Ken Teeters Foundation
Supporting veterans in need through comprehensive services and programs.
The Mission
We provide support and assistance to veterans in need through various programs and services.
- The Teeters Foundation, established by Kenneth Teeters, is dedicated to honoring and supporting local veterans who have selflessly served our nation. Born from personal experience and a deep understanding of the challenges veterans face, our mission is to provide practical, immediate assistance to those who have given so much for our country. We focus on critical areas often overlooked: home repairs, vehicle maintenance, and navigating the complex VA disability rating process. Our foundation stands as a beacon of hope for veterans struggling financially, offering a helping hand when it's needed most. With a team of experienced volunteers who truly understand veterans' needs, we're committed to making a real difference in the lives of those who've served. Training
- Mental Health Support
- Community Partnerships
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This is why we do what we do
One Pointman’s
Poetic Perspective
of the
Vietnam War
Robert E. Springer
The Price
The memories of war still linger,as the rain falls from an overcast sky;I'd give all I own for the nightmares to stop,but that’s something money can’t buy.
I will always believe what I did was right,and if need be I’d do it again;to defend the principles for which we stand,is the way it’s always been.
The price of freedom is very high,it’s not measured in monetary cost;it’s the thousand yard stare in the eyes of young men,and the lives of loved ones lost.
Warriors in silent agony,their mind still a battlefield;the body can sometimes be repaired,but the spirit will never be healed.
A tour of duty in Vietnam,for many was too much to bear;more have come home and killed themselves,than died in the war over there.
It seems sometimes no one hears us,no matter how long we shout;we are the veterans of Vietnam,that’s the price I was talking about.Robert E. Springer 9/24/97
I will always believe what I did was right,and if need be I’d do it again;to defend the principles for which we stand,is the way it’s always been.
The price of freedom is very high,it’s not measured in monetary cost;it’s the thousand yard stare in the eyes of young men,and the lives of loved ones lost.
Warriors in silent agony,their mind still a battlefield;the body can sometimes be repaired,but the spirit will never be healed.
A tour of duty in Vietnam,for many was too much to bear;more have come home and killed themselves,than died in the war over there.
It seems sometimes no one hears us,no matter how long we shout;we are the veterans of Vietnam,that’s the price I was talking about.Robert E. Springer 9/24/97
Doc
The terrifying sounds of a firefight,are as varied as they can get;and one of the most dreaded sounds you can hear,is a pain wracked cry "I'm hit! ".
It sets into motion a chain of events,and alters the battle plan;now, under a hail of enemy fire,Doc has to get to the man.
A pleading voice screams " medic! ",it's a race now against the clock;as he runs toward the voice, the V.C. take aim,and try to kill the doc.
The man's taken rounds through his stomach and chest,Doc is heard above the attack;there's no mistaking the urgency in his voice," we need a medevac! ".
Doc works with obsession to save the mans life,when another man is hit;he yells " I'm o.k. ", and waves Doc off,as he reaches for his first aid kit.
He's bleeding profusely, and in obvious pain,and begins to show signs of shock;but he dresses his wound, picks up his rifle,and fires to cover the doc.
Doc raises up to hold the i.v.,without it the man will die;it may already be too late,but it's something he has to try.
Oblivious to the shouts of his comrades,and the cries of " Doc, get down! ";the vegetation around him,is shredded by incoming rounds.
But he also provides inspiration,the tide of battle begins to turn;the firing subsides as the enemy flee,the muscles in his arm begin to burn.
And they expand the defensive perimeter,as an approaching medevac is heard;if the bird takes fire, the crew will abort,they won't land if it's not secured.
The aircraft hovers and makes its descent,now expediency is a must;Doc leans over his wounded man,to protect him from the dust.
When both of the wounded are safely aboard,and the aircraft is fading from sight;they sweep the area for dead viet cong,that were killed in the firefight.
Doc will be left to wonder,if his efforts were in vain;he won't be told if the man survived,and he'll never see him again.
And what about the other man,who was shot, but waved Doc away;shouldn't he get a medal,for what he did that day.
What he and Doc did was heroic,but get a medal, probably not;at least not one for valor,but a purple heart because he was shot.
A minor skirmish, is what the brass will say,in regard to what happened here;Doc and the rest can expect it again,a lot happens in the course of a year.
They were on the move before the medevac landed,to another point on the map;to survive, they focus right here, right now,and don't dwell on the last attack.
Because the next one will come in an instant,or maybe not for days;there is no way of knowing,death can come in so many ways.
They think of that and nothing else,and when their tour is done;within 48 hours they're back in the states,and told to " go home and have some fun ".
How much fun do you think Doc has,sitting in that bar;and he hits the floor each time he hears,the backfire of a car.
He endures the looks and the snickers,as he slowly gets to his feet;his heart is pounding like it's going to explode,his face is as white as a sheet.
Then someone says, " he's crazy ",and that's good for a couple of grins;they will never understand that when he heard that sound,he was back in the jungle again.
So he sits back down at the bar once more,and orders another beer;his eyes are vacant, and hollow,like he's miles away from here.
He was never told how to shut it off,no one seemed to care;Doc himself didn't even know,what happened to him over there.
Now, thirty years later, he still doesn't know,he just sits alone and drinks;if he gets drunk enough, he can get some sleep,at least that's what he thinks.
But when he lays down at night and closes his eyes,instead of sleep, he's afraid what he'll get;are the terrifying sounds of a firefight,and a pain wracked cry, " I'm hit! ".Robert E. Springer 9/17/99