Being elderly is a tough thing to admit. At least for me. I’m quick to dismiss the reminders-countless wrinkles, nagging aches and pains, doctors appointments every week, forgetting words and names. The latter is particularly galling. Over half the people I run into say “Hi, Ray,” and I answer” hi” back without knowing who the hay they are. But the other day I had an experience which couldn’t be dismissed.

During a visit to a nearby convenience store, I was standing in line to be cashed out. In front of me was an older guy with a little boy, probably his grandson, standing beside him. The kid kept looking at me. I was getting spooked. As I was about to say in my inimitable way, “What the hell you looking at?” The boy asked the man, “Gramps, is that Santa Claus?” I was at once elated and chagrined. Nice to be seen as Santa Claus and saddened to be reminded of that inescapable reality. I am old.

The kid’s grampa was wearing a baseball cap with lettering that indicated he was a Vietnam veteran. I thanked him for his sacrifice. As I left, I remembered that Veterans Day was only three weeks away. And for a few decades, Veterans Day for me has been synonymous with a handful of men whose service to this country has gone far beyond their years in the military.

My earliest memories of 11/11 go way back to the time I attended the annual parade in my hometown of Little Falls. I can still vividly recall the bands, majorettes, convertibles occupied by local dignitaries, and veterans marching in uniforms, several two sizes too small. The occasion concluded with speeches at Eastern Park praising the men and women who served their country. Among the marchers were my uncles (the fighting Van Slykes), including Bernie, who saw action in both WWI and Korea. Uncle Bobby, the man who had the most profound influence on my life, was off to college.

Robert Van Slyke, youngest of 13 children, dropped out of LFHS at the end of his junior year, along with several of his classmates, to enlist in the “Big One.” My grandparents had to sign a release as he was only 17. The blond scholar-athlete with the movie-star looks went on to become a highly decorated bombardier (Distinguished Flying Cross; Air Medal with 7 Clusters; etc.), flying over 25 missions. He mustered out as a First Lieutenant at the age of 20. Bob returned home to get his high school degree, earned another at St. Lawrence, married, fathered 3 children, became a beloved math teacher at Liberty High and died far too young in his mid-50s. His service to his country never ended.

Neither did it for Eddie Juteau. The Frankfort native’s term of duty in the Air Force included a stint in Vietnam where he was exposed to the deadly, dioxin-laced defoliant, Agent Orange. He returned home, married Kay, fathered Robbie and learned at 30 that he had two wars to fight. The first was against an unbeatable foe, lymphoma. The second, also unbeatable as it turned out, against his own government.

During the last year of his life, as a leader of Agent Orange Victims International, he spoke often and everywhere in an effort to get the chemical companies (Dow; Monsanto) and Uncle Sam respectively to admit their culpability in creating and greenlighting the usage of millions of gallons of the toxic herbicide. As a result, tens of thousands of troops were poisoned. While it was bad enough that they would subsequently suffer from a multitude of maladies ranging from cancers to chloracne, worse was the fact that because of their exposure, their children would suffer as well. He demanded that compensation and counseling be provided for AO victims, including death benefits for deserving families. Eddie J’s service to his country ended only when he drew his last breath.

Juteau wasn’t alone in his fight. Side by side was his Sancho Panza, First Field Forces combat medic Spec. 4. Dennis Thorp from Utica. The ravages of Orange not only affected him, but also his son, my godson Jimmy, who had to deal with Histiocytosis X. I’ll never forget “the Colonel,” as we called him, and veterans’ advocate, HCCC professor the late Gary Ruff, carrying Juteau to his final speaking engagement at Utica College a week before his death. Thorp has been a longtime Service Officer at the New Hartford American Legion and has helped to mentor combat vets from our last two wars as they work their way through the maze-like disability claims process presently in vogue. “Doc” continues to serve his country.

As does fellow “Nam combat medic, Army SSGT. Ron Schoonmaker from Ilion. His efforts on behalf of the least among us, those at hunger risk, have made the Herkimer County Hunger Coalition an unqualified success. Despite suffering from numerous ailments caused by his exposure to, you guessed it, Agent Orange, Ron is at “war” again, this time against the Federal Aviation Administration’s untenable charge for leasing the Marine Cpl. Gregory Harris Courtesy Room at Hancock International Airport in Syracuse. His fight is personal. Along with his better half, Laura Hailston, “Sarge” founded the Army Cpl. Michael Mayne Cookie Corps which monthly provides snacks and sundries for troops utilizing the Room. Each Memorial Day, Ron raises the money necessary for new flags at Oak Hill cemetery in Herkimer, and he’s made a few runs for the office of mayor in Ilion. His service to his country has not ended.

I’m grateful to that urchin in the convenient store at the bottom of the hill. Not for reminding me that I’m a snarky, surly, doddering old coot, but for inadvertently reminding me of the importance of Veterans Day and what serving this country really means. That said, a shout out to all those who served and suffered, who continue to serve and suffer. We owe you more than we can ever repay. For now, let this suffice. Thank you, be well and God Bless.

Ray Lenarcic is a 1965 State University of New York at Fredonia graduate and is a resident of Herkimer.