Heavyweight - #45 Sgt. John Kapphahn

Episode Date: September 29, 2022

When Melanie was a kid, she recorded Billy Ray Cyrus’s 1993 TV Special over something irreplaceable: the sole copy of an interview her father did on Walter Cronkite after being injured in Vietnam. Thirty years later, she wants to make things right. Credits Heavyweight is hosted and produced by Jonathan Goldstein. This episode was produced by senior producer Kalila Holt, along with Mohini Madgavkar. The supervising producer is Stevie Lane. Production help from Damiano Marchetti. Special thanks to Emily Condon, Matt Carlson, Peter Molin, Sanya Dosani, Mitch Hansen, Jonah Delso, Sam Reisman, and Jackie Cohen. The show was mixed by Bobby Lord.  Music by Christine Fellows, John K Samson, Shanghai Restoration Project, Bauble, and Bobby Lord. Our theme song is by The Weakerthans courtesy of Epitaph Records. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

What? I have a question. Yeah. I'm looking for a medical perspective. Yeah. I just had soup and... What kind of soup did you have? Kind of a bouillabaisse.

You did not have a bouillabaisse. What's a bouillabaisse? Why'd you say you had a bouillabaisse? I don't know. I was trying to impress you. So good. Anyway, the point is, after I have a bowl of soup, it really sloshes around in my stomach. Like, I really hear it.

You've always done that. I've always heard your stomach gurgling for years. How would you have heard my stomach? Because everything about you is noisy. Your finger licking is noisy. I do not. Your chewing is noisy. Well, I...

Your stomach gets... In some cultures, you know, it's considered a compliment. I'm not doing this. I'm not doing this. I'm not. No. From Gimlet Media, I'm Jonathan Goldstein,

and this is Heavyweight. Today's episode, Sergeant John Capon. Right after the break. DQ presents how to officially start your summer. Step one, head to DQ. Step two, try the new summer blizzard menu. And step three, dig into new peanut butter cookie dough party,

new picnic peach cobbler, and more. Make it official. Only at DQ. Happy tastes good. FanDuel Casino's exclusive live dealer studio has your chance at the number one feeling, winning, which beats even the 27th best feeling, saying I do. Who wants this last parachute? I do.

Enjoy the number one feeling, winning, in an exciting live dealer studio, exclusively on FanDuel Casino, where winning is undefeated. 19 plus and physically located in Ontario. Gambling problem? Call 1-866-531-2600 or visit connectsontario.ca. Please play responsibly. Is crypto perfect? Nope.

But neither was email when it was invented in 1972. And yet today, we send 347 billion emails every single day. Crypto is no different. It's new, but like email, it's also revolutionary. With Kraken, it's easy to start your crypto journey with 24-7 support when you need it. Go to kraken.com and see what crypto can be. Not investment advice. Crypto trading involves risk of loss. See kraken.com slash legal slash ca dashpru dash disclaimer for info on Kraken's undertaking to register in Canada. When I told some people at work that I would be talking with someone on a podcast, they all immediately said, oh, for murder. It's about murder. Melanie has never murdered anyone, and at the risk of sounding like an old softie,

neither have I. But the story you're about to hear does involve a murder. Of sorts. Thirty years ago, Melanie snuffed out the life of a family heirloom. But, as they say on the murder podcasts, more on that later. The story all begins in rural Minnesota, on the bean farm where Melanie grew up. All her friends lived miles away, so for company, all she had were a couple measly TV stations. Channels that we could get through our bunnied ear antenna. Like, there'd be days where my dad's up on the roof like, okay, tell me when you can see the picture.

And on February 17th, 1993, Melanie really needed to see that picture. Because that was the night ABC was airing the television event of the century. A special starring Melanie's favorite artist, Billy Ray Cyrus. Billy Ray Cyrus. So cool He could dance Great mullet

Tight pants Oily biceps Smiley's dad Hip soul patch Denim clad The special was called Dreams Come True For Melanie

the name couldn't have been more appropriate She loved Billy Ray Cyrus so much that she'd spent hours plunking out Achy Breaky Heart on the family piano. The only problem? Melanie was nine years old, and the special came on after her bedtime. So my plan was to record the concert on a VHS tape

so I could watch it later. Melanie's parents kept all the VHS tapes in a dining room drawer, so she pulled one out from way in the back, slided it in, and pressed record. Melanie's memory of what happened next is fuzzy. It might have been the next morning as she got ready

to watch the special in her PJs that her mom asked, Hey, by the way, what videotape did you record that on? That would have been the moment Melanie learned the horrible truth. The tape that I had grabbed to record an hour of Billy Ray Cyrus over

was an interview that my father had done from Vietnam while injured and hospitalized. And the interview was with Walter Cronkite. On this videotape? Yes, that had now been recorded over by Billy Ray Cyrus. Of course, as a nine-year-old, Melanie could only understand so much about what she'd done. She never watched the tape of her father's interview.

She didn't know who Walter Cronkite was or anything at all about the Vietnam War. But, you know, I was able to comprehend that this was something we weren't going to get back. I have an older sister. She's six years older, and I think she probably helped me realize that by rubbing it in.

Why did you put this on here? Do you know what was on this? This is Melanie's older sister, Sam, who was old enough to understand the significance of the tape and to remember her father's reaction when he found out it had been erased. Oh, it was like World War 17. Because there was none of the interview left. Like there wasn't like, oh, here's where the beginning of the interview is. And then it cuts to Billy Ray Cyrus. This was just straight up Billy Ray Cyrus on stage singing. Can I ask if you're a Billy Ray Cyrus fan?

Did you feel like, well, this isn't all bad. I mean, we lost a family heirloom. No, no. Not be something where I would have said that I would have considered that an equivalent swap. It wasn't like, well, at least we've got achy breaky on VHS. Now that Melanie's an adult, she feels terrible about her mistake and wants to make things right. She wants to unerase the video and return it to her father. But after combing the CBS website, emailing the network, her mom even mailed them a physical letter. Melanie's had no luck with finding a copy.

She's not even sure the interview still exists. So much from that era doesn't. Until the late 1970s, networks would wipe TV shows once they'd aired. As a result, most Macy's Day parades are gone, not to mention the first episode of The Ed Sullivan Show. A surprise appearance from John Lennon on a 1974 Monday Night Football only exists because it was recorded onto home video by a fan.

A fan, it would seem, without a Billy Ray Cyrus superfan for a daughter. What makes Melanie's guilt all the worse is that the video was the one thing she could have turned to to understand that time in her father's life. Because growing up... Vietnam was just kind of a subject that we knew not to bring up. Everything from her dad's time in the Army felt off-limits.

He kept his uniform deep in the closet, his purple heart in the back of a drawer. On the rare occasion their father did bring up Vietnam, it wasn't to share memories. There's times where my sister and I are just running around, and him commenting to us, pick up your feet. You wouldn't last five minutes in Vietnam. You guys would all be blown up. Pick up your feet. God damn it. You wouldn't have lasted four days in Nam before you would have been shot. So basically all I knew about Vietnam was that I would not survive. I knew it was someplace where you needed to be quiet and that he had gotten hurt there.

John had been caught in an explosion of shrapnel in Vietnam, but his daughters only knew this because of the pieces of metal that would occasionally fall from his body. I remember him sitting at our kitchen table and every now and then there would be this little piece of metal that would get worked out of an arm or a leg. He's like, well, it's shrapnel. It's shrapnel

working its way out. And of course, they would be very small. They weren't shiny, kind of like a very dark, dark gray, not black. I remember that. Although Sam and Melanie are now adults, their understanding of their father's time in Vietnam is as piecemeal as when they were kids, and they're still too intimidated to broach the subject. So, as families tend to with big conversations, they kick the topic of Vietnam down the road

to deal with someday. But given her dad's age and temperament, Melanie worries there might not be a someday. But given her dad's age and temperament, Melanie worries there might not be a someday. He recently was hospitalized with heart failure. Oh no, I'm sorry. He's okay. But, you know, some imminent health issues and he's getting older. Like, we don't have forever, it would be nice to know him. And I feel like maybe this is something, you know,

I kind of effed up as a kid, and maybe I can undo it. Getting the video back is something Melanie wants to do for her father, but she also wants to do it for herself. The tape feels like her strongest hope, possibly her last hope, for understanding her dad. If she had the video, she could hear about her father's experiences at the moment he lived them, which is why she's come to me, her fellow Minnesotan. Let's see what we could do. Oh, you're so nice. The nicest thing that you could tell a Minnesotan

is that they're nice. Yeah, but I actually mean it. Well, I can't really know, but it's nice to be nice to the nice. I love that. And no matter what state you're from,

I think we can all agree it's always nice to hear from our trusted sponsors. Get ready to raise the roof with Savings. to hear from our trusted sponsors. Get ready to raise the roof with savings. FanDuel Casino's exclusive live dealer studio has your chance at the number one feeling, winning. Which beats even the 27th best feeling, saying I do.

Who wants this last parachute? I do. Enjoy the number one feeling, winning, in an exciting live dealer studio. Exclusively on FanDuel Casino, where winning is undefeated. 19 plus and physically located in Ontario. Gambling problem? Call 1-866-531-2600. casino where winning is undefeated 19 plus and physically located in ontario gambling problem call 1-866-531-2600 or visit connectsontario.ca please play responsibly during the conversation with melanie i'd asked if after learning she'd erased the tape

she could bring herself through her shame through her mortification, to actually watch the Billy Ray Cyrus special. Heck yes, I did. You did? Yes. Oh, yes. The intro to this special, he has his back to the camera. He's wearing a cut-off t-shirt, skin-tight jeans, and it's just him, like, bopping back and forth with his mullet swaying, and that went on for, like, a minute and a half.

Before you even see his face? Oh, yeah, yeah. It's just the back of him. Man, that is confidence. I don't know if they were, like, wanting to showcase his body or just the mullet. Was it, like, in an arena? Yeah. And there's, you know, ladies bawling and... Wow, like Beatlemania. Billy-mania.

My mission is clear. I'll need to begin my research by watching the Billy Ray Cyrus special for myself. Well, maybe not need to. But watching an hour of Billy Ray Cyrus seems easier than searching for a 50-year-old news clip. In the special, Billy stands on stage as the audience shouts for him to take off his shirt.

But Billy is demure, keeping it classy. How is my mom gonna feel when she wakes up to read the Flatwoods Kentucky Times tomorrow and finds out that her baby boy came all the way to Reno and got naked on his first ABC special. Yet sadly, Billy succumbs to peer pressure. I live my life for my fans, and if that's what you want, I'll do it. Just when it feels like things cannot possibly grow any more sexually unhinged, Billy reaches behind his back and in one fluid motion

unleashes the rear end of his lush mullet. It wafts free in the arena vents like the mane on a majestic stallion. Sing it to me one time, Reno. This is called Where Am I Gonna Be At When I Get Home. I want to emphasize, this is what supplanted John Capon's legacy. This is where I was born and raised. This is McDowell Elementary School.

The special is also filled with autobiographical interstitials. Billy visits his old elementary school where the kids receive him as a hero. He stops by his hometown church. And then, he races up the walkway of a small, unassuming house. It's one of those moments you'd see on

American Masters, where some American master journeys back to his childhood home. This is Cindy, my ex-wife. Cindy, how you doing? Fine. But the house is in fact not Billy's childhood home. It's his ex-wife Cindy's home. This is the lady that had the courtesy to set my stuff out in the yard about 4.30 in the morning in the drizzling rain.

Cindy, he explains, is the inspiration for the song, Where Am I Gonna Live When I Get Home. She was laying right on this couch when I said, where am I gonna live when I get home? My old lady stowed out everything I own. She meant what she said when she wished I was dead. All the while, Cindy stares into the camera, teeth clenched and a smile. The special ends with one last number One highly ironic number

It's a song called Some Gave All This is a song I wrote about a Vietnam veteran I met back in Huntington, West Virginia in the spring of 1989 As it turns out, Billy Ray Cyrus is well known for his work on behalf of veterans. And so, as one West Virginian vet is being elevated in song, another Minnesotan vet is being brought low by song. His service to his country erased by... Don't tear my heart.

Don't break my heart. Just don't break't kill my heart. Don't make me break your heart. Just don't make me understand. Oh, hi. Hi. How are you? Good, how are you? I'm good. Um, best thing.

I found the clip of your father. Get out of town. Yeah. That's crazy. That's Yeah. That's crazy. That's amazing. That's wonderful. Sounds like a lot of digging. I want to say yes, but I can't.

One night over dinner with friends, I brought up the difficulty of trying to find a news clip that's over 50 years old. Oh, said Matt, my journalism professor friend, you just have to search the Vanderbilt TV News Archive. He pulled out his phone. He had the app right there. And when you search Melanie's father's name,

Sergeant John Capon, the clip comes right up. Well, don't, you can't make it sound like it was super easy. Otherwise, I'm going to feel like an even worse jerk. No, no, no. It was very hard. Oh, my God. The reams of microfiches that we had to go through. Now that we have the interview, Melanie and I strategize about the best way to return it to her father.

When to do it and where to do it, which is somewhat complicated. So, fun fact, my parents are still married, but they live in separate houses that are half a mile apart with a lake in between them. Do you think he would open his home to us? No. You say that without hesitation. No, he won't, no. All entertaining, Melanie says, is done at her mom's place, never at her dad's.

I haven't even been in there for probably 15, 20 years. His house? Yeah, where I grew up. Yeah. What about your sister? Has she been in there more recently? No. And what about your mom? I think my mom maybe broke in there once to try to get something. And she had to break in there?

Yeah. Growing up, we couldn't have an answering machine because he didn't want people listening to his messages. Seeing as how private Melanie's dad is, I wonder how he'll feel about the recovered interview being accompanied by a stranger with a microphone. But I hope for the best. So if things went really well at your mother's,

what do you think the likelihood is that we would go over there for cake and coffee afterwards? Two percent. I like those odds. Because two percent is how I like my milk. When it's clouding my coffee, that I'm drinking alongside the cake I'm being served

in someone's house that no one's been inside in 20 years. The interview only exists as a digital file, so I decide to have it transferred to VHS. Presenting John with a tape will have a certain poetic symmetry. So I start calling video transfer services, the first of which informs me they don't put things on VHS tapes, and in fact, quote, do exactly the opposite. Eventually, though, I find a place willing to flout the Darwinian chain of media evolution for $150.

It feels like a bargain. And so, videotape in hand, I set off to see the Capons. I'm on my way to Melanie's mom's house. To lure her dad over, Melanie told him she'd written into a radio show that was featuring children of Vietnam vets. The host is coming over to do a story about me and Sam, she told him. Maybe you can show up to answer a few questions. And once he does, that'll be when I spring into action, surprising him with the tape.

Oh, whoa. That was it. I just passed it. The house is on a dirt road, nothing but farmland and sky for as far as the eye can see. The Capons live in a town called Elbow Lake in rural Minnesota. It's the kind of place where everyone knows everyone, going back generations. Hi.

I greet Melanie outside her mom's house. There's a dog running around and a big American flag waving in the wind. For COVID reasons, we all settle down in the garage where the airflow is better. Melanie's mom, Diane, and her sister, Sam, are already seated inside. Sam's four-year-old runs up to say hi. Hi, who's this?

That's my dad, John. Hello. His name's John. Hello. Hello, nice to meet you. And there's Melanie's dad, Sergeant John Capon. He's large and imposing. I introduce myself and ask if I

can hook him up with a mic. I clip the microphone onto John's lapel. John, can you tell me what you had for breakfast? I had a piece of toast and some pretzels and a hard-boiled egg. Okay. And two donuts, yeah. a piece of toast, and some pretzels, and a hard-boiled egg. And two donuts, yeah. The videotape is in my backpack. I consider how to best surprise John. Present the tape with a flourish, without a flourish, perhaps with a hearty handshake.

Would it be offensive to hand it over with a salute? But before I can do any of these things, John surprises me. Needs to be more of this. What? More what? More younger people finding out what the hell went on. How many years were you in Vietnam? I was only there for about eight and a half, nine months. And just like that, John is talking. No, I'll tell you what, when we got off the airplane, they opened up the plane, the air-conditioned plane door, and it was 120 degrees,

just like somebody threw a hot pail of water in your face. Maybe having a stranger present, someone he doesn't have to worry about burdening, is actually helpful. Or maybe John just needed someone to pose the question. And so the someday conversation becomes a today conversation. For the next couple hours, John shares stories that his daughters have never heard. Stories that even Diane, his wife of many decades, never heard. It turns out that a lot of what John did in Vietnam was called Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol,

which meant acting as a scout, tiptoeing through enemy territory. John was often the one who stayed out in front, the most exposed of all the men. Anything that don't look right isn't right. If you've seen a leaf that was turned a little color where the bottom of the leaf was up, there's something there. Was it really, or are you just exaggerating? No, I'm not exaggerating, because there'd be a tripwire there.

And the other thing is, if you were walking along and all of a sudden the birds didn't start singing anymore, why? Because there's somebody else there. You had to be careful about smoking too, John says, or showering, because the Viet Cong might smell you. You had to be on alert 24-7. And of course, you had to pick up your feet and walk real quietly. John shares the everyday things, like the food he ate, sometimes bananas, which he said were the best he'd ever tasted, plucked right from the trees.

John looks from Melanie to Sam, telling them about the guys he served with and the nights they spent playing cards and talking about their childhoods. He also shares the horrific things, of which there were many. Always used to tell us war is hell, and it is. But there was one time we had come along

and there was a schoolteacher with her head cut off sitting on a post. She was like a 25-year-old woman. So that's the worst of humanity as far as I'm concerned. Eventually John winds his way to the day he was wounded. He'd been sent to check out an area by the river. And there was a moment, he says, when he noticed something feeling off. No more than a leaf turned in a strange way, and suddenly his men were caught in a hail of gunfire. John was shot in the leg. A helicopter came to evacuate him, but as John limped towards

it, he stepped onto a booby trap. That's when the shrapnel embedded all over his body and even in his eyes, rendering him unable to see. And I woke up on my birthday, so that would have been three days later. I remember this one nurse telling me, happy birthday. Yeah, okay. And then anyway, she said, well, you've got some very important, there's people here from CBS television, she said. And I said, what? John and his family have not discussed the news clip in easily 30 years. Hearing John bring it up now, on his own, I'm struck by how baked into the story of his service it is. John says, so that he'd look presentable for television,

the nurse spent a lot of time washing his hair. He'd be in bed with his eyes and face bandaged over, but at least his hair would look nice. And on December 30, 1971, the nation tuned in to see John on TV. Felt kind of privileged, you know. How many people are on Walter Cronkite News? You know, not very many.

And John intended to commemorate that privilege by preserving it in the form of a videotape cassette. But alas... Got wiped off with an achy, breaky heart. It seems that just as baked into the story of his military service as the TV news clip is,

so too is its erasure. And what it was erased by. I hate Billy Ray Sayers. Why? Because he erased my tape. But before I erase the tape, let's leave Billy out of it. When's the last time you watched it?

Right before the achy-breaky incident? Yes. Yeah. Where did you get it? The guy who was my officer, he knew what was going on with this filming and stuff, so he had his dad record it, and that's how I got it. And then, Melanie tells John the news.

Well, Jonathan got it. He did? That's the whole reason we contacted him, was to get this for you. Really? More than during any of the stories he told, even the one about his being wounded, hearing about the news clip's recovery makes John grow more emotional than I've seen him all day. Do you want to take a look at it? Yeah.

Yeah? Yeah. Okay. Is it on a CD, though? Well, that's the thing. As I offer John an impromptu lecture on the importance of poetic symmetry, Melanie sets up the VCR.

Lucky for us, her mom still uses one. Then we pop the tape in and hit play. As it turns out, there are a few things Melanie got wrong about the clip. For one, Walter Cronkite was out that day, the anchor replacing him as a man named Charles Collingwood. The segment opens with him seated at his desk beside a graphic about Vietnam War injuries.

Some of the best evidence that American involvement in South Vietnam is drawing to a close may be found in the military hospitals and medical evacuation units there. As the tape plays, John shuts his eyes and leans back. Sam says this is something she'd seen her dad do at his father's funeral. It's hard to tell what John is thinking. Bob Simon filed this report. The anchor turns the segment over to the reporter, Bob Simon. And this is the second thing Melanie had wrong. John was not merely interviewed. He was the subject of a documentary news report.

Simon and his film crew began following John right after he was injured. Out in the field, Simon shouts to be heard over a helicopter. It's the helicopter that's headed to evacuate John. We're going to pick up an American. He's been hit by shrapnel. And then we see him, 23-year-old Sergeant John Capon. He's lying on a stretcher, completely still, looking like he could be dead. Sergeant John Capon is rushed aboard the chopper.

Melanie and Sam stare at the TV screen as the camera cuts to a close-up of John's face, which is completely bloodied. Breathing is normal, says a man in aviator glasses. Of John's wounds, he says, it's just superficial. Seeing his young self, John lets out a pained sound. His wounds look worse than they really are. John is taken to a surgical unit in Long Bin. There, we see him operated on by a frenzy of people in medical masks, his insides on full display

across the living rooms of America. Four surgeons work on Sergeant Kapan for more than an hour. They remove dozens of metal fragments. Fortunately, the wounds are all superficial, aside from an injury to his left eye, which may cause problems.

The potential problems Simon's referencing are blindness. So much shrapnel had entered John's eyes that at this point he still was without his sight. The last thing he'd heard

before going under was the surgeon saying, I don't know if this guy is going to see again. And I don't know about this leg. We might have to cut that off. Melanie later tells me that the whole report made her mad, the way they kept underplaying everything her dad went through,

calling it superficial. But all through her childhood, she watched him pick shrapnel from his body. picked shrapnel from his body. After the surgery, John lies shirtless, teeth smashed in, bullet hole in his left leg, and eyes bandaged over.

Simon poses questions at his bedside. How are you feeling? Okay. No pain nowhere? Oh, TT in the left knee, and my hand's kind of sore yet. What about your face? Oh, not too bad. Not enough to worry about. It's like John's echoing back the tone of the report.

He's being stoic, protecting his parents, who he knows are back home in Elbow Lake watching. But he probably also understands that nobody really wants to know how he's doing. By this point in the war, America didn't see the likes of Sergeant John Capon as a hero, so much as a living reminder of an unwinnable, unpopular war that they wished would go away. What does the doctor tell you about your eye? Oh, he says that it should be okay. How do you feel about it? You worried? Oh, no. Seen worse. Melanie later points out, one, the bitter irony of her father saying he's seen worse, when at the moment he's literally unable to see anything.

And two, that like any kid, the wounded soldier on the hospital cot can't really grasp what's to come. Even though her father would regain his vision, when he returned home, he would become prone to angry outbursts, outbursts she remembers vividly throughout her childhood. He'd also begin drinking a lot, trying to blot out his memories. He'd also begin drinking a lot, trying to blot out his memories. Hearing fireworks, John would think, AK-47, and instinctively hit the floor. And to this day, he still dreams of the army buddies he lost.

Melanie always thought of the video as the sole record of her father's story, a story she'd erased. But seeing the report all these years later, it seems like John's story was erased long before Melanie got to it. A troop of USO entertainers tromp through the hospital, entertaining. A glamorous woman approaches John. Get that beautiful blonde hair. Sun bleaching in Vietnam. Right. I'm going to stay here. Get mine blonder.

That's beautiful. And then, it's over. Bob Simon, CBS News, Longbin. All told, the entire news report lasts no more than six minutes. Huh. As John stares at the screen, a 1970s perfume ad plays, its jingle repeating over and over again, I can't seem to forget you.

I can't seem to forget you. Huh. So you haven't seen that for how many years? Oh 30? The cadence of your voice is the same But your voice sounds so much different Do you recognize your father in that guy? No, not at all your voice is the same, but your voice sounds so much different. Do you recognize your father in that guy?

No, not at all. I mean, it looks like a young, blown-up kid. That's what it was. That's the way it were. Everybody was young. The average person that fought in Vietnam was 19 years old. When John returned home to life in a peacetime town, he wasn't welcomed as a hero. In fact, he was advised by the Army not to wear his uniform so as not to advertise his service in Vietnam.

As it was, in Elbow Lake, John was shunned. He remembers attending a local basketball game and how he ended up sitting in the bleachers alone. All the other spectators had moved away from him. Just like the country at large, the town wanted to distance itself from the likes of John. John describes one afternoon when he stopped in at the local American Legion Hall for a beer.

He figured it'd be the one place in town where he could comfortably enjoy a drink among peers. There were a few older vets hanging out inside. They were in there drinking with their wives. Some pitchers of beer sitting on the table, and this one guy come walking up to me, and he said, are you one of them losers? And I said, excuse me? Yeah, are you one of them Vietnam veterans that gave us a bad reputation?

And I said, I'm a Vietnam veteran. I'm in here to finish my beer and I want to leave. You can leave right now. I said, I'm going to drink my beer first. I paid for it. I'm going Vietnam veteran. I'm in here to finish my beer and I want to leave. He can leave right now. I said, I'm going to drink my beer first. I paid for it. I'm going to do that. Well, then he grabbed me by the arm. And I grabbed him by the, and just shoved him.

He fell over backwards onto that table all full of beer and it went flying all over the place. The bartender come out with a nightstick and he was going to club me over the head and I grabbed him by the wrist and I twisted it. Two of them I found out later, two of them were World War II veterans who had never been in combat and there was another one that was a Korean veteran who had never left the United States. John says he only had one friend who also saw combat in Vietnam. Many were 4F and didn't have to serve.

So while his classmates were getting on with their lives, John was left struggling to cope. And yet, his experience also showed him the expanse of the world. I was in the restaurant here about a year ago, and there was people in there talking about

Black Lives Matter and all that there, and ought to shoot them all and all that there. And I said, how many black people do you know? Nobody knew any. And I said, how many have been out of Grand County for more than two months out of your life? None of them.

Nine people, and I'd have probably been sitting there right with them. I wouldn't have had those life experiences without being in the military. That to me, that to me is worth a lot. For better and for worse, the moment John left for Vietnam, his life diverged from everyone he'd grown up with. Melanie's nephew, Johnsy, has been coming in and out of the garage while we've been talking.

Johnsy, did you know that Grandpa was in the Army? Sure did. Maybe John never fully felt like the country, CBS News, or even Elbow Lake really wanted to know what he saw and how he felt. But hopefully after today, he knows his family does. Although John has opened his achy-breaky heart, it doesn't look like he's about to open his achy-breaky home or offer me any achy-breaky cake. So we all adjourn to the living room,

where the family piano sits. And don't worry, there will be plenty of missed keys just like there are in life. Knowing what an advocate Billy Ray Cyrus is for veterans, I'd asked if he could show up to Elbow Lake and serenade John. That's my girl. You can burn my clothes for veterans, I'd asked if he could show up to Elbow Lake and serenade John. And while Billy's people initially said that that sounded like a great opportunity for Billy,

it fell through, as did my more modest request for Billy to sing over speakerphone, and my even more modest request that he leave a voice message on John's phone. And so, in the end, I asked Melanie if she could dig out her old Billy Ray Cyrus sheet music. As Melanie sings and Sam plays the out-of-tune piano, and John checks his phone, possibly while wishing he was wearing a pair of noise-canceling earphones, I stand back and savor the poetic symmetry. If you tell my heart, my achy, breaky heart, he might blow up and kill this man.

Don't tell my heart, my achy, breaky heart. I just don't think he'd understand. Oh, you're gonna tell my man. Tell him I'm gonna plan. Tell him you're gonna have all you got. I want you. guitar solo Now that the furniture's returning to its goodwill home Now that the last month's rent is scheming with the damage deposit

Take this moment to decide If we meant it, if we tried Or felt around for far too much From things that accidentally touched This episode of Heavyweight was produced by senior producer Kalila Holt and me, Jonathan Goldstein, along with Mohini McGowker. Our supervising producer is Stevie Lane. Production Help from Damiano Marchetti.

Special thanks to Emily Condon, Matt Carlson, Peter Mullen, Sanya Dasani, Mitch Hansen, Jonah Delso, and Jackie Cohen. News footage courtesy of Veritone and CBS News Archives, and concert footage courtesy of the Billy Ray Cyrus team. Bobby Lord mixed the episode with original music by Christine Fellows, John K. Sampson, and Bobby Lord. Additional music credits can be found on our website, gimletmedia.com slash heavyweight. Our theme song is by The Weaker Thans, courtesy of Epitaph Records. Follow us on Twitter at heavyweight or email us at heavyweight at gimletmedia.com.

We'll be back with a new episode next week. Wow. I think that's as good as we're going to get. You can recognize some of it.