Grateful American

by Gary Sinise

  Over the next year, I would reach out to the hospital chaplain to receive updates about Eden, but the chaplain eventually moved to another assignment and I lost touch. Then, in 2012, I did an event in Chicago for the Marine Corps–Law Enforcement Foundation. A Chicago police officer started talking with me about a severely wounded marine he knew, and before he named the man I said, “Wait. I know who you’re talking about. Eden Pearl. Please, tell me what you know about him. Where is he?” The police officer put me in touch with Eden’s battle buddy, Marine Phil Noblin, a Florida resident. I called Phil, and he explained how Eden had moved around the country from convalescent home to convalescent home, his family always with him. Phil put me in touch with Eden’s wife, and we talked and caught up. I told her about the home-building initiatives for wounded veterans that we had going by then. We talked through a few specifics of the program, then I said simply, “It would be my honor if you would let us do that for you and Eden.”

  Phil Noblin had raised some money to help, so I asked Phil to use those funds to purchase the land in San Antonio, not far from the Brooke Army Medical Center burn unit, and my foundation built Eden and his family a specially adapted smart-technology home. To see part of the immense burden lifted off his wife and family was gratifying. Over the next few years, in that new place of respite, his wife and family helped Eden live a quiet life, as they wanted.

  Eden received all the help he could and never stopped fighting. His sacrifices were enormous, and I respect Eden and his family tremendously. In 2015, at age forty, after a long, six-year fight for healing, Eden Pearl passed away.

  He will never be forgotten.

  As the years went on, I found myself in a chain of initiatives. I would meet one person, who’d link me up with someone else and a different group, and from there I’d do an event, which would put me in touch with someone else at a different organization that served a different need. Wherever I looked for ways to help, a need or a contact appeared, which led to doing more and more.

  As noted earlier, in 2009 I worked with Jim Palmersheim and American Airlines to send twenty-two tons of school supplies to Iraq. I couldn’t go on that trip due to my shooting schedule with CSI: NY, but Jim went along, and I asked our Operation International Children partner Mary Eisenhower, a few celebrity pals, and some of our volunteers to go in my place. On the way back, they stopped in Germany to visit wounded troops at Landstuhl.

  There, they met a young soldier named Brendan Marrocco, just twenty-two years old, the first United States service member ever to survive after losing all four limbs in an IED explosion. The blast had happened during the early hours of Easter Sunday, while Brendan was returning from a night mission in the deserts of Iraq. He was in bad shape. In addition to losing both arms and both legs, Brendan’s nose, left eye socket, and facial bones were broken. He’d lost eight teeth from the blast and had taken shrapnel in his left eye and face. His face and neck had been burned, his left carotid artery severed, and his left eardrum pierced. Usually a soldier this severely wounded would die. But army medics had been making remarkable strides in treating battlefield wounds.

  Jim called me from Germany and said Brendan soon would be moved to Walter Reed, and since I had a trip already scheduled to go there in about a week, I needed to visit him. During that visit, I saw Brendan and met his mother, Michelle. Under a lot of medications, Brendan didn’t talk much, but he was clearly very downcast and in a lot of distress, just beginning to adjust to his new reality. It was hard to see this young man in such tough shape.

  In the car on my way back to the hotel, I called up Bryan Anderson, a triple amputee soldier I met at Walter Reed in 2005 who’d become a good friend. Bryan was now out of the hospital, retired from the army. I told him about Brendan and asked Bryan if he would visit. I knew Brendan could directly relate to Bryan in ways I couldn’t. Bryan has a highly resilient personality, and he’d been living with his injures for four years by then. His attitude was remarkable. He’d been blown all to hell, but he simply wouldn’t let things get him down. He’d even been featured on the cover of Esquire. He’d also done some acting, and I’d been able to bring him on CSI: NY. In 2011, he published his story of courage, determination, and hope in his autobiography, No Turning Back. Bryan agreed to a visit and soon flew to DC to spend some time with Brendan, where he was able to help him see that there would be life beyond the injury. Putting these two together helped Brendan at a crucial time.

  Yet I knew I could do more.

  The following year, CSI: NY was shooting in New York City. Normally we shot in L.A., but from time to time we went to New York to shoot extra scenes or stock footage. While there, I got together with my firefighter pals, the guys I’d helped raise money to build the Brooklyn Wall of Remembrance. Sal Cassano, the commissioner of the FDNY at the time, came by the set and explained how two nonprofit organizations, Building Homes for Heroes and the Stephen Siller Tunnel to Towers Foundation, wanted to raise money to build Brendan Marrocco a specially adapted smart-technology home in Staten Island. Would I help?

  Having met Brendan at Walter Reed the year before, I loved this idea and wanted to support them in any way I could. I’d met enough wounded veterans by then to know how difficult the adjustments can be. Even basic tasks can prove troublesome. Plus, severely wounded vets often need additional live-in help. I knew Brendan’s brother, Mike, had quit his banking job in Manhattan and set up shop at Walter Reed to help Brendan recover. But how would they manage after Brendan was released?

  As we were planning a fund-raising concert for Brendan to be held in Staten Island in August 2010, I received another call. On March 26, 2010, while leading a squad of marines on a security patrol in Afghanistan, Corporal Todd Nicely, twenty-six, had stepped on an IED buried at the foot of a bridge. His fellow marines quickly wrapped tourniquets around his wounds and administered morphine. A rescue helicopter arrived within six minutes. He became the second US service member to survive injuries as a quadruple amputee. I met Todd in the hospital, then simply said to the Tunnel to Towers guys, “He needs a house too. Let’s do another concert.”

  Even before we played Brendan’s concert, we received a third call. On May 24, 2010, Sergeant John Peck had finished sweeping a compound with a metal detector checking for bombs when he stepped on an IED. He became America’s third surviving quadruple amputee.

  We decided to raise funds to help build homes for all three quadruple amputees. Back before my foundation was created, it was no simple matter to raise about half a million bucks for each home project. It still isn’t a simple matter today. But I wanted to do everything I could to help. We did concerts for Brendan and Todd within a year or so of their injuries. They both attended their tribute concerts, and each concert was a great celebration of their service to our country and raised a portion of the money to get their building projects started.

  For John, he decided he didn’t want to live in his home state, so his concert wasn’t able to materialize as quickly. A father had approached me about raising money to help the troops. His son, Specialist A. J. Castro, had been killed while fighting in Afghanistan, and the father, Hector Castro, wanted to do something to honor his fallen son. So I proposed doing an event to raise some money, donated my band, and with the support of my foundation, we put together the A. J. Castro Tribute concert held at the Canyon Club in Agoura Hills, California. The concert raised $75,000, and with Hector’s blessing, we put the proceeds toward John’s house, along with a plaque eventually placed in the new home in honor of A.J. In 2012, my band performed at our seventh annual Rockin’ for the Troops concert in Wheaton, Illinois, in support of Operation Support Our Troops–America. John was originally from Illinois, so I asked the OSOTA organization if they would donate a portion of the funds raised at that concert to go toward John’s home. OSOTA generously agreed and donated $125,000. Finally, we raised an additional $100,000 for John from my pal Clint Eastwood, who quietly wanted to support my foundation’s efforts on behalf of our wounded.


  In time, we built homes for all three quadruple amputees, and this new initiative steamrolled from there. The good news was that thanks to new, sophisticated lifesaving techniques on the battlefield, more soldiers started surviving these horrific injuries. The bad news was that after Brendan, Todd, and John, more soldiers were wounded similarly.

  Staff Sergeant Travis Mills was our fourth quadruple amputee. A highly capable and resilient squad leader, he later joked that his injury in Afghanistan was only “a bad case of the Mondays.” Like so many of the wounded service members I’ve met, Travis is one of my heroes, and we remain close friends to this day.

  Navy Petty Officer Taylor Morris, a member of an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Team, became our nation’s fifth surviving quadruple amputee from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Immediately after the blast that took his four limbs, Taylor lay on the Afghanistan soil, fully conscious, bleeding to death. But before medics attended him, Taylor ordered them to wait and make sure the ground surrounding him was clear of IEDs. He didn’t want any other service members getting wounded. Where do they find such men as Taylor Morris?!

  We were able to raise funds to build smart homes for Travis and Taylor. But there would be more severely wounded service members to come. After the early concerts for Brendan and Todd, in 2012 and 2013 I would participate in another seventeen concerts to raise funds to build homes for our wounded through a program we called Building for America’s Bravest. There was so much going on during this period, but even more needed to be done.

  From 2004 to 2013, the entire time I worked for CSI: NY, I jumped at every chance to help as many organizations as possible that honored our troops and first responders. I played concerts with my band, visited our troops, and raised funds wherever and whenever I could. It was a busy period, and these initiatives became the seedbeds that grew my own foundation, which I’ll tell you about soon. For now, let’s get back to the story about my disastrous dinner with Moira’s parents.

  More than thirty-five years passed since my days as a young, scruffy-haired Steppenwolf cofounder. Over time, I developed a full-blown film career, was nominated for an Oscar, and received many other prestigious awards for acting and humanitarian work. I’d immersed the latter half of my life in charitable and philanthropic efforts, charging full steam ahead wherever I could to help the military. One effort I plunged into was raising money to build a memorial at the Pentagon, honoring the 188 people killed at that location on 9/11. I did two concerts for that initiative, and just as we were ready to launch the building effort, an event was planned for the same Union League Club in Chicago where I’d met Moira’s parents. Pentagon officials sent Brigadier General Vince Brooks to be part of the event, and I was set to talk about the memorial fund-raiser.

  This time I arrived at the Union League Club in a suit and tie. This time the maître d’ opened the front door for me and said, “Mr. Sinise, come right in.” This time, nobody brought me up the freight elevator.

  I sat near the front of the crowd at the dinner, and moments before I took the stage, I lifted my glass ever so slightly in private tribute to Moira’s father. The opening lines of my speech recalled the first time I’d visited the Union League Club, and I could only chuckle at the trajectory of my life from then to now. I held no hard feelings—not to the club, not to the man who became my father-in-law. Back then, so many years ago, he was only concerned for the daughter he loved, like any good father would be. He wanted to see his daughter cherished. He simply wanted any potential son-in-law to make something worthwhile of his life.

  A healing power exists within service work. My heart had been broken after that terrible day of September 11, 2001. Fear had crept in as to what the future would hold for our country and for my family. I needed to do something to help assuage that fear, to help heal that broken heart, to stand behind our country with everything I had, and to honor those who had been lost by taking action to remember them.

  Inspiration and mentoring are so important in our life’s journey. We can all point to men and women throughout our lives whom we have learned from, and who, by their example, have inspired us to become better people. I can truly say that over the years, the veterans, active-duty service members, first responders, and family members, and the many great Americans I have met along the way who’ve taken up the charge to support them, have done that for me. I have been motivated and inspired by so many who have devoted their lives to service and volunteerism, and I have tried to do a little more by taking action.

  And I have found that the more I served, the more I knew that this calling was just, and true, and right and that this healing power was giving me new strength to continue to carry on. Eventually, everything came together, pushing me to create an initiative of my own—one that would eclipse everything else I’d ever done.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Gary Sinise Foundation

  For a moment I thought it was a joke. Early one morning in October 2008, I was puffing away on my treadmill at home when my cell phone rang. A voice said that the president wanted me to come to the White House in December to receive the Presidential Citizens Medal, the second-highest civilian award in the United States and one that recognizes people for exemplary acts of service for the country.

  I’d been to the White House and met President Bush a few times before. In 2004, I introduced six Medal of Honor recipients at a July 4 celebration at Ford’s Theater, which the president attended. And I’d spoken at the presidential inauguration in 2005. That experience was wild. Ryan Seacrest emceed with many other entertainers performing. My job was to introduce Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and some of the other Apollo astronauts in a special salute to America’s space program. The day was freezing cold, and as soon as I walked out, I glanced over and saw President and Laura Bush sitting to my right. I then looked straight ahead at the teleprompter and everything went blurry. Thanks to the subzero temperatures, my contact lenses had started to frost over. I panicked. Holy cow—this is live TV. There’s a massive crowd out there, and I can’t see the prompter. Luckily, I knew the astronauts I was supposed to present, so I cleared my throat, ad-libbed a few lines, and jumped to the introductions.

  In 2006, after we’d started Operation Iraqi Children, the president had invited me to a meeting at the White House along with leaders from other nonprofit organizations that support our troops. Officials from the Department of Defense were working on an initiative called “America Supports You.” Basically, they had created a big database and website that listed many organizations that supported the troops—and they wanted the troops to know about it. Later, the Lt. Dan Band played twice at the Pentagon for the America Supports You initiative. At one of the shows, Donald Rumsfeld danced in the front row.

  And on Veterans Day 2006, President Bush delivered remarks at the annual wreath-laying ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I emceed the event, introducing many of the distinguished veterans present and speaking about the dedication and service of veterans and active-duty military personnel.

  I was honored to have been asked to do all these things. But this was something completely different. I was being asked to come to our nation’s capital again, this time to receive the Presidential Citizens Medal. I never expected this kind of honor. The rewards of my mission are the smiling faces of service members and their families. They’re the ones in the spotlight. Yet here I was, on the phone with a White House representative who was saying I could bring family members to the ceremony. I stammered my thanks and hung up. On December 10, 2008, I brought Moira, our children, and my parents, along with several other family members, to the White House. There were thirteen of us in all. We stood outside the Oval Office. The door opened, and President Bush said heartily, “Come on in, Gary.” The citation was read. We took some pictures and chatted with the president. The entire ceremony lasted maybe ten minutes. Not long. But it was the honor of a lifetime.

  The busy pace started to catch up with me toward the end of that long “c
all to action” season. From 2003 to 2010, I kept volunteering more and more, helping many different organizations and charities anywhere I could. I performed regularly with the Lt. Dan Band at concerts overseas and around the country while I was working full-time on CSI: NY. My family had never complained that I stayed away too much. They understood the sacrifices military families must make, and they saw one of their roles in this mission as giving up some time with me. Moira especially saw it this way. With Vietnam vets in her family, she knew and understood the importance of what I was trying to do for our service members, and she was behind it 100 percent. But I’d been away a lot, and as much as she kept supporting me, I knew it was tough on her. Still, while the pace was beginning to wear on me and my family, I could also see the support effort was doing some good for these military and first-responder families, so I kept at it.

  In 2009, I had an incredibly busy year. So many different volunteer projects and events, including an announcement on September 11 at the Beacon Theater in New York City that 9/11 was now a federally designated National Day of Service and Remembrance. In 2002 David Paine and Jay Winuk, whose brother Glen had been killed at the World Trade Center, had founded a group called “One Day’s Pay” to encourage our fellow citizens to devote that single day’s pay to service and volunteerism. Their idea was that this tragic day could not only be a day of remembrance of the terrible loss and of honoring those who perished that day, but also of memorializing the incredible spirit of the American people coming together during that time to help one another. I wanted to support them and joined the group’s advisory board in 2004 to help promote this idea.

  In 2007, they changed the name of the organization to “My Good Deed” and a few years later—eight years after the attack on our country—I was thrilled to help David and Jay make the announcement at the sold-out event that this day had become an official day of service. The effort continues today on the anniversary of the attacks, under the name “9/11 Day.” By reaching out to help others, we honor all those who lost their lives that day. In so many ways, this concept resonated with me, as I felt called to service and volunteerism myself, and I wanted to continue to encourage our fellow citizens to take action. And so, in 2009 I picked up the pace. I did two overseas tours: one in the summer to Korea and Okinawa and another while shooting CSI: NY, when I managed to get time off at Thanksgiving to go to Afghanistan and Germany for three shows and several handshake events. That year alone saw eighteen USO concerts, at home and abroad, plus an additional fourteen military support and charity concerts, as well as many other events, hospital visits, and fund-raisers.