was still quite an experience to see it firsthand. I'm sure its impossible to match every substitute to a subject they know something about, but I think its a darn good idea to encourage substitutes the think of themselves as teachers too, and not just babysitters. Its amazing how well we all behave as humans when we are more interested in learning than what trouble we can cause.

Students fill the huge halls of Klein Forest High School 

The Praying Veteran

Tonight's blog is about a man I have come to admire more than any of the other veterans I have worked with. His story is not a happy one, and yet this gentleman goes through life with a smile in his face and a twinkle of good humor in his eye. 

Cliff is a nickname, but it is all I truly know him by. It is the only one he needs. He was one of thousands who answered the call to go to Vietnam by draft, rather than volunteer. He wears his entire military experience proudly on a single black ballcap, embroidered in some places with unit patches, and decorated with shiny pins in others. On one car ride I point to a big red one;

"You were in the Big Red One?" I exclaim, knowing the unit's celebrated battle history. He turns his worn, leathery face to me and smiles. 

"Well, we were assigned to them for the war, but those bastards kept trying to get me killed!" 

Cliff was an army field medic in Veitnam. He signed up for a position he thought might be safer, but ended up in harm's way more often than not. Still, he insists (much like another Veteran I know and respect) that America's highways are far deadlier than the war ever was. He is fond of telling a "war story" in which a woman he was riding shotgun with in 1971 (pre seat belts) decided to throw the car in reverse on a busy freeway when she missed her exit. 

"I tell you what I told her," Cliff says as he buckles his safety belt. "Please don't kill me, I'm a Vietnam veteran. People already aren't nice to me!" 

He says something like this to me every time we get into the car and he is one of my passengers before we ever set out. It makes me laugh every time, and I do find myself being extra careful. 

Cliff has good humor over not only the danger of the road, but also something I can't stand - the way our Vietnam veterans were treated when they returned home. Cliff is a person with a rare gift to make light of something serious, but still uphold the respect the subject deserves. He is a person who has been trampled on and treated unfairly, and only now as a senior citizen does he claim to make enough enough to pay all his bills and still have money left over. He has two bachelors and two masters degrees, about half of which his service in the military helped pay for - and he jokingly insists the degrees are finally paying off for him. 

Cliff tells me he had an ex-wife who was never satisfied with what he could provide her no matter how hard he worked. In the end, she divorced him in the early 1990's and took the kids with her out of his life. Somehow she was able to keep the kids from seeing him when he fell into unemployment and was unable to pay child support. His daughter and son attempted to reconnect with him around 2003, and he tells a story of two young adults who were just as difficult to please as their mother. Earlier this year the son told him they never want to hear from him again. 

I don't know what would ever lead a child to say such a thing to a parent, and mean it, but I believe Cliff when he says their mother always painted him in a bad light and that all three people have material greedy souls. Sometimes people can end up that way. 

Cliff has much he could be depressed about. He's turning 70 soon and he's alone. He's lost his family, has few friends except for the other veterans in the non profit, and could be very lonely. Yet before each day of work he prays and believes God will provide him the best, and take care of him. He prays for the others, and watches over them with father-like interest. He never stops smiling, and a twinkle is always in his eye.

My readers will have all different views on faith and spirituality, and I do not write to promote any one belief here. But this man does have something we all long for, that life can throw whatever cruel intentions it may have for him and he will still be happy just to be alive and allowed to love others. Call it faith, call it optimism, call it the Holy Spirit - or call it a man who simply decided life was worth living no matter the darkness - when you look at someone like Cliff, you may discover something about how to live your own life with a smile too. 

Cliff (right) trades memories of Vietnam with another veteran. Glen was a Door gunner on helicopters - a position who's life expectancy in 1967 was 3 minutes after first contact with the enemy. 

Don't Get Boxed In

I'm surrounded by boxes. Most of them are labeled correctly, but there is little order to the way they have been deposited around my new residence. The hard part of moving is over. All that remains is to unpack and make this compact two bedroom apartment into a home. The task ahead is still daunting. 

Moving sucks. I am thrilled to know I will undoubtedly move again as soon as I find my new career. Those who volunteer time to help a friend move are demonstrating true friendship - but it's certainly not expected. 

On the other hand, new domestic adventures await somewhere in these boxes. I'm a pack rat and rarely ever get rid of anything. The consequence is many of these boxes are filled with items I will probably never use or get out. Each box has an equal chance of containing something I had completely forgotten about, but am glad to see again. In this way moving after having this stuff in storage for three months is kind of like Christmas. 

Some boxes have practical items. Some boxes have old books I'd like to find time to reread. One display case carries my Aggie Senior Boots, and others contain photo albums of a different time and different life. Some boxes hold hints of larger dreams. 

Life can be like trying to move. At least, if you are living a life and chasing a dream you are constantly on the move. No matter where we are in life I think it's important to open all the boxes we keep with us from time to time and remember what we keep inside. It is good to know what excess baggage we don't need anymore and can give away, just as it is important to know what will serve us well in the days to come.

 I'm opening ALL my boxes tonight. You should join me if you haven't done so in a while. Keep in mind sometimes you will need a friend if the box is too heavy. Maybe moving can be fun. After all, I have found it to be the best way to keep life from boxing you.

Of Neighbors and Vagabonds

Another chapter in my life closes, a new one begins. It was a short chapter - only three months, but no less significant than a years worth of lessons. 

Due to my struggles I found myself living in a poorer part of town. It might have been called the Ghetto, but it would be more accurate to label the area Houston's "China Town". I did not live with the Asians, however, but a pocket of heavy African American population in an apartment complex called. "The Mint" 

The people I lived with, and perhaps many of my neighbors, were displaced Katrina victims from New Orleans who never moved back. Many of my neighbors seemed to congregate and loiter around a small convience store behind the complex. One man I met outside one evening was a little shocked to see this unassuming white boy walking around. Almost everyone assumed I was an undercover COP, even the children. The man explained this to me and then when it was clear I was not a COP and would not harass them for loitering or smoking, wondered why I lived in the Mint.

"You only live in the Mint if you've been to jail or just got out," he explained. 

I never feared any harm would come to me as I made my short walks to the convience store, despite the obviously bad neighborhood. I kept my awareness about me to be sure, but I know many of my friends and family would have preferred I not be out after dark in a neighborhood where the pizza guy won't even deliver after 6pm. 

What I observed was culture. I observed a way of life and a way of speaking among street people making their way in this world. Almost everyone knew each other, just like in any small town I have ever been to. I was the newcomer and stranger, and I was treated with curiosity, never threatened or harassed. This culture warrants a second blog, but my roomate, who I will refer to with his rapper name, T-money, was the most interesting of all. 

Whatever your prejudices against race, class, or moral views - whatever your ability to trust or distrust other humans when you first meet them - nothing will teach you more about how much the SAME we all are than to live with someone you would never have expected to live with. 

T-Money has big dreams like me. He works hard to make ends meet. He knows computers well and he loves and takes care of his somewhat eccentric mother whenever he can. His brother drives him crazy and is somewhat of a burden to him, and his brother's girlfriend is somewhat of a squatter but works hard at her job and somehow kept the place tidy. This family was strange but they had come together to survive in a world that makes it mandatory to live with other working people just to pay the rent at minimum wage. 

Don't judge my friends. Don't fear your neighbors. People will do you harm and common sense will keep you out of trouble, but I encourage everyone to take a closer look as I have. When we look closely at our neighbor we start to see what we might be able to do for them - and thus change the world. 

Tonight I start a new adventure in a new area of town. I leave that story for next time. 

The Little Blog on the Side

I have a website already. It has a blog. Here I am making a new blog. It might be counterproductive, or it might be a stroke of genius. Time will tell. I decided my typical blogs were too far spaced apart, and often too long to hold the interest of my lazy friends, much less the masses. I resolve to blog daily here and use pictures. Best of all, entries will be short, so hopefully it will spark discussion and promote interest what I have to say in my larger essays.

Sometimes my thoughts here might be profound, but most of the time you'll get what the title promises, a look into my own personal dreamland and a sneak peak at what is coming from me in the near future. I look forward to upping the anti in joining the blogging community and hope to interact with each new reader directly for some time to come. With that, I leave you with a shot from Thanksgiving, which was wonderful. I call this,  "Potato Peeling Crew" and "Cha-Cha's" Divas.