Braves' military tribute provides healing, perspective
ATLANTA -- Looking into Fredi Gonzalez's office, on the leftmost wall sits a cluster of yellow dots on a map of Iraq. The dots surround Basrah, Iraq's second-largest city that sits in the country's southeastern corner near Kuwait, each one representing a base camp Gonzalez visited back in 2010 as a member of the Florida Marlins organization.
With Marlins president of baseball operations Larry Beinfest and his former players John Baker and Chris Coghlan along for the ride -- literal rides, in Blackhawk helicopters no less -- Gonzalez spent a week flying from base to base as fighting raged on in the northern part of the country. He spent his 46th birthday there with the troops. Even to this day, he calls it one of the "most memorable experiences" of his life.
"It's an experience you never forget," the Braves manager said prior to a game against the Mets during the team's previous home stand, yet another game in a 162-game schedule.
And that's where perspective creeps in for Gonzalez, who is one of the most active members of the baseball community in reaching out to the armed forces, to police officers and firefighters, to those putting their lives on the line.
The 49-year-old attempts to visit the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Washington, D.C., whenever the team is in town to play the Nationals. He reaches out in similar ways around the city of Atlanta when his schedule permits -- and he displays such causes with pride: that wall with the framed map is dedicated solely to military tributes; a fireman's helmet sits atop his desk; he recently wore a Wounded Warrior Project T-shirt during an interview sessions.
"For me, it just helps to remember that baseball is not the only thing," Gonzalez said. "I, as well as the rest of the guys, just want to do our part to say, 'Thank you.'"
On Sunday, Gonzalez's path will cross with the Wounded Warrior Project once more, this time on the diamond, as the Braves host men and women in uniform from Fort Benning and the Georgia Army National Guard as part of the third-annual Tribute to the Troops. The Wounded Warrior Project provides both services and programs to injured service members -- both physically and psychologically -- as they transition from active duty back into civilian life. Not every transition is a simple one, either; some take years.
Dan Nevins spent 18 months rehabilitating at Walter Reed. He knows the hardships that lie ahead for the 50,000 physically wounded soldiers and more than 400,000 suffering from combat stress.
Nevins lost both of his legs below the knee -- one three years apart from the other due to a failed limb salvage -- when an explosive device detonated underneath his vehicle in November 2004 while on a combat mission in Iraq. The explosion sent his 18,000-pound truck roughly five feet in the air in a ball of fire. His driver and fellow soldier died instantly; Nevins was ejected from the vehicle, his legs still caught in the twisted, burning metal from the floorboard and undercarriage of the truck.
"I don't remember what that would look like. I had some people behind me describe it to me, but it was a pretty big explosion," said Nevins, who joined the Army during first Gulf War in 1991. "I started checking myself out and I realized that my helmet was in two pieces. I could see, I could start to feel a little, but I couldn't hear that well. And when I was trying to check out my legs I could see that they were stuck in the truck and they wouldn't come out. They were still attached."
His femoral artery was severed as shrapnel had torn through one of his legs from the upper half of his thigh to his ankle bone -- he nearly lost more than he did. His doctors described him as extremely lucky. When the chaos of a surgery in Germany settled down and the adjustment period began back in Washington, D.C., the Wounded Warrior Project arrived at Nevins' hospital bedside to offer him a backpack. It was filled with comfort items: T-shirts, shorts, playing cards, CD player, toiletries.
Pretty soon, the organization was telling Nevins about the opportunities that awaited him once he left Walter Reed, not the limitations.
"I sat in Germany for seven days wondering, 'What can a guy with no legs do?' In my mind, there was nothing. There's nothing I can do. … My daughter (Karyssa) was 10 at the time. I didn't know if she would look up to me the same way," Nevins said. "Wounded Warrior basically gave me the opportunity to prove that I can be whoever it is I want to be, and my disability did not get to define me. I get to define what the rest of my life will be like."
Nevins climbed Mount Kilimanjaro, the highest free-standing mountain in the world, three years ago. He competes in numerous sports. All as a double amputee.
It's this message and overall goal for the Wounded Warrior Project -- "to help foster the most successful, well-adjusted generation of wounded warriors in our nation's history" -- that eventually led Nevins to leave a job with the PGA Tour and join the organization full-time.
He never regretted the decision.
Now, with a memorable climb in his back pocket and that same daughter, Karyssa, now enlisted and training at Fort Gordon, Nevins heads to Turner Field to help raise awareness for the issues the Wounded Warrior Project is fighting against. He said that while the attention is not what many of the veterans initially seek once returning home, it's nice to know there's a level of appreciation, especially with such big events.
And though meeting professional athletes and coaches like Fredi Gonzalez does not return a sense of normalcy for wounded veterans, it does serve a purpose. There's a reason Gonzalez keeps going back for more: he's making a difference.
"It makes you feel validated that people who matter in the public sense of what 'mattering' means are taking time out of their schedule, which are very demanding, to make time to say, 'Thank you,'" Nevins said. "And that is just a feeling of pride knowing that the people that I'm fighting for, and the most famous of them all, are making time to come to my room and say thanks to me. And that is … healing."