Andrzej (pronounced ahn-zjay) is not movie star handsome. He would be the first to admit that in the wry, self deprecating way he talks. But look behind his glasses into his bright, shining eyes, and you will see a burning curiosity about life that refuses to be quenched.
He is fascinated by all things military (See his picture below standing by one of his favorite aircraft). When we first met, he bombarded me with questions about aircraft I had flown, and then described in minute detail every aircraft, helicopter, tank and artillery piece in the Polish Armed Forces—all in halting, but precise technical English. He is literally a walking edition of the Janes series of military weaponry. I was impressed!
Andrzej has been selected to study at the University of Warsaw, which is a very good thing, but chances are, when school starts in September he will not be there. Instead, he will be in a hospital waiting for a life or death decision by someone he has never met. You see, he is suffering from an immune system disorder that has plagued him since childhood. In layman’s terms, he is susceptible to every disease and every virus that comes his way. He has been fighting the good fight since he was two years old, but recently the stakes have increased dramatically. He has hepatitis, and doctors tell him he won’t live much longer without a new liver. That means a transplant from someone who is deceased.
I suspect the system for managing organ donors in Poland is no better, nor any worse, than other developed countries. It is monitored by the government and usually lumbers along, getting things done slowly, but surely. But a few months ago, something happened—something complicated and very political—and the system has ground to a halt. No one knows when donors will appear again. Meanwhile, Andrzej waits, uncertain of his future.
Andrzej’s mother is a spirited and tenacious woman who is determined to do whatever is necessary to save his life. She told me she is considering the highly unusual step of offering a $15,000 finders fee to anyone who can provide information leading to an available donor. $15,000 is a lot of money in Poland. It’s a lot of money most anywhere in the world, for that matter. It is too soon to say if this strategy will work, but it has already stirred interest in the Polish news media.
Yesterday was armed forces day in Poland. The Poles call it “The Celebration Of The Miracle On the Vistula”—a day in the early 1920s when Marshal Pilsudski with a vastly outnumbered force drove the Soviet Army away from the river and subsequently back into Russia, thus securing Poland’s borders. There was a parade in downtown Warsaw replete with troops, military equipment, and a flyby of aircraft and helicopters. Andrzej was home for a rare day away from the hospital and asked me to take him to see it. But when the time came to leave, he was too weak to go. Instead, we watched it at home on TV.
It was bittersweet afternoon. As we watched the parade, Andrzej provided a running commentary, while I sat clutching a piece of paper he had written providing the names of everything we were seeing—-all in English, of course. Sometime after a flyover of MIG 29s and F-16s, I made him an honorary fighter pilot. It was the least I could do. When the parade was over, Andrzej began to weaken and his fever rose. His mother decided to take him back to the hospital, and I said goodbye.
I believe that everyone who fights the good fight is bonded as brother and sister—whether they win or lose. Andrzej is now my brother and I will continue to visit him as often as I can, and I will certainly report the results of these visits on this blog.
Time is running out for Andrzej. Each day he becomes weaker and thinner, and he is plagued with fevers. But he continues to fight the good fight. Meanwhile, all he can do is wait.

To this day, I have no idea why I was sent to witness that atomic test. But back then, it didn’t matter. I was a first lieutenant in the United States Air Force and that’s what I was ordered to do. Besides, I was certain the government knew what it was doing, and would never put me in harm’s way. That’s the way it was in 1957.

Twenty years after the test, I received a letter from the Center of Disease Control in Atlanta. “Our records show that in 1957 you observed a highly classified nuclear test code named, Smokey,” it began. “It seems in that particular test, an exceptionally large amount of radiation had been released into the air, and in later years, a significant number of deaths from leukemia had occurred among the participants.” After medical tests proved that I did not have leukemia, I put the letter away and went on with my life. I was one of the lucky ones. Others were not so lucky.

Between 1946 and 1962, over 400,000 military personnel were put in harm’s way, operating in some cases near ground zero minutes after detonation—without any special protective clothing. The government told them the radiation would be relatively harmless. And while guinea pigs used in the tests were carefully washed and observed for weeks, if not months, after the tests; humans were brushed off with brooms and returned to duty with no follow-up studies. There should be no problem, the government said. Twenty years later, the first and only study of test participants revealed that they were contracting leukemia at two to three times the normal rate. To date, approximately 280,000 “atomic veterans” have applied for medical benefits based on exposure to nuclear radiation . Of that number, just 50 claims have been approved. Time is running out for them. Fewer than 20,000 of their ranks are left. Many have cancer. Most are older than 75.

The story of these “atomic veterans” and how they were denied medical benefits is old news, and it has been increasingly difficult to attract public attention to their plight. “We covered that story years ago,” is the typical response from the media. But we should keep trying, because I believe any period in history is relative to the present. It’s all a matter of identifying the relevant issues and connecting the dots. In the case of the atomic vets, the government grossly understated the danger of radiation during atomic tests; misled the participants into believing that they were adequately protected from the effects of that radiation; and worst of all, broke the sacred vow traditionally made to veterans, namely that they will receive medical care for service connected disabilities for the rest of their lives.

These days Iraq has taken center stage. Even the strongest supporters of the war admit that we underestimated the resolve of the insurgents who routinely take American and Iraqi lives through car bombs and other terrorist activities, and the war is taking far longer than anticipated. Meanwhile, there are still reports of shortages of critical safety equipment like bullet proof vests and vehicle armor. Underestimating the threat and inadequate protection. Sound familiar?

And what about the returning veterans whose bodies and minds have been shattered by the trauma of combat? Will we keep our promise to provide them timely and adequate health care for as long as it is needed? We’d like to think so, but the future does not look promising. Recent revelations about poor living conditions and bureaucratic delays at Walter Reed Army Medical Center forced the resignations of three high-level Army officials and led to a review of the vast network of clinics and hospitals run by the Veterans Affairs Department. Meanwhile, the Pentagon is investigating allegations of inadequate medical treatment and unsanitary conditions at a veteran’s nursing home in our nation’s capitol.

As a retired military officer and loyal American, I fully support what our armed forces are doing in Iraq and Afghanistan. They voluntarily put themselves in harm’s way everyday. Why? Because they love their country and believe they are doing the right thing. All they ask in return is that we are always up front with them and always keep our promises. It’s not very much to ask considering what they do for us.

Ron Standerfer
Colonel, USAF (Retired)
Author
The Eagle’s Last Flight
A Fighter Pilot’s Story

In 1971, then Lt. (j.g.) John Kerry testified before the U.S. Senate Foreign Relations Committee and portrayed American soldiers as murderers, rapists and torturers “who ravaged the countryside of South Vietnam . . . [and] razed villages in a fashion reminiscent of Genghis Khan.” I don’t know about the rape and torture part, but I do know that every time I took off on a mission in Vietnam I made a sacred vow that any Viet Cong or North Vietnam Army soldier I caught attacking or trying to ambush our troops on the ground was going to suffer a lot of pain and probably lose his life. Is that any different than razing a village where insurgents hid during the day and launched attacks at night? I don’t think so. As I see it, if the Americans who fought so valiantly on the ground during the Vietnam War are war criminals, then so am I.

Without question, John Kerry’s characterization of American soldiers “terrorists,” and the enemy as victims of a barbaric U.S. military which tortures and murders defenseless civilians was wildly popular with the likes of Jane Fonda and other members of the anti-war movement, and at the same time, launched a long and successful political career which culminated with his unsuccessful bid for the presidency.

But 1971 was a long time ago. Is it really important that we discuss this issue now? For a special group of American heros it is more important than ever, because they need to set the record straight. I am referring to those who were captured and held as prisoners of war. In 1971, many of our POWs were residing in conditions of unbelievable depravation in camps with euphemistic names like “The Hanoi Hilton,” and “The Zoo.” It was a life of misery, where torture and beatings were daily fare and many died of starvation and disease. Most POWs never expected to be freed—especially since their captors told them that they would eventually be tried and executed for their war crimes. Imagine their despair when one of their own told the world that they were war criminals. The North Vietnamese government could not have asked for a better publicity agent than John Kerry!

I thought I would never say this, but here goes—thank God we live in a litigious society! A group of POWs, veterans, and other like-minded citizens have formed an organization called Vietnam Veterans Legacy Foundation (VVLF). The foundation recently filed a lawsuit on behalf of Carlton A. Sherwood, a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter, against Kenneth J. Campbell and Jon Bjornson, two associates and aides of Kerry’s during the 2004 presidential campaign, both of whom are Vietnam Veterans and longtime anti-war activists. The basis of the suit is too complicated to describe here, but you can read all the details on the VVLF web site, which is http://www.vvlf.org/. In a nutshell, Mister Sherwood produced a documentary titled “Stolen Honor: Wounds That Never Heal.” The film was never seen because Sinclair Broadcasting Company—the only network courageous enough to air the documentary—was force to withdraw after Kerry associates threatened them with libel suits and even loss of their broadcasting license. If the law suit proceeds as planned, details of this effort, plus Kerry’s activity in 1971 will be discussed in open court and become a matter of public record. And when that happens, a lot of liberals and antiwar activists are going to be very unhappy.

I am not an activist, much less a philanthropist. As a matter of fact, I am pretty much a political independent. But fair is fair, and when I learned that the VVLF is struggling to fund this extremely important and historical lawsuit I reached for my billfold and put my money in the pot. You can do as you like, but I think that as a minimum, every American should go to the VVLF web site and listen to their side of the story. It’s the right thing to do. Once again, their web site is http://www.vvlf.org/.

Ron Standerfer
Colonel, USAF (Retired)
Author
The Eagle’s Last Flight
www.theeagleslastflight.com

What are your thoughts?