Part 3 — Lonnie From The Army
The name on the red tab was Lonnie Pike. My Army buddy from basic training, 1979. The man who had been my best man and who showed up every Thanksgiving in his old fatigue jacket with a bottle of cider.
The agent, Special Agent Dawson of the Veterans Affairs inspector general, said it gently. “Mr. Gibbons, your friend used your good name. We think you should hear how, from us, before you hear it on the news.”
The boxes held benefit files. Eleven years of forged disability claims for veterans who did not exist, filed with the government in Cleveland and paid into accounts Lonnie controlled. Lonnie ran a “veterans advocacy” office, and my trailer carried the originals to keep them out of any single filing cabinet.
The photographs of my house and my wife were part of his insurance. He told himself he would never use them. That was the only comfort I could find in it.
The investigators had been building the case after real veterans complained about their benefits being mysteriously rerouted. They waited for the trailer because it held every original claim in a single place.
Loyalty is not a uniform you wear, it is something you do when nobody is looking.
Lonnie was arrested at his office in Cleveland that night. He pleaded guilty to theft of government funds, forgery and obstruction. He was ordered to repay more than $5 million and sentenced to eight years.
The Veterans Affairs office restored every benefit that had been redirected, with back payments. Three hundred real veterans got letters that said the same thing: your money is back.
I visited Lonnie one time before his sentence began. I did not yell. I told him that I had loved him like a brother for forty years, and that I would pray for him, but I would never again carry his freight.
My wife Judy and I volunteered at the local VFW that winter, helping other veterans fill out their claims honestly. I drove them to the appointments in my own pickup.
On Veterans Day, we stood together at the courthouse square. A bugler played taps, and I held my hat over my heart for the buddy I thought I had.
