[Congressional Record Volume 151, Number 82 (Monday, June 20, 2005)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages E1293-E1294]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
HONORING ARMY PRIVATE FIRST CLASS JOHN HAROLD BERG
______
HON. DONALD A. MANZULLO
of illinois
in the house of representatives
Monday, June 20, 2005
Mr. MANZULLO. Mr. Speaker, last month, I had the honor and privilege
of attending the annual Memorial Day Vietnam Wall observance, in which
one of my constituents and friends, the late Army PFC John Harold Berg
of Rockford, Illinois, was honored for his service to our country. John
was gravely injured in Vietnam, but he passed up his 100 percent
disability status when he returned because he wanted to help others.
Despite a host of serious medical issues, John served as a veterans
representative for 25 years at the Illinois Department of Employment
Security before he died in 2003 from cancer caused by shrapnel lodged
in his brain from his Vietnam injury. On Memorial Day, I sat with
John's widow, Lynn, and several of John's friends as his name was one
of just four this year officially added to the Vietnam Wall. It was a
remarkable day for a remarkable man. I have attached a newspaper
article written by Judy Emerson of the Rockford Register Star that
describes John's contributions and his character perfectly:
Adding Soldiers to the Wall
One hundred years from now, someone will read the name
``John H. Berg'' cut into black granite on The Wall in
Washington, D.C., and they will assume he died in Vietnam in
the spring of 1968. Berg was fatally wounded April 7, 1968,
in combat near Khe Sahn, but it took him 37\1/2\ years to
die. When he did, on Oct. 10, 2003, it was in his rural
Rockford home surrounded by family. But the Vietnam War took
his life, just as surely as if he had died that spring day
long ago as he lay in the dirt with blood streaming from the
hole in his skull. Medics postponed his death that day.
Military doctors patched him up as well as they could and
sent him home to Rockford with a plate covering the hole in
his skull and shrapnel still embedded in his brain.
He dragged his left leg, and his left hand was useless. He
slurred his words. Back in Rockford, he couldn't find a job.
A talented musician, he was bitterly disappointed that he
couldn't play piano, organ, violin and guitar, as he once
did. But he went to college. He re-learned how to play his
instruments with only his right hand and arm. He sought the
company of other Vietnam veterans who understood the
struggle. He found a job that gave him purpose. For 25 years,
he was a veterans representative at the Illinois Department
of Employment Security. Over the years, he helped thousands
of veterans find jobs and get benefits to which they were
entitled. Many were disabled, as he was.
In 2002, doctors found the tumor growing under the plate in
Berg's head. His widow, Lynn Berg, said doctors found
shrapnel when they tried to carve away the tumor and buy her
husband a little more time. Even fighting the relentless
growth of a malignant tumor, Berg continued to work. He lived
longer than anybody expected.
When he died, his buddies at VietNow, which he'd helped to
start, began the process to have his name added to The Wall,
the Vietnam Memorial in Washington. The Department of Defense
concluded that Berg's fatal wound was incurred in Vietnam in
1968 and that he qualified to have his name listed on the
memorial. And so, Berg's name was carved on The Wall earlier
this month. A small diamond after the name signifies a
confirmed combat death. His name was placed as close as
possible to those of other soldiers who suffered their fatal
injuries on the same day. The thinking is that they should be
together. His father, 86-year-old Harold John Berg, said that
the memorial was waiting for his son, despite the 37\1/2\-
year reprieve from death. ``We saw the wall once,'' the
elder Berg said. ``And now we go the rest of the way. He's
on it.'' John H. Berg of Rockford was fatally wounded in
Vietnam April 7, 1968. He died Oct. 10, 2003. What he did
in between is the story.
Talented boy
Harold Berg was a machinist and inspector who retired from
Camcar years ago. His health is poor but his memory and
spirits are good. His wife, 80-year-old Vergene, has
Alzheimer's disease. They spend their days in side-by-side
hospital beds in the Cherry Valley home of their daughter
Hilary Belcher, who cares for them. Her husband, Nick, and 9-
year-old daughter, Chenoa, help.
Young John Berg wanted to be a musician. His mother was a
long-time organist for their church, and her firstborn son
also played the organ, as well as piano, violin and guitar. A
1965 graduate of East High School, John took some classes at
Rock Valley College until he was drafted in the summer of
1967. ``We tried to talk him into going into the Air Force,
but he thought he'd get this over with in two years,'' his
dad said. By January 1968, 20-year-old John was in Vietnam.
His early letters home to his parents, three younger sisters
and a brother revealed a diminishing innocence as reality and
the futility of the mission sank in. ``I only hope this year
goes fast and I come back in one piece,'' he wrote two weeks
before his injury.
His wife, Lynn, said John could remember what happened
during the firefight on April 7, 1968, up until he was
wounded. He was feeding an ammunition belt into a machine gun
being fired by another soldier when he turned to dive for
cover from incoming mortar. It's still unclear whether he was
shot in the head or hit by shrapnel or both. He was
unconscious or semiconscious for weeks. The Western Union
telegram arrived early one weekday morning as Harold Berg was
getting ready for work. ``Deep regret . . . very seriously
ill list . . . penetrating fragment wound to the head.''
Vergene couldn't stop crying. Hilary Belcher, who's 15 years
younger than John, doesn't remember too much about the time,
except that her parents were distraught.
The telegrams kept coming with updates on her brother's
condition, and after John was transferred to a hospital in
Denver, Colo., the family drove out there to see him. ``I
remember walking down a long hallway and doorway after
doorway, there were all these men with holes in their
heads, just like John,'' Belcher said. ``We took him out
for a while. You could hardly understand him when he
talked.'' Months later, when he came home, she said, ``I
ran out to him saying `John's home! John's home!' He
screamed. He thought I was going to knock him down. ``I
used to run to him and he'd throw me up in the air.''
There was plenty of trauma to go around.
``Those first eight years, he was very angry,'' Belcher
said. ``When you get a head injury, it changes your whole
personality.'' John was bitter that he couldn't play his
instruments. His disability was obvious, and nobody would
hire him. ``It took him years to find a job. He even applied
to a gas station to pump gas, but they told him, `You only
have one hand, ' '' Belcher said. He decided to go back to
Rock Valley College. There, he met Reuben Johnson, dean of
community services and the producer and founder of Starlight
Theatre. Johnson helped Berg learn to play the piano, organ,
guitar and violin with one hand.
It was a turning point, as was the job Berg landed in July
1977 as a veterans representative at the Illinois Department
of Employment Security. He was good at it, said Jack
[[Page E1294]]
Snyder, who also is a disabled Vietnam veteran. The two men
worked together at the department for close to 25 years.
``I've never seen a person give so much heart and caring to
his job as John did,'' Snyder said. ``We had guys coming in
who were basically homeless. He would take them home until
they got on their feet. ``I've seen him cry at his desk over
some of these situations, over the misuse and abuse the
military has given some of these people.''
Berg often referred clients to the Winnebago County
Veterans Assistance office in Memorial Hall. Herbert L.
Crenshaw, also a Vietnam veteran, works there. He and Berg
worked together to get help for thousands of vets over the
years, he said. ``He worked with this office to get veterans
back on their feet, to get jobs, get assistance,'' Crenshaw
said. ``He had walked in their shoes. He had the same
difficulties and disabilities they had.''
Berg, like many of his clients, had a full disability
designation from the Department of Veterans Affairs. ``He
could have sat home and drawn a disability,'' Crenshaw said.
``He chose to work.'' Berg had a network that he could use to
get practical assistance for veterans and offer them moral
support. He helped found VietNow, a support group for Vietnam
veterans that started in Rockford and then became a national
organization. It still thrives.
Nick Parnello, one of the original VietNow members and now
president of the Vietnam Veterans Honor Society, said John
was ``the only guy that always showed up'' at the early
meetings. ``Some of the guys felt that we should give up
because there were so few of us back then,'' Parnello said.
``But if John could show up in his disabled condition, it was
an inspiration to all of us. ``Everybody he came in contact
with was changed because of his commitment to them.''
Marriage and family
In November 1991, Berg met Lynn Walquist of Rockford. Her
daughter and son-in-law, who knew Berg through mutual
acquaintances in the veterans circle, fixed them up. ``I've
got four kids--two in college--and all these animals,''
recalled Lynn, who's always had a cat and at least one dog.
``What's wrong with him?''
The kids always had rock music blaring when Berg came to
pick her up for a date. ``He said, `Do you ever listen to
classical music?' '' she said, she didn't. He taught her to
love it as he did. Lynn's scrapbook holds tickets from
concerts they attended at the Lyric Opera in Chicago and
elsewhere. By then, Berg could make music on the piano and
other instruments with one hand. He sang with the Rock Valley
Chorale and with a Mendelssohn Club group. They fell in love
and were married April 25, 1992. ``It was the best day of our
lives,'' Lynn Berg said. ``He told me: `I'll never say no to
you,' and he kept his promise.''
Over the years they attended VietNow conventions and
events. She became active as an ``associate,'' which is what
veterans'' spouses are called in the group. ``He always said
that he felt very fortunate. He was only in Vietnam for three
months,'' Lynn Berg said. ``The others who had been there
longer were the ones who came back with so many problems.''
His friends became her friends. Her children and
grandchildren were his.
He's smiling in every picture his wife has in her numerous
photo albums. But it would be a mistake to say Berg's
transformation from an angry young man to a person with
purpose and a zest for living was easy, said his sister,
Hilary Belcher. ``He had to grow into a new personality and
lifestyle and everything,'' Belcher said. ``He was gung-ho
when he went into the service, and then he lost it and he got
angry. ``But he got through it, and his gung ho came back.''
Retired U.S. Army Col. Fremont Piercefield knew Berg well
from their mutual work in various organizations, including
the VFW, Disabled American Veterans and the Winnebago County
Veterans Association. ``He was the gentlest, kindest man,''
the colonel said. ``He was there when you expected him and
when you needed him.'' He was the same way on the home front,
his wife said. He took care of the house and the cars and the
lawn, but he also taught her how to do those things. She
needs to know them now that he's gone.
He would see a need and answer it before other people
noticed, she said. For instance, he was concerned that one of
her daughters was in danger walking from the library back to
her dorm at Northern Illinois University after using a
computer late at night. He bought her a computer for her
room.
There were health issues over the years. Berg took
medication to deal with headaches and seizures that came with
the head injury. He learned to compensate for the partial
paralysis of his left side and minimized the limp. He never
regained use of his left hand. It looked just as it did when
he was 20 years old, his wife and sister said, as if it had
been frozen in time the day he was injured.
The end of something
In May of 2002, Berg began having excruciating,
debilitating headaches and more frequent seizures, his wife
said. Brain scans showed bright spots of shrapnel but the
brain tumor was not detected for a couple of months. He had
surgery, but the tumor was malignant, and doctors indicated
it was just a matter of time. Lynn Berg remembers one doctor
predicting John had about nine months. He exceeded that by
about seven months. VietNow treasurer and good friend Darrell
Gilgan visited Berg as he was recuperating from the surgery
in a Beloit nursing home.
Berg's radio was missing one day and Gilgan asked him about
it. ``He gave it to the guy in the next bed, a B-17 pilot
during World War II,'' Gilgan said. ``He was like that.''
Berg continued to work as much as he could, but the tumor was
growing again and the pain was awful, his wife said. During
his last months, she cared for him at their home, with help
from the Northern Illinois Hospice Association. He died Oct.
10, 2003. A few months later, Gilgan began the paperwork
necessary to have Berg considered for addition to the Vietnam
Memorial. The key element in Berg's favor was that the
Department of Veterans Affairs had determined that his death
was a result of the combat injury in 1968.
Gilgan sent a letter to U.S. Rep. Don Manzullo, R-Egan, who
sent it through the proper military channels. ``I had known
John for years,'' said Manzullo, who will sit with Berg's
family at a Memorial Day ceremony Monday at The Wall. ``Here
is a guy who could have given up, but he refused to accept
the fact that people told him he was 100 percent disabled.
``He went to work to serve as a witness and an example to
people who are severely disabled.''
Some friends and family have traveled from the Rockford
area to join Lynn Berg at the ceremony, which will include a
special remembrance for her husband and three other veterans
whose names have been added on The Wall. John Berg's parents
are not well enough to go. His dad wishes he could, though.
``It's an end to something, I guess,'' Harold Berg said. ``He
just got an extension on his death.'' That sad morning when
the telegram came so many years ago and the day his son died
all those years later occupy the same place of grief in his
heart. ``We hoped the day would never come,'' his dad said,
``but then we found out he wasn't going to make it, after
all.''
____________________