In Celebration of America's Veterans - The Meaning of the Red Poppy

Attorney RJ Connelly III

"Tomorrow, our nation will come together in celebration of America's veterans, a poignant occasion where we pay heartfelt tribute to all who have bravely served this great country," expressed Attorney RJ Connelly III, a professional fiduciary and certified elder law attorney and veteran, who proudly donned the uniform of the United States Army in the Military Police division.

"Veterans Day originated as a day of solemn reflection, initially known as Armistice Day, dedicated to honoring the heroic sacrifices of those who laid down their lives in the line of duty. In 1954, the name was transformed to Veterans Day, expanding its significance to celebrate all veterans who have served in various conflicts throughout our history. On this meaningful day, I find it essential to reshare a poignant story told to me by a friend, I'll call Eddie, detailing a personal encounter he had as a young man with a troubled veteran named John in his New Jersey hometown, and the deep bond John shared with the red poppy—a powerful symbol of sacrifice, remembrance, and hope."

In a cherished photograph, RJ stands alongside his grandfather, Robert J. Connelly, Sr., a man whose legacy looms large. For Attorney Connelly, knowledge of the struggles veterans face is not just theoretical; it is woven into the fabric of his family's history. "In my family, serving our nation in the military has long been a tradition, often followed by a commitment to law enforcement or the legal profession upon returning home."

Attorney Connelly's father, Robert J. Connelly Jr., was a distinguished attorney and probate judge who served his country honorably in the United States Air Force. His brother, Jeff Connelly, has recently retired after a commendable career in the United States Army as a Lieutenant Colonel. The family legacy of service is richly captured in the achievements of Attorney Connelly's grandfather, Robert J. Connelly, Sr., who not only served as a high sheriff in the State of Rhode Island and as the mayor of Central Falls, Rhode Island, but also displayed unwavering bravery while serving in the United States Navy during World War II.

"Having grown up in a family steeped in military tradition and being connected to so many veterans, the following story resonates deeply within me," Attorney Connelly shared with emotion. "There exists a tragic history where returning veterans did not receive the respect they so rightfully deserved, particularly those who came home from the Vietnam War."

Attorney Connelly continued, “Countless veterans returned and faced the haunting shadows of PTSD, often turning to alcohol or other substances in a desperate attempt to cope with their trauma. Not only did John endure the devastating aftermath of war, but upon his return, he became a victim of financial exploitation, manipulated by a relative who isolated him from the support of his family while siphoning off his inheritance. Yet, amidst this turmoil, John discovered a newfound purpose through a simple paper poppy crafted by disabled veterans. It’s a touching and transformative story, one that highlights hope and pride even in the face of despair."

John's Story

Over five decades ago, Eddie was a young boy delivering newspapers in a small New Jersey town. This job introduced him to many interesting people living in or visiting the city. His deliveries took him to bars, restaurants, and small shops, where he met a variety of unique characters. This was a time of significant changes in America, with the country in turmoil after the assassinations of famous figures like Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy.

At the same time, the United States was involved in the Vietnam War, a conflict that came just a few decades after World War II. Generally, people in the country had great respect for veterans, but this attitude would start to change in the 1970s.

It was during this period that Eddie met a veteran named John, who lived in Easton, Pennsylvania, a nearby town across the Delaware River. Eddie and his father encountered John on a winter walk through Easton when the city was bustling with Christmas shoppers.

John was easy to spot. He often stood outside an Army and Navy store, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His mustache and beard were stained, and his fingers showed signs of wear from his lifestyle. Even in the cold December weather, he stood proudly on the street corner, a regular presence in downtown Easton. He didn’t talk much unless someone made eye contact or greeted him, but once he started, he shared gripping stories about his experiences in World War II, captivating anyone who listened.

Eddie noticed John’s unusual look: he wore khaki pants, army boots, and an old coat covered in red poppies. This outfit often drew laughter and teasing from passersby, who regarded him as "crazy," though he meant no harm. Eddie learned that people called him "Foxhole John" because he loved telling tales about his time in battle.

As Eddie grew older and continued his newspaper deliveries, he would often see John at the local American Legion Post. There, John would be found sitting alone in a corner, drinking beer and proudly wearing his army coat. If Eddie ever showed up later than usual, he would sometimes see John swaying as he walked down the street, heading to who knows where.

Most of the time, when Eddie spotted John, he seemed drunk or at least in high spirits. However, there were a few times each year when Eddie would see him sitting outside the local grocery store, collecting donations for veterans and handing out red poppies. On those days, John was sober, neatly dressed in a military shirt, sitting upright, and engaging politely with donors.

In the spring of 1972, Eddie joined an American Legion baseball team and met a friend, Greg, and Greg’s father, Bill. It became clear to Eddie that Foxhole John was not just a local character; he was Greg’s uncle, and Bill was his brother. Together, they carried a shared history filled with untold stories. One sunny afternoon, Eddie accompanied Greg and Bill to meet John in his simple room above a local garage.

As they pushed open the old, creaky door, they were hit by a wave of stale cigarette smoke mixed with the sharp smell of beer. The sunlight streaming through the dirty windows painted the room a dull yellow, revealing just how messy it was. Eddie leaned against the wall and felt the sticky residue left by countless cigarettes smoked there over the years.

The room was sparsely furnished and clearly neglected: a broken chair, a dresser that looked like it had better days, and a wobbly table all crowded around a bed covered in stained sheets with holes—a clear sign of John's long, restless nights. In one corner, a trash bin overflowed with a sad assortment of half-empty beer cans, and on the floor, liquor bottles, telling the story of a life filled with fleeting happiness and lasting regrets. On the wall hung a few faded photographs, crooked and peeling, while an old radio buzzed, broadcasting the sounds of a Yankee baseball game from WABC in New York.

In a small corner near the door stood a coat rack holding John’s worn uniform shirt, faded from age—a silent reminder of time passing. It was decorated with a few bright red poppies, each flower a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made by those who served. Eddie couldn't help but think that it resembled the outfit of a "crazy man," leaving a haunting image in his mind.

As they stepped outside, the cool air wrapped around him, and he turned to Greg, his curiosity shining through. "Why does John live like that?" he asked, genuine worry in his voice. Greg shifted uncomfortably, clearly uneasy about his uncle's situation, avoiding Eddie’s direct gaze. But Bill, protective and firm, quickly spoke up, "My brother isn’t crazy," he declared with conviction. "He’s just lost. The war took something from him that he can’t get back."

Eddie was confused by what he had just heard and wrestled with the meaning of Bill's words. He felt a need to ask another question that had been bothering him since meeting John. "Why does he always wear those flowers?"

"They’re poppies," Bill explained gently, his tone softening as if he were revealing something sacred. "They hold deep meaning for my brother. Honestly, they represent the passion that keeps him going—a lifeline in a world that often feels empty." He began to tell Eddie the touching story of John—a tale filled with sorrow and loss; a former soldier now living like a shadow of his former self, trapped in a small, simple room above a garage. In this quiet space, he desperately clung to memories of a past that felt so far away, the weight of those memories pulling him down into sadness over the days that had slipped away.

A Shattered Dream

John’s story began in the 1940s in a small town in Northern New Jersey, not far from where Eddie grew up. The United States had recently entered World War II, and many young men were being drafted into the military. John’s brother, Phil, had already joined the service. Since he was raised on a farm and often cared for sick animals, John dreamed of becoming a veterinarian. He even helped deliver calves and tended to other animals. However, like so many young Americans at that time, his dream would have to wait.

"John loved bringing life into the world," Bill said, reminiscing about the happier moments they shared. "You could see the joy in his eyes when he helped animals, whether it was calves being born, puppies playing, or chicks hatching." John was living his version of the American Dream and had big hopes for his future.

After graduating from high school, John was drafted into the military and assigned to a medical unit because of his knowledge of animal care. Although it was disappointing to put college on hold, he felt proud to serve, as his brother, Phil, was doing.

Phil was the oldest in their family, and John remembered how grown-up Phil looked in his military uniform as he left for war. John looked up to him a lot. In the last year of high school, John would eagerly read the letters Phil sent home, filled with descriptions of the warm weather and beautiful palm trees in the Pacific islands. Inspired by those letters, John often visited the local library to read stories and look at pictures of the South Pacific and its stunning islands. He couldn't help but feel a little envious of Phil living in such a paradise, and he promised himself that he would join him one day.

Just before John was set to start his basic training, the letters from his brother took a dark turn. What used to sound like paradise now described a place soaked in blood. The sandy beaches that were once inviting had become scenes of violence, and the clear waters of the Pacific were now tainted with oil from sunken ships and the bodies of fallen soldiers. The warm breezes that once carried the scent of the ocean now reeked of burning fuel and decay, while thick clouds of smoke obscured the beautiful sunsets. What had seemed like heaven had transformed into a nightmare.

Despite everything, John held onto one hope: the dream of standing side by side with his brother. But that dream was shattered when he was sent to serve in Europe instead. To cope with his loneliness, John made new friends and took comfort in the knowledge that he and his brother were fighting for a good cause. He wrote countless letters to Phil, but they went unanswered.

Back home, John’s family received heartbreaking news: Phil was missing in action in the South Pacific. They chose not to tell John, fearing it would devastate him. Eventually, though, John found out the truth, yet he clung to the hope that his brother would be found. Sadly, he never was. That was the harsh reality of war.

As a medic, John found his role to be more like that of an undertaker than a savior, facing the dark side of conflict every day. Instead of mending the injured, he spent most of his time picking up mangled, bloody pieces of humanity. Back home, other young men his age were playing softball, going to drive-in movies and dances, while John sat in a cold, wet uniform awaiting the next salvo from the enemy and the deaths and the gathering of body parts that would follow.

Returning Home a Different Man

When he returned home, his family whispered that he was not the same, but no one dared to say this aloud. Few returning veterans at the time spoke about the horrors they saw, and even fewer would admit that the experience forever scarred them. John lost the brother he admired, the friends he had cherished, and, even more importantly, himself.

When John came back to New Jersey, to a town named Harmony, he was just barely 23 years old, yet feeling like he was seventy-five. Gone was his dream of being a veterinarian. He had no interest in the family farm, and he was repulsed by the image of a cow giving birth. The sight of oil stains on the road elicited anxiety-filled memories of blood-spattered truck beds where bodies and pieces of bodies were tossed for evacuation back to the camp where men like him, still too young to have a beer in the States, were tasked with trying to match limbs with faceless torsos using dog tags for identification.

During the day, he was too tired to find a job, and at night, he was too awake to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he relived the horrors of the war, the loss of friends, his bare hands holding together gaping, bloody wounds, hoping for the best while just delaying the inevitable. The backfire of a car, the smell of burning leaves, and even a summer thunderstorm caused John’s heart to race and his stomach to convulse. He was back home, but it seemed like he never left the field of battle.

In those days, it was called “battle fatigue” or “shell shock”. Today, we know this as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Returning veterans did not talk about this for fear of being ridiculed. “Be a man,” they were told. For John, being a man meant pulling up a stool at the American Legion Post, where he drowned those thoughts with whatever liquor he could afford.

Mistreated by Family

As John grew older, he struggled to find steady jobs and occasionally worked at a gas station owned by his cousin, where he did simple tasks just enough to buy alcohol. His monthly assistance check paid for a room in a rundown place filled with roaches and rats.

Bill mentioned that John's cousin offered him a room above the garage, which would be turned into a small living space. In exchange, John would give his cousin some of his rent check and would get three meals a day, along with all utilities. John eagerly accepted this offer.

After John's parents passed away, the family sold their farm for a substantial price. John's share was put in an account managed by the same cousin, who claimed he would take care of John's finances and oversee his well-being.

Over time, John realized his cousin's promises were just lies, but no one believed him. Because of his gas station job and frequent tire-changing work, people in town began to call him "the drunk in the trunk." On good days, he might get a stale sandwich for lunch and a can of beef stew for dinner from his "caring" cousin, who controlled his funds. John had very few clothes, and he often didn’t have basic hygiene items.

Neighbors noticed John wearing flannel shirts in the hot summer or shorts in the freezing winter, and assumed it was just because of his drinking problem. He became the target of jokes from both adults and children in the community, who teased him whenever he went out for a walk. To avoid the harassment, John mostly stayed home, except for trips to the American Legion, the Army and Navy store, or the liquor store.

Bill tried to convince John to leave his situation, but John wouldn’t listen. He was also reluctant to show Bill his bank account, fearing his cousin would retaliate. John always insisted that everything was "fine." Any attempts to confront his cousin usually led to even worse treatment, so the family chose to ignore the situation.

Respect He Deserved

One day, the leader at the American Legion Post asked John to help collect donations on Memorial Day and Veterans Day at the local market. At first, John felt a bit uneasy about it, but he soon noticed that the donors treated him with the respect he deserved. He began to tell them about the significance of the red poppy, which sometimes earned him confused looks from those who weren’t familiar with it. However, most people appreciated him for his passion.

For John, every day was a chance to celebrate America’s heroes, and he wished that everyone felt the same way. The red poppy represented his lost friends, his brother who didn't come back, those who were injured physically and mentally, and the valuable work that organizations like the American Legion do for veterans.

As Eddie grew older and spent more time with John, he listened intently to his stories. They were always interesting and often had deeper meanings that Eddie would understand more as he matured. On a warm Memorial Day, Eddie sat with John and his nephew outside the Food Lane store while John told a story about something he had discovered after an air raid on a town in France.

“We were going in to help clean up when I heard moaning from a pile of rubble. I found a French woman who was badly hurt and about to give birth. Some other medics and I helped deliver the baby, but it was so tiny... we had hoped to find life amid the destruction, but... it just didn’t make it,” he recalled with a heavy heart. Was it true? Eddie could never know, but for John, it felt real, and the story symbolized the ongoing struggles from that time.

As he spoke, Eddie could see the sadness in his eyes as he drifted off into his memories, reliving that moment—or maybe a mix of moments—from the past. He then told Eddie, “If I could, I would have given anything to save that baby. But I guess life doesn’t work like that, only in the movies.”

As the years passed, those who had spent time with John moved forward with their lives and visited him less often. Each Memorial Day and Veterans Day, people would see him sitting outside the Food Lane, collecting donations and handing out poppies. His coat still showed his dedication, but the poppies became fewer and more worn over time, though he would occasionally add new ones. With each passing year, John appeared more tired and frail. Eventually, his lawn chair was replaced with a wheelchair, and though he continued doing what he loved, it was clear that it was becoming harder for him.

Saying Goodbye

On a chilly March night, John was found dead in his bed, having suffered from an untreated liver illness. He was a proud veteran who never complained but had given everything for his country, yet he passed away alone and in conditions that no human should live in. Tragically, it turned out that his cousin, whom he thought cared for him, had taken advantage of John financially. After bravely defending his country overseas, he returned home, only to be victimized by someone he trusted. Sadly, there wasn’t even enough money for a proper burial. Fortunately, local veteran groups stepped in to honor him with the recognition he deserved.

The weekend after John’s burial, his nephew Greg asked Eddie to help clear out John’s room. As they entered, Eddie noticed that even though the room looked and smelled as it had in the past, he now had a deeper understanding of who John was and what he valued.

On the wall, Eddie saw a framed poem titled “In Flanders Field,” along with a worn American flag nearby. After reading the poem, he felt inspired to learn more about the red poppy, a flower John loved and held a special place in his heart.

The Red Poppy

After World War I, the red poppy flourished across Europe. Experts believe that the soil in places like France and Belgium became rich with lime from the rubble of war, allowing these flowers to thrive. The red poppy came to symbolize the sacrifices made in battle, especially after the poem “In Flanders Fields” was published. Written by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, a doctor serving on the front lines, the poem captured the essence of war.

The poem begins by describing rows of crosses marking the graves of soldiers who died for their countries. Among these crosses, the resilient red poppy grew—capable of lying dormant for years before reappearing in large numbers where there once was devastation.

For Lt. Col. McCrae, the poppy symbolized the bravery of military heroes who fought tyranny during "the war to end all wars." These heroes would later disappear, waiting for the call to action once again.

In 1920, the poppy was designated as the official flower of The American Legion family, serving as a tribute to those who fought and died in the war. By 1924, the distribution of poppies became a nationwide initiative of The American Legion.

Distributing these poppies was a passion for John, one he maintained despite the hardships he faced throughout his life, right up until his death.

A Final Word

"Remember this Veterans Day, if you see a veteran manning a table decorated with red poppies while exiting a grocery store, take a moment to reflect on what these flowers symbolize and the significance of your donation," said Attorney Connelly. "Instead of heading to the donut shop to buy an overpriced cup of coffee, consider dropping those extra cents into the donation container to support our veterans and their families. And when you receive a red poppy from the veteran, don't just toss it into your car where it may get stepped on, disrespected, or thrown away. Think about the disabled veteran who made it and why it is important, especially to an American hero like John."

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