WWII vet’s story one of dollars and heart

The burly Vietnam veteran walked up to Jack Frank, 90, a World War II vet facing the frightening quandary of living longer than he can support himself.

“You the vet I just donated to?” he asked, sticking out his hand. “I’m Bud.”

“I appreciate it,” Jack said, grabbing Bud Pacotti’s hand.

“So you’re WWII?” said Pacotti, who served in the Army and received two Purple Hearts. “My dad was at Normandy –; the Italian campaign.”

“We were in the Pacific,” answered Jack, a mechanic with the Marines’ amphibious tank battalion that landed at Okinawa.

Pacotti, a Santa-like beard wrapping his face, looked steadily into Jack’s alert, blue eyes.

So, he asked, “What’s your situation?”

Jack’s situation is this: In about four months, he and his wife, Judee, 69, expect to run out of money.

That, in itself, is shameful, that any of our elders –; including those who have fought for this country’s freedoms –; should find themselves fearing the days ahead because there isn’t enough money in the bank.

There is shame, too, that the government may have failed Jack, unaware of benefits for WWII vets. No one told Jack.

But this also is a story of compassion, of heart.

Good will brimmed Saturday in the small, local tavern that held a fundraiser for Jack and Judee, palpable testimony that in a world often shadowed by distress and sorrow, kindness is alive and well.

“It shows,” said Christian Redmond, an Army cavalry scout veteran, “the best of America.”

Jack believed he’d planned well for his aging years, saving enough money to live until 100. But the 2008 financial crisis in the banking and mortgage industries decimated his retirement fund. Bills last year for unanticipated medical issues also swallowed big chunks.

Jack and Judee aren’t alone in their crisis.

We are living longer –; statistics show life expectancy is steadily growing. But a 2015 study by the Employee Benefit Research Institute, which has conducted research on retirement plans since 1978, also found among those who had died at age 85 or older, 20.6 percent had no non-housing assets and about 12 percent had no assets left at all.

That kind of reality wounds one’s spirit.

“I know he’s felt like he’s not as much of a man because he can’t take care of us,” said Judee, who notes that in 33 years of marriage she and Jack have had just two disagreements. “That’s it. He’s a great guy.”

For Jack’s neighbors in the Parker complex where he lives, the call to action was immediate.

“He’s just a good man,” said Ron Meier, 56, a member of the condominium’s board. “Anytime the association needs a volunteer, he does it. All he wants to do is help people.”

Then, too, he fought in WWII. He is a vanishing relic.

According to numbers from the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, 492 WWII vets are dying every day. Of the 16 million who served in that war, a little more than 855,000 remain. By 2036, it is estimated no living veterans of World War II will be left.

Jack was 17 when he enlisted in the Marines. He was at Okinawa and Guadalcanal, crucial battles in the Pacific theater.

For that service, Jack’s friends believe, society owes Jack –; and all veterans –;a debt of gratitude that they say often, sadly, goes unpaid.

“I love my country,” Redmond said. “But when it comes to getting benefits for our veterans, it could use a little work.”

Bob Nobles, 55, who with his wife, Nancy, owns Takoda Tavern, agreed. “They amaze me every single day,” he said. “Our country could do a lot better by taking care of our elders and our children who have fought wars for us.”

So Nobles, Meier, Redmond, Mac McCrory and Aaron Davis quickly pulled together a benefit to raise money for Jack. They held it Saturday at the Nobles’ tavern, an area hangout for veterans where American flags and banners on walls proclaim support for troops, POW-MIAs, Marines and other military branches.

Jack’s neighbor, Alan Chiu, 27, showed up in his dress blues. They talk about life and have become friends.

Staff Sgt. David Schutt, 30, from the local Marines recruiting office came. Jack has stopped in to chat a few times.

Retired Navy Lt. Cmdr. Kurt “K.B.” Blair, 49, who served in Desert Shield and Desert Storm, came. He is treasurer of the Denver chapter of the Combat Vets Association, whose slogan is “vets helping vets.”

The night before, he sent an email blast to members asking them to rally. “We’re more like brothers and sisters,” he said, “like a big family that watches out for each other.”

Combat Vets member Mike Alsop, 32, an infantry reconnaissance scout in the Army who fought in Afghanistan and Iraq, read it and came.

“He’s got our respect,” Alsop said of Jack. “Whatever generation, whatever war, we’re combat veterans that support each other …”

And, fortunately, Dr. Raya came, too.

Raya, 63, who replaced his birth name of George Ray with his tribal name, fought in Vietnam and helps veterans in Phoenix navigate the VA system. He happened to be visiting a friend in Parker and heard of the event. He told Jack he was eligible for a pension that will likely provide him with more than $ 1,300 a month.

“This,” a relieved Jack said, “is going to help me for years.”

He and Judee need about $ 1,000 more a month than their Social Security income to cover basic monthly expenses of mortgage, utilities, food and medical care.

That Jack didn’t know about the pension didn’t surprise many veterans at the fundraiser, who called the situation “disgraceful.” Reports show many veterans and their dependents don’t receive benefits they’re eligible for because they don’t know about programs or how to apply for them.

“The government’s not good about putting that stuff out there,” Alsop said. “When our service time is up, we’re kind of on our own. That’s why we take care of each other.”

By the end, about $ 16,000 had been collected, Meier said. The money will go into a separate bank account. This week, Jack will meet with a financial adviser to determine how best to plan for the years ahead.

The generosity reaffirmed Meier’s faith in human nature.

Some of the money came from unemployed vets, “who say, `I got $ 20. I got $ 40. This is all I can afford. If I could give more I would,’ ” he said. “It moves your heart.”

Jack couldn’t believe the turnout. “I didn’t know I had so many friends.”

He scanned the crowd, his red First Marine Division cap on his head. His fingers brushed a tear from the corner of his eye.

Why the tear, he was asked.

He gestured at the people in the room.

“For all this.”

Maybe we, too, should wipe away a tear –; one for sorrow, one for the redeeming power of community.

One for all of this.

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