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Home > Jeff Schultz > Archives > 2008 > July > 10
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Georgia man is first veteran of Iraq
to qualify for Paralympics
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Grovetown, Ga. — There was another call today from the hospital for help. A soldier returned home from Iraq, broken. Some of his limbs no longer function. The mind and senses seem numb to life around him. Eyes empty. Hope lost. They try counseling him but he barely responds.
“I was there — I know exactly what he’s feeling,” Scott Winkler said.
He is sitting in a wheelchair in the living room of his home, just outside of Augusta. The house doesn’t stand out from others on the street, except for the American flag hanging out front and the handicapped-equipped pickup truck parked in the driveway.
Five years ago, Winkler was on duty in Tikrit, the hometown of Saddam Hussein. He was unloading ammunition from a truck when his boot got tangled with a tie-down strap. He fell and hit the ground with the ammo on top of him, his body horribly twisted. Surgeries followed. He almost died as organs began to shut down.
Depression lingered long after doctors saved him. One day, he was so down that he told his wife, “Just leave me.” Eventually, she did.
So when somebody from the VA hospital telephones to tell Winkler that a soldier has returned from Iraq paralyzed or limbless and needs somebody to talk to, he doesn’t hesitate.
“Usually they’re just sitting there in a room, trying to figure out what to do next,” he said. “They’re asking themselves, ‘Why me? Why now? I’m worthless. Why am I here?’ You look out a window and you see people running around, enjoying life and you think, ‘I used to do that. I don’t care anymore.’ You go into a shell. It’s tough. It’s very tough. That was me. I didn’t want to talk to anybody.”
Now he even seeks out those who don’t want to listen.
‘This way for a reason’ It’s an Olympic year. Meet one of your heroes. Scott Winkler, 35, has overcome tragedy and redefined his existence. The Olympics are one of the last vestiges of pure sport — obscure athletes from obscure places in obscure events, competing for medals and country — and Winkler embodies it all.
He is a paraplegic. He also is an official ambassador for the USOC and will compete in the shot put in the Paralympics, which will take place in Beijing following the Olympics. More than that, Winkler is a war survivor and a pioneer for disabled veterans.
He was the first Iraq veteran to qualify for the Paralympics, an event he once knew little about. The same Winkler whom friends once knew as introverted now is the poster boy for rehabilitation. He counsels disabled veterans. He co-founded “Champions Made From Adversity,” which creates recreation programs for the disabled. He is in demand as a speaker. He will be among a select group of Olympians and Paralympians who will dine at the White House on July 21.
The fact he set a world record for the adaptive shot put seems almost an afterthought.
“I guess I was put this way for a reason,” he said, looking down at his legs. “I finally found my reason for becoming disabled.”
His rebirth became an inspiration.
Seventeen Iraqi veterans, injured either in or out of combat, pursued spots on the U.S. Paralympic team. Winkler and two others made it — swimmer Melissa Stockwell of Colorado and discus thrower Carlos Leon of Florida.
In 2004, Stockwell was part of a convoy when a roadside bomb blew off her left leg and knocked her Humvee into a guardrail. She left the Army with a Purple Heart and a prosthetic leg.
Leon was a Marine sergeant. A few weeks after returning home from Iraq in 2005, he suffered a broken neck in a diving accident in Hawaii. In medical terms, he is an “incomplete” quadriplegic. After extensive therapy, he has use of his arms and can stand and walk for brief periods.
Denial, anger, depression Winkler and other vets were introduced to paralympic sports through the Military Sports Summit, which began in 2005. “We asked him, and he said no, but we signed him up anyway,” friend Judie Thompson said. Winkler, Thompson and Jeff Snover, another disabled veteran, are partners in the “Champions” venture.
“When I met Scott, all he would do was fish,” Thompson said. “Now he’s everywhere. I can say something [to a disabled person], but it means more coming from Scott. “There’s a lot of anger [with some disabled veterans], but Scott can get past that anger. He can get past the worry because he’s been through all of it. He was married, now he’s not. He’s not just somebody saying, ‘Come on, you can do this.’ “
As a youth in Pittsburgh, Winkler was attracted to the military lifestyle. He looked up to his uncle, Ron Nitchie, who served in Vietnam. The uncle survived but returned damaged. It was almost 30 years later when he was diagnosed with cancer, the result of coming in contact with Agent Orange. He died two years ago.
“I got to see him just before he passed away,” Wink- ler said. “I told him, ‘If I get a chance to go to Beijing, I’ll win a gold for you.’”
Winkler was 21 when he enlisted in the Army. He served in Iraq in 1995, made it back safely, then returned in 2003 for Operation Iraqi Freedom. This time he wasn’t as fortunate. He had been there less than two months when he was sent into a “hot zone” in Tikrit to deliver ammunition. Somebody cut the ammo straps but forgot to pull them out. Winkler didn’t notice, and as he stood on the bed of the truck, his boot caught. He fell eight feet to the ground, while holding 50 pounds of ammo and wearing 40 pounds of gear.
“When I hit the ground I was on my back and the rounds were on my chest,” he said.
At first there was no pain. But others looked down in horror.
“They said, ‘Don’t move,’ ” Winkler recalled.
Then he looked. His lower torso was twisted.
“Initially, I didn’t feel anything,” he said. “Then the pain starts. The shock starts. I don’t remember much after that. You pretty much go into la-la land.”
There are stages to these things. Denial, anger, depression, acceptance. At some point, Winkler added a new one: humor.
“Nobody told me my ass was so big,” he joked.
Later, when asked if there was anything he believed he couldn’t do, he responded: “Stand-up comedian.”
He smiles as he looks at his wristband, which reads, “Gimpin’ Ain’t Easy.”
“We all have to have a sense of humor,” he said. “I mean, I’m still alive.”
‘Put on the USA uniform’ Winkler spent a year in hospitals. But the stress wore on his marriage. He and his wife, Jennifer, divorced after 10 years, though he said they remain friends.
“Scott took it hard,” said Cheryl Snover, Jeff’s wife. “He knew the children [two stepdaughters] were not going to be in his life every day.”
He endured. He got past the depression, the bitterness. He was introduced to the adaptive shot put and soon owned a world record.
“Hidden talent,” he said.
Suddenly, his days are full, his life fulfilling. He views the Paralympics as “another chance to put on the USA uniform.”
When asked if his feelings about the Iraq war have changed, he responded: “The only thing that changed were my emotions when I got hurt and I had to leave my comrades behind. If I wasn’t paralyzed, I would go back in a heartbeat.”
“We turned that country around. We took somebody out who hurt innocent people. “People see the negative side, but there’s a lot more positives. Education. Housing. People can go out and enjoy themselves now.”
He turned around and moved into his dining room. He proudly showed off his awards and talked about the people he had met.
“I guess I’m more apt to help people now,” he said. “I feel I have a purpose now. When I went to Washington, D.C., to speak, people would come up to me and say, ‘You’ve done a lot.’ But I don’t think I’ve touched enough.”
He was one of them — broken, devoid of hope, always asking, “Why?”
There are still bad days, he said. But they are few, and he hides it.
“I’m trying to inspire people, not bring them down,” he said.
