American Spirit

by Taya Kyle

  These days, Kim does four or five presentations a year. Schools and other organizations contact her through the Indianapolis’s Facebook and web pages; in many cases, word of mouth leads them to her as well. As a general rule, her minimal expenses and those of any veteran are paid by the hosts; Kim has stayed in many a spare room to help keep the costs down—and it helps, too, that she can fly for free.

  The youngest remaining survivor is now in his early nineties. At some point in the future, there will be no more survivors to join in the presentations.

  “I’m still going to do them,” she says firmly. “We need to tell the real story.”

  With all due respect to my friends in the movie business—and our fellow writers—you can’t get the real story from a film or a TV series, or even the best-written book. There’s no substitute for hearing it from the person who actually experienced it, though the next best thing is surely someone like Kim, who has spent so much time with the “real” people that he or she has absorbed the facts almost by osmosis.

  During one of the earliest presentations that Kim did with some of the survivors, an audience member stood up and asked one of the sailors what advice he might give a fourteen-year-old just starting out in life.

  With a tear in his eye, the veteran thought for barely an instant.

  “Never, ever give up,” he said.

  The words reverberated in the hall, echoing in the silence that followed. They resonate with me, today and forever:

  Never, ever give up.

  For Kids and Country

  Angels of America’s Fallen

  Empathy—The ability to understand and share the feelings of another.

  Back in the mid-1990s, Joe Lewis was a young Marine officer training to become a pilot when he befriended another aviator-in-training who happened to be his next-door neighbor. The two completed the early stages of training, then transitioned to different aircraft. Shortly after that, Joe’s friend died in a training accident.

  The loss hit Joe hard. His friend had left a wife and young son; they soon moved away, cutting off all contact with the circle of friends that included Joe as they sought to get past their grief.

  How will that boy do? Joe wondered. Father and son had been close; Joe had often seen them together, playing, fooling around, doing all the little things that a dad and boy do.

  Who was going to do that with him now? Just as important, would there be money in the family for the little things like Little League or soccer, music lessons, art camp, Scouts, ball games—extracurricular affairs that don’t seem like a big part of growing up until one stands back and considers the subtler influences on the way we become adults?

  With all contact lost, Joe could only wonder.

  Joe got on with his life. He continued his military career, excelling as a Marine Corps pilot flying F/A-18s, working for American Airlines, and then joining the Air National Guard after 9/11.

  As his career went on, Joe lost friends in every service. In nearly each case, the families had young children. He noted that the families weren’t abandoned, exactly; besides friends and extended families, there were different programs for big things like scholarships that helped provide for the children’s futures.

  But he also realized that there were gaps. There was no replacing Dad or Mom. And in many cases, no money for those little things that Joe had thought about when his friend died.

  Sports, art, music—there was more to those activities than entertainment for kids. Under the right circumstances, they could become outlets for grief and constructive ways of channeling energy and emotion. They were also places where adult mentors—coaches, teachers—might provide positive role models or at least spot potential problems.

  “I saw a gap,” says Joe. “Between grief counseling and scholarships.”

  The more he thought about it, the more Joe wanted to fill that gap.

  “I didn’t hear a booming voice of God or anything,” he notes. “But I knew this was what I had to do.

  It was a big problem. Joe found that in 2010, there were more than sixteen thousand children of military families who had lost their dad or mom. The average age of the children when the parent died was seven. All the kids were at a higher risk for things like depression, suicide, truancy, dropping out of school—you name the problem, they’re likely to be in danger of succumbing to it.

  Since there was no organization helping them, Joe decided he would start one himself. Not entirely alone, though. His wife, Shelli, who had an extensive background as both a teacher and a financial manager, would be a full partner.

  “I just asked her to write the checks,” says Joe. “But she went all in.”

  This doesn’t surprise me. I have found the best military spouses—and perhaps committed wives everywhere—are every bit the warrior their husbands are.

  They called their organization Angels for America’s Fallen, which pretty much summarized their goal.

  Following his final separation from the service, the family took a several-month RV vacation. Joe, his wife, and their two sons traveled all across America, then relocated to Colorado in 2012. Joe went to school, literally, on running nonprofits, earning a master of public administration degree, a graduate certificate in nonprofit management, and a graduate certificate in nonprofit fund development and program evaluation from the University of Colorado. (He also has a bachelor of science degree in physical science with dual minors in business and criminal justice from Troy University.)

  The first children they helped were three boys whose father had been a chaplain killed in Afghanistan.

  Joe hadn’t even finished the IRS process to be declared a bona fide nonprofit when he was introduced to the chaplain’s widow. “I didn’t know what to expect,” says Joe. “Talking to them, though, I was inspired. I realized it was more than an obligation—it was an honor.”

  The kids wanted to learn to swim. So his nascent group’s first mission was to arrange lessons for the two older boys and a “mommy and me” class for the youngest.

  That set the pattern for the way Angels would work. Rather than providing the actual service itself, the organization arranges with instructors, leagues, organizations in the families’ hometowns. The idea is that these providers already exist and have the expertise to help; letting them handle it makes more sense than inserting another party. Angels contacts them and makes the payment arrangements; in many cases, the children are provided for at a reduced rate, though that is not mandatory. While they accept discounts gratefully, Angels doesn’t ask up front for them.

  Is it difficult to talk to families who have lost their father or mother?

  “It’s difficult and emotional for them,” says Joe, who has had many such discussions now over the years. “We honor the loss and the sacrifice. But we also recognize the parent and the kids who are continuing.”

  The overwhelming feeling at these first meetings is sadness. It’s just sad.

  But then, as they continue to talk, the mood often changes. The focus shifts to positive things that Angels—and the family—can do. The conversations end on a hopeful note. Then, over time, hope turns to genuine progress and positive things. It is truly a beacon of light through the darkness.

  There are some very personal cases, including the family of a master sergeant Joe had once served with. But most often, families hear about the foundation from others in the military or the law enforcement community. They go to the website—www.aoafallen.org—and fill out a brief form there with contact information and a short message describing the need. Shelli then follows up.

  It doesn’t matter why or how the service member died, whether in combat, in training, on leave. Even suicide is not a barrier to help.

  “To the child, it doesn’t matter,” says Joe. “If Mom or Dad gave all, that’s all it takes to qualify.”

  Joe and his wife try to get to know the people who apply before the arrangements are approved. They’re not counselors, but they have sympathetic ears who by now
have lots of experience hearing stories of grief.

  “We encourage the kids to stay in touch,” says Joe. He and his wife have quite a collection of homemade music videos. It’s fun to see the performances gradually improve over the years.

  Currently, Angels of America’s Fallen is helping more than 330 children spread all across the country. Families of law enforcement are also eligible to apply. Once enrolled, there’s a long-term commitment to keep helping. The kids go through different phases as they grow; the organization tries to stay alongside them.

  There are success stories—or “Angel Stories” as the organization calls them when they post videos on their website.

  The group helped Boston Gilbert, for example, develop a love for soccer. His skills have now taken him to Southern Methodist University on an athletic scholarship. His dad, Major Troy Gilbert, was an F-16 pilot who died in Iraq. Boston was nine years old.

  “Being on that soccer field gave Boston a way to focus on something else,” says his mother, Ginger Gilbert Ravella. Boston’s dad had played as a young man, and Boston has clearly inherited his athletic skills.

  Boston credits Angels with having not only helped honor his father and the family but also encouraging him to do what he loves. It’s a sentiment echoed by many of the others who have benefited from the foundation.

  While they’re raising awareness of the kids, the Angels are also raising awareness among the families in need. Unfortunately, the latter is growing more quickly than the money to help them, and there’s a long waiting list for help. Joe is working on fund-raisers to bring more support so that additional families can be assisted each year.

  Help comes from all corners. American Airlines contacted Joe after learning of his military retirement, asking if he wanted to come back to work as a pilot.

  No, he answered, I have this cause. . . . Maybe you would support it?

  The airline has, giving Angels frequent-flier miles to be used in support of the programs.

  The Angel Gala is the foundation’s major annual event. Originally started by one of the moms the organization helped, it has become not only a fund-raiser but a chance to show off the talents of some of the kids.

  I was honored to get a chance to speak at one in 2017. What impressed me then, and continues to impress me today, is how infectious the atmosphere in the room was. There’s a ripple of energy that vibrates right through the walls. And you can tell the flow continues throughout the year—and onward.

  The people you meet and hear about there are not just families who have been helped, like the handful of friends who came together after a man they knew died, leaving his little girl without a dad. They wanted to help, but not one of them knew anything about girls; they either had boys or no children at all.

  What they did know was woodworking.

  But that’s not something you can do with a girl, can you?

  Sure it is!

  Under their tutelage, the young girl became a skilled woodworker—a testament to her adopted “dads.” It’s now a pastime that brings her much pleasure—and results in some fine woodworking. Angels helped support her work in small but very meaningful ways over the years.

  I heard of a study once showing that if a young person has five adults in his or her life whom they trust and know truly loves them, they are far less likely to escape into drugs and other addictions. That surely helps their odds of turning out better than OK. I guess if those five adults are skilled woodworkers, they’ll turn out some great furniture as well.

  Besides the big fund-raiser, there are local efforts, like a local skate-a-thon at a Chick-fil-A parking lot, where people raise money in a marathon skating session. Participants dress up in costume—Elvis has been sighted on more than one occasion. Other events held by different groups also benefit the foundation. And people who have been helped by the group give back by holding their own small events or pledging money as part of fund-raising events like races.

  “What keeps me up at night is that we’ve made a commitment to help kids,” confesses Joe, who works tirelessly coming up with ways to keep those promises. “It’s only the goodness of people’s hearts to support it.”

  Got a lot of kids who want to get swimming lessons?

  A partnership with the National Swimming Pool Foundation allows Angels to hook the kids up with local instructors. How that partnership came about is a perfect illustration of what I call the ripple effect.

  Joe was invited to speak about his organization at the World Aquatic Health Conference. While standing in a line, he struck up a conversation with a magazine editor, who in turn was inspired to create a category of people in the industry—or related to it in some way—who helped others for the magazine’s annual selection of the most important people connected with swimming.

  Joe ended up winning the award. More important, the connection he forged at the conference helped the Angels launch the national program, which served a hundred kids in its first year.

  For the record, Joe is not much of a swimmer himself. “I had to take remedial swimming in the Marine Corps,” he confesses, and he claims he hasn’t gotten much better.

  Angels of America’s Fallen remains a home-grown group—its offices are in the Lewis’s home—which means husband and wife spend all day working, and a few of the nights as well. It’s efficient in some ways, but there are moments.

  “What hat am I wearing?” jokes Joe at times, speaking to his wife. “CEO? Husband?”

  Or just the guy whose turn it is to take out the garbage?

  “It’s a passion,” he says of the foundation, not the garbage. “We never turn it off.”

  The foundation has helped the pair over the years as they’ve lost friends, giving them a channel to turn grief into something positive.

  As the foundation matures and the kids it helps grow, there will undoubtedly be many more success stories—and many kids who in turn help others. That’s one that drives everyone involved. As Joe puts it, “I can’t wait to see what all these kids do as we go on.”

  I agree!

  Mr. Perseverance

  David Goggins

  If you open the dictionary and look up the word perseverance, you’ll see David Goggins’s picture next to it.

  Or at least you should.

  If David’s life story illustrates anything, it’s what you can accomplish if you put your mind to it. And that is the definition of perseverance.

  The amazing thing about David is not the fact that he graduated SEAL training after breaking a leg, or that he went on to become one of the very few SEALs to complete Army Ranger School, which made him a rare Ranger-SEAL. His fifty-plus ultramarathons? Impressive—crazy, even—but just part of his résumé.

  The fact that he lost more than a hundred pounds in a few months just to get into shape to try out for the SEALs?

  Quite an achievement, but not quite as amazing as the fact that he did all this, and more, with a hole in his heart.

  A hole, I might add, that had to be repaired not once but twice.

  David is one of my favorite people in the world. I truly love him. Not just for his grit and perseverance, though those are unmatched. His spirit, laughter, and goodness are what make him special, a beautiful human being in spite of the ugliness of life. David and my husband, Chris, first bonded during SEAL training, and it’s obvious why. You couldn’t find a better battle buddy. They pushed each other to be the best, beyond all obstacles—something David continues to do not only for friends but for anyone who meets him.

  I’ve had the privilege of working with David on the Patriot Tour, where I’m always in awe of his speaking ability. He never fails to enthrall audiences with stories of his life and hardships.

  David’s childhood was difficult. His father, now dead, was abusive; his stepfather murdered. David experienced more than his share of racism as a child and young man. He joined the Air Force; after reentering the civilian world at the end of his enlistment, he found himself overweight and undermotivated
. He set out to change who he was.

  The change was dramatic. Not only did he slim down to roughly 175 pounds (from close to 300), he got himself into shape to enter BUD/S—Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL Training, the gateway to becoming a SEAL. Not coincidentally, he met my husband, Chris, in BUD/S, where they not only became friends but decided to partner up. They pushed each other through, achieving more together than they might have on their own.

  As physically demanding as that training is, most SEALs will tell you that the hardest part is mental: the key is to keep going after finding your physical limit. In a word, persevere.

  Where did that come from? David says he found mental strength by remembering the adversity that he’d experienced as a child. No matter what the present threw at him, he’d come through worse.

  BUD/S and especially Hell Week—the legendary period of physical extremes and sleep deprivation that is one of the key passages of the early training—somehow helped him focus his mind. Rather than thinking about the pain of exhausted muscles or the cold ocean water or even the cries of others ready to quit, David was able to isolate his mind, finding peace in the stars and the vacuum that suffering placed around him. The mental abuse he’d suffered as a small child—the lies about how he was a worthless human being and worse—were a thick skin of armor against failure now. The strain of pushing his body to its limits released him from worry and pain.

  Which is not to say that there were no physical consequences. He suffered two stress fractures during his first Hell Week and was therefore “rolled back”—taken from training and held out to heal, before joining a later class. That happened again, though this time with a more serious break to his leg. Rolled back again, David made it through the third time. (Because of timing with the injuries, the regulations in effect, and his status as a reservist, David went through Hell Week three times. Regulations now prevent that. I’m not sure whether it’s a record—David doesn’t know of anyone else who endured that—but it’s certainly not an experience anyone would want to live through.)