Area Beautification
In 1988, I arrived at basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Our command sergeant major—a tough, larger-than-life woman in what was then an overwhelmingly male environment—made an immediate impression on me. She was known to put her hand inside a toilet to make sure it had actually been cleaned. That tells you about everything you need to know.
One day, she stood in front of the formation and called out, “Are there any farmers out there? Any farmers?”
She wasn’t looking for agricultural advice. She wanted soldiers for her area beautification program.
I wasn’t selected, but for some strange reason, I always wanted to be part of it. In the Army back then, “area beautification” could mean painting rocks, picking up cigarette butts, pulling weeds or even cutting grass with scissors. Some of it seemed ridiculous, but there was a lesson behind it: take pride in where you live and work. Make your small piece of the world cleaner, more organized and better than you found it.
Apparently, that lesson stayed with me.
Recently, a woman I have known for seven years was promoted to lead the organization where I exercise. She was a friend of my wife, Sherri, and she also helped train my daughter. I wanted to recognize her promotion, but I didn’t want to simply give her a gift card or something that would soon be forgotten. I wanted to do something she could see every morning when she arrived at work.
So I finally joined the area beautification program—only about 38 years late.
I made a plan and spent about an hour and a half cleaning and improving the area in front of the building. I even created a small version of the organization’s symbol, hoping to add a little esprit de corps.
While I worked, several people stopped to tell me how nice it looked and how much they appreciated what I was doing. I didn’t explain the reason. I was simply cleaning up an area and making it a little more welcoming.
Leadership lessons often appear in the smallest actions. Leading by example does not always require a title, recognition or financial reward. Sometimes leadership is simply noticing something that could be better—and taking responsibility for making it better.
More importantly, the gesture made her feel appreciated. It brought people together, strengthened our sense of community and made the place we share a little more special.
And I felt pretty good about it too.
I guess that command sergeant major knew what she was doing after all.
Service Should Start Close to Home
I have been thinking a lot about what it means to give back without making it about yourself.
One of the things I have always admired about the ideals of our founding fathers is the belief that citizenship carries responsibility. You contribute. You serve. You try to leave your community a little better than you found it.
That is something I want reflected in my little company as well.
I am fortunate that the business has created some profit, and rather than simply talking about community, veterans, service, or helping others, I decided I wanted to actually do something with a portion of it.
I selected a local nonprofit, Miles to Go, that helps people experiencing homelessness in the Orlando community. Homelessness is difficult enough under any circumstance, but homeless veterans in particular are something I have always cared about.
At the same time, health and fitness have long been an important part of my life. So when I saw an opportunity to support a 5K that benefits Miles to Go, it felt like a natural fit.
I anonymously paid for several people to participate.
I am not sharing that because I think it is some grand gesture. It is not. I am sharing it because I think businesses, even very small ones, have an opportunity to decide what they stand for through their actions.
We hear people say all the time that we should help veterans, support our communities, care for people in need, and improve our health. Those are good words. But somewhere along the way, the words have to become actions.
As the old saying goes, put your money where your mouth is.
For me, this is also about honoring the people and experiences that have shaped my life. It is about my late wife, my family, my military service, the people who have supported me, and the values I continue to hold dear.
Service does not always have to be large, public, or complicated.
Sometimes it is simply deciding that when you have a little extra, you share a little of it.
My company is small. Its contribution is small.
But if that contribution helps someone take another step forward, then it mattered.
And for me, that is enough.
Uncovering Disability Benefits for 11.25 Million Veterans
VA estimates there are approximately 17.6 million living veterans, while about 6.34 million receive service-connected disability compensation. That leaves roughly 11.25 million veterans—about 64% of the veteran population—not currently receiving disability compensation.
The modern DoD-VA Integrated Disability Evaluation System, or IDES, did not begin until 2007 and was later expanded worldwide. IDES primarily serves service members referred for possible medical separation or retirement; it is not a universal disability evaluation for every service member leaving the military. Millions of veterans separated before this integrated system existed, and many others left service without ever entering IDES.
VA has also documented claims filed 10 to 20 years after discharge, and some veterans have waited roughly 30 years before ultimately receiving service-connected benefits. The evidence does not show that most veterans wait 30 years, but it clearly shows that long delays are real.
Meanwhile, VA has obligated approximately $13.84 billion toward electronic health record modernization, with an independent lifecycle estimate cited by GAO of approximately $49.8 billion. VA also continues to spend billions on construction and infrastructure.
Those investments have created vast amounts of electronic medical and service data. DoD and VA already possess service treatment records, deployment histories, occupational information, exposure records, diagnoses, surgeries, traumatic injuries, hearing loss, chronic illnesses, and VA medical histories.
The call to action is straightforward: use that data to identify veterans who may have been missed.
VA should systematically identify veterans who are not receiving disability compensation but whose existing records show strong indicators of potentially service-connected conditions. Those veterans should then be proactively contacted, offered an expedited evaluation, and assisted through the disability claims process.
Before additional billions are committed to technology overruns or unnecessary construction, Congress and VA should evaluate whether those dollars could produce greater value by directing resources toward eligible veterans and putting compensation directly into their households.
The question is no longer whether the government has the information.
It does. The question is whether VA will use it.
Of the 11.25 million veterans not currently receiving disability compensation, how many have documented service-related conditions that have never been fully evaluated?
Congress should require VA and DoD to answer that question—and act on the results.
Yesterday was a great day.
After working with a gentleman for about six months—almost exactly the amount of time since my wife passed—we received notification that the VA had granted him a 60% disability rating.
For him, this was a giant win.
He served two tours in the Marine Corps and is a Desert Shield/Desert Storm veteran. One period of his service unfortunately ended with a bad conduct discharge after some things happened while he was young and going through a divorce. But he also had an honorable period of service, and that mattered.
He had tried three times before to receive VA disability compensation. He had worked with VSOs, but from what I could see, nobody had really looked deeply enough at his entire military history or separated the different periods of his service to determine what conditions could legitimately be connected to his honorable service.
He was referred to me by a retired Navy captain who had known him since they were Junior ROTC kids. Now, decades later, this Marine had served his country, lived with the consequences of that service, battled cancer and other medical problems, and still had never received the benefits he had earned.
So we went to work.
I used the same process I use with everyone: slow down, build the timeline, look at where they served, what they did, what happened to them, what they were exposed to, and what conditions followed them home. Then claim what the evidence supports.
Yesterday, he got his answer: 60%.
That means meaningful tax-free monthly compensation and access to additional VA benefits that can make a real difference in his life.
And I have to tell you, this one felt particularly good.
The last six months have also been some of the hardest months of my own life. I am learning how to live after losing my wife. I don’t think you ever really “recover” from something like that. You learn how to carry it. You find reasons to get up, reasons to keep moving, and hopefully reasons to continue being useful to somebody else.
Yesterday was one of those reasons.
Helping this Marine finally receive recognition for conditions connected to his service reminded me why I continue doing this work.
I hope someone reading this who has been putting off filing a VA disability claim—or who filed before and gave up—will reconsider.
I often describe VA disability compensation simply as workers’ compensation for service members. If military service injured you, made you sick, or caused a condition that continues affecting you today, there is no shame in asking the government to honor that obligation.
You don’t have to exaggerate anything.
You don’t have to claim something that isn’t true.
You just have to do the work, document your story, and advocate for yourself.
Sometimes you may need someone beside you to help you do it.
Yesterday reminded me how thankful I am that, at this point in my own life, I get to be that person for somebody else.
Teach a Veteran to Fish
Recently, I had the privilege of helping another veteran who had retired from federal service after leaving the military before 2011. Like so many others, he was facing family challenges and decided it was finally time to look at his VA disability rating.
But he was afraid.
Not because he thought he wasn’t entitled to his benefits. He was afraid that if he opened the door again, the VA might reduce his rating. So for years, he simply left it alone.
A mutual friend from college introduced us, and we talked veteran to veteran.
I asked him a few simple questions: How old are you? What is your current rating? What conditions were originally service connected?
Then I asked him something he had never really considered.
“What if the VA simply missed something?”
The VA handles millions of claims. Like any large organization, mistakes happen. Sometimes conditions are overlooked. Sometimes veterans don’t claim everything because, when they leave the service, they’re focused only on what hurts the most at that moment.
In his case, we reviewed his VA decision letter together and found a condition that should have been claimed. He submitted the claim himself.
Within two weeks, his rating increased from 60% to 80%.
That gave him confidence.
Next, I asked him to do something I ask nearly every veteran to do: build a timeline of his military career and write down every injury, illness, exposure, and significant event he could remember.
As we worked through his history, we discussed secondary conditions—medical problems that develop because of already service-connected disabilities. He realized he had been receiving treatment for several of them for years without ever connecting them to his original service-connected condition.
Again, he filed the claims himself.
His rating increased from 80% to 90%.
At that point, I told him what I tell everyone.
“I’ve taught you the process. You know how to advocate for yourself now.”
Several months later, he called.
The VA had completed additional examinations, approved more secondary conditions, and he had reached a 100% disability rating.
Like so many veterans, he earned every bit of it.
No one wants the injuries, the chronic pain, or the emotional scars that come with military service. But when those sacrifices affect a veteran for the rest of their life, our nation made a promise to care for them.
Unfortunately, many veterans never even look.
They’ve heard stories about fraud or abuse. They worry they’ll be judged. They don’t want to seem like they’re asking for a handout.
The reality is that the overwhelming majority of veterans simply want to be treated fairly.
My philosophy has always been simple.
I don’t want to hand someone a fish.
I want to teach them how to fish.
I mentor veterans so they understand the process, learn how to gather evidence, write their own statements, and become their own best advocates. Then I ask them to do one thing:
Help the next veteran.
Imagine the impact if every veteran helped just one more.
Today, it’s estimated that roughly six million veterans who left the military before the widespread use of digital VA claims have never even had their disabilities fully evaluated. Many don’t realize that decades after service is often when conditions become significantly worse. Bad backs become arthritis. Knee injuries deteriorate. Ankles fail. Hearing loss progresses. Mental health conditions become more apparent with time.
Those veterans deserve to know they still have options.
Less than one percent of Americans have been willing to raise their right hand and volunteer to serve this nation, knowing that service could cost them their health—or even their life.
Seeking the benefits they earned isn’t taking advantage of the system.
It’s simply allowing a grateful nation to keep its promise.
The Torch Has Been Passed
I did not think this day could come. Even after my son raised his right hand, a part of me never truly believed I would one day watch him become an active duty service member.
I recently hung a Blue Star Service Flag in my window. It is a daily reminder that the next generation continues to answer our nation’s call, accepting personal risk for a higher calling.
As a young boy, I knew I was meant to serve. Throughout my Army career, I rarely thought about the danger. The mission always came first. It wasn’t until I was saying goodbye to my own children before deployments that I began to understand where the real burden was carried.
Today, I see that burden through different eyes.
I used to reassure my family by saying it was more dangerous driving to the base in Atlanta than serving in the area of operations or on a forward operating base. At the time, I believed it. It was easy to say because I was the one going.
It is different when it is your son.
Modern warfare is different with these drones. But Information is still limited, uncertainty is constant, and the waiting can be relentless. Yet one truth has never changed: the hardest part of military service is often carried by the families who remain behind.
I have always been proud to serve my country.
Today, I am equally proud—and humbled—to be the father of someone who has chosen to do the same.
The torch has been passed. My prayers now travel with him, his wife, and every family waiting faithfully at home.
When the Ramps Found Their Next Home
Yesterday was a good day.
My neighbor is a Vietnam veteran. Neuropathy has slowly been taking its toll on his legs and lower back, and lately he’s been falling more often. While talking with his daughter, who cares for him, she mentioned they wished they had a safer way to get down the front steps.
“Hold on a second,” I said.
I walked across to my garage and brought back the two ramps for Sherri. Within minutes, we had them secured to their front steps. Just like that, they had a safer way for him to get in and out of his home.
It made me think.
It took us nearly a year to realize how much we truly needed those ramps. When you’re caring for someone with an incurable illness, watching them slowly lose their mobility, your mind is consumed by the next appointment, the next medication, the next crisis. Something as seemingly simple as installing a ramp somehow becomes another impossible decision. Which ramp? What angle? How do you secure it? Will it be safe? None of it feels simple when you’re living under constant pressure.
Yesterday, those hard-earned lessons allowed me to help someone else before it was too late. My neighbor gets to use the ramps while he can still walk with assistance, preserving a little more independence and, hopefully, preventing another fall.
I know Sherri loved this.
Even though she’s no longer here, her kindness continues to reach people she’ll never meet. Those ramps once carried her safely home. Now they’re helping a veteran like her father do the same.
Maybe that’s one of the quiet gifts of love. It doesn’t end when a life ends. It simply finds another person who needs it.
Yesterday wasn’t just about a couple of aluminum ramps.
It was another reminder that Sherri is still making the world a little better—through the people she changed, the lessons she taught, and the love she left behind.
Is This What Healing Feels Like?
Lately, I’ve been asking myself questions that don’t seem to have answers for.
Does everything eventually become routine?
Does everything that is new eventually become old?
They call it the “daily grind” for a reason, don’t they?
When does something lose its luster?
And perhaps the harder question…when do we?
The past year has changed me in ways I never expected. Losing my wife after watching her fight with every ounce of strength she had, trying to raise my daughter, helping fellow veterans navigate a system that often overwhelms them, trying to build a business with purpose—it has all been meaningful. Yet, at times, it has also been exhausting.
People sometimes tell me how strong I am.
The truth is, strength isn’t the absence of questions. Sometimes it’s simply continuing to put one foot in front of the other while carrying them.
Why do I struggle to feel purpose on some days when I know my work changes lives?
Why does my soul sometimes feel quiet instead of alive?
It isn’t that I lack free will. Every day I choose to move forward.
It isn’t that I cannot love. If anything, loving deeply has become both my greatest gift and my greatest source of pain.
So what is it?
Is my tank full—but filled with sand instead of water? Have years of responsibility, military service, loss, caregiving, and simply surviving filled every available space until joy has difficulty finding room?
Or is it something simpler? Is my brain still healing from grief? Are the chemicals that shape emotion simply trying to find their balance again?
I honestly don’t know.
What I do know is this: purpose doesn’t seem to be something we find once and keep forever. It fades. It changes. It asks us to search for it again and again.
When I help a veteran receive benefits they earned decades ago, I see purpose.
When I teach someone how to navigate the VA system so they can eventually do it themselves, I see purpose.
When my daughter smiles, I see purpose.
But even purpose doesn’t erase grief. It simply gives grief somewhere meaningful to stand.
Maybe that is what healing really is.
Not waking up one morning and feeling whole again.
Not forgetting the people we’ve lost.
Not pretending life is the same.
Maybe healing is learning that even when life loses some of its shine, it still has value. That even when our soul feels quiet, it is still there. That even when we don’t have all the answers, we can still choose kindness, service, and love.
I don’t know if everything eventually becomes ordinary.
I do know that the people we help, the lives we touch, and the love we give never truly lose their value.
Perhaps that’s enough for today.
Tomorrow, I’ll ask the questions again.
And I’ll keep walking anyway.
On Azimuth LLC Achieves SBA Certification as a Service-Disabled Veteran-Owned Small Business (SDVOSB)
Windermere, FL — July 1, 2026 — LOUJSWZ INC proudly congratulates On Azimuth LLC on achieving official certification as a Service-Disabled Veteran-Owned Small Business (SDVOSB) through the U.S. Small Business Administration (SBA) on June 30, 2026.
Led by Lieutenant General (Ret.) David Wilson, U.S. Army, On Azimuth LLC provides strategic leadership, organizational strategy, executive advisory, and global logistics consulting services to federal and commercial clients. This certification allows the company to compete for federal set-aside and sole-source opportunities reserved for eligible veteran-owned businesses, including additional contracting opportunities through the Department of Veterans Affairs.
Reflecting on the achievement, LTG (Ret.) Wilson said:
“I did this with the encouragement of my Citadel classmate, Louis J. Schwartz, who helped me see that pursuing this certification could give my business a competitive advantage because certification differentiates your business. Instead of competing against thousands of firms, you may compete against only dozens—or even fewer—for veteran set-aside opportunities. That significantly improves your probability of winning contracts.”
He also encouraged fellow veteran entrepreneurs:
“Don’t be shy about reaching out to your networks and seeking assistance. It can be a true difference maker. If you’re certified as a VOSB or SDVOSB, you become eligible for additional opportunities with the Department of Veterans Affairs under the Veterans First Contracting Program—opportunities unavailable to companies without certification.”
Louis Schwartz, President of LOUJSWZ INC, added:
“Helping fellow veterans build successful businesses is one of the most rewarding parts of what we do. Every veteran-owned company that earns SBA certification expands opportunities not only for that business but also for federal agencies seeking experienced, mission-focused partners.”
Congratulations to Lieutenant General (Ret.) David Wilson and the entire On Azimuth LLC team on this outstanding achievement.
About On Azimuth LLC
On Azimuth LLC is a Service-Disabled Veteran-Owned Small Business (SDVOSB) providing strategic leadership, organizational transformation, executive advisory, and global logistics consulting services. Founded by Lieutenant General (Ret.) David Wilson, the company leverages decades of senior military leadership and enterprise logistics experience to help government and commercial organizations improve operational readiness, strategic execution, and organizational performance.
About LOUJSWZ INC
LOUJSWZ INC is a veteran-owned consulting firm specializing in SBA certifications, federal registrations, and government contracting readiness. The company has helped numerous veteran-owned businesses successfully obtain SDVOSB and VOSB certification while also assisting veterans in pursuing the VA disability benefits they have earned through military service.
A Button, a Lesson 45 Years in the Making
Today I sewed a button back onto my favorite shirt and repaired a split seam in a pillow.
Neither job took very long, but when I finished, I realized I had just used a skill I learned more than 45 years ago as a Boy Scout.
My Scoutmaster, William Lee Kitchel, was a remarkable man. He was a Navy veteran of the Second World War who served aboard a battleship and was wounded during a kamikaze attack. Later, he served again, this time in the Air Force during the Korean War. He was demanding, disciplined, and believed that young men learned responsibility by doing things themselves.
Every Scout in our troop sewed on his own merit badges and patches. There were no shortcuts and no “Mom will do it.” When I earned my first three merit badges, I was handed a needle, thread, and instructions to sew them on myself.
Like so many families, my mother kept a Danish butter cookie tin that contained everything except cookies. Inside were needles, thread, buttons, pins, and years of accumulated sewing supplies. She gave me a needle, some thread, and a T-pin, and I went to work. My first attempts looked terrible, but Mr. Kitchel expected us to do it correctly. He accepted no excuses and suffered no fools. Over time, I became quite good at sewing. He even taught us traditional Seminole patchwork sewing, a skill I never imagined would stay with me for life.
Back then, I thought I was simply learning how to put patches on a Scout uniform.
Today I realized he was teaching something much larger.
The woman who quietly fixed buttons, repaired torn clothes, and mended the little things around our home—my wife, Sherri—is gone now. Today, there was no one to hand my favorite shirt to. So I threaded the needle myself, replaced the missing button, and repaired the pillow.
That shirt is my favorite because of a photograph. It shows Sherri sitting on my lap during one of our vacations, smiling with the biggest, brightest smile. It was probably one of our first selfies. Every time I see that picture, it reminds me of her joy, and it makes me smile too.
As I finished sewing today, I realized that William Lee Kitchel had taught me something without either of us knowing it. He wasn’t just teaching a Boy Scout to sew. He was teaching self-reliance, patience, pride in doing a job well, and the confidence to care for the things—and the people—that matter.
Some lessons don’t reveal their true value until decades later.
Thank you, Mr. Kitchel, for giving me a skill that has lasted a lifetime, and for teaching me something far greater than sewing.
