SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 2009 AT MIDNIGHT

Three years ago, when an Iraqi bomb fractured Elliott Miller’s body and brain, hardly anyone thought he would survive.

Three months ago, the doctors and physical therapists who worked with him doubted that he could climb a flight of stairs on his new prosthetic leg.

But tomorrow, just after midnight Chicago time, the former Marine and current Navy SEAL will get out of his wheelchair and try toclimb not just one flight of stairs, but 103 of them — all the way to the top of the iconic skyscraper formerly known as the Sears Tower. It’s the tallest building in the Americas.

“If he makes it, that’s great,” said Dr. Kirk Parsley, the medical officer for Miller’s Coronado-based SEAL unit and one of several people who will make the climb with him. “And if he doesn’t make it? Well, he’s a SEAL. He’ll be champing at the bit to come back next year.”

The skyscraper, now named Willis Tower, is one of the few around the world to host large-scale stair-climbing competitions. The fastest of the roughly 2,000 competitors is expected to mount the 2,109 steps to the tower’s observation deck in less than 15 minutes.

Miller, 31, expects to take about seven hours.

He grew up in Mounds, Ill., near the state’s southern tip. He graduated from high school and joined the Marine Corps for four years, leaving in 2000 to enroll in college.

But the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, inspired Miller to re-enlist in memory of a buddy who had died. This time he joined the SEALs “because they’re the best,” he joshed during a short interview yesterday at Lindbergh Field before his team departed for Chicago.

Miller completed basic SEAL training in May 2003, then became a combat medic and sniper assigned to SEAL Team 5 at Naval Amphibious Base Coronado. He was providing cover to a Marine patrol in Ramadi, Iraq, on his fourth combat deployment Nov. 19, 2006, when a grenade blew up near him, causing serious wounds.

As Miller’s teammates carried him to a medevac vehicle, a roadside bomb exploded and wounded him even more severely. He suffered a broken arm, two massive fractures of his left leg that would later require amputation, a traumatic brain injury and burns on more than 60 percent of his body.

Miller remained comatose for a month, then woke up at Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio with no memory of the attack. He has endured dozens of surgeries and seemingly endless rehabilitation. Had he not been in superb physical condition, he might well have died, his doctors said.

Still on active duty, Miller returned to Coronado last spring. He works as manager of a new gym, where he trains on state-of-the-art equipment alongside able-bodied SEALs, said Cmdr. Greg Geisen, a spokesman for the Naval Special Warfare Command.

Miller, a lifelong gym rat, works prodigiously hard in the gym despite his physical limitations. He said his current rehab is harder than either Marine Corps boot camp or the famously difficult SEAL training.

“They’re the most simple tasks, but they’re also the most difficult,” Miller said.

He laughs easily and has lost none of his intellect, but he struggles to speak. His words often sound like grunts. He makes hand gestures and taps out text-style messages on a handheld device.

Parsley and a personal trainer, Jason Jadgchew, have guided Miller’s rehabilitation since March. After mastering the stair climber in the gym, Miller lacked motivation to chalk up longer workouts on the machine, Parsley said.

About three months ago, Miller’s trainers suggested that he try real stairs in the four-story gym facility — a stretch for someone who still uses a wheelchair to get around most of the time.

“To everybody’s surprise, he got up all four flights,” Parsley said. “It took about an hour and a half, but he did it.”

Miller’s father, Joe, came up with the idea of the Willis Tower climb. But it was only six weeks away.

“A light bulb goes off in (Miller’s) head,” Parsley recalled. “He said, ‘Hell yeah!’ ”

At first, some members of his medical team were leery, worrying that he might fall. But his enthusiasm won them over.

“He was blown up by an IED in Iraq. He’s not afraid of falling,” Parsley said.

Joe Miller worked with the climb’s organizers from the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago so Elliott could climb the night before and not impede the Sunday competitors. The nonprofit Disabled Patriot Fund agreed to cover the $12,000 to $14,000 cost of the journey for Miller and his entourage.

One of Miller’s friends, Jeffrey Willmann, got permission for the SEAL to practice at the Hilton San Diego Bayfront — on the top 25 floors of the 30-story hotel. Miller has practiced there twice a week since early October, in addition to his regular workouts, Parsley said.

His best performance so far: 75 floors in about four hours.

Miller said he doesn’t feel any pressure about climbing 103 stories, even with a Chicago TV crew expected to film his ascent. His father; his girlfriend, April Walter; Parsley; Willmann; and Jadgchew will climb with him.

What will Miller do if he reaches the Willis Tower Skydeck? He hasn’t thought about it.

“I guess we’ll check out the view,” Walter said.

Elliott Miller, a US Navy SEAL and highly decorated combat veteran, wounded by enemy fire while serving in Iraq.

FAM’s Stacy Lasky and Lynn Dyer have compiled Elliott’s preferences and coordinated a systematic home search in partnership with The Disability Opportunity Fund, Priority Estates Realty, Da Kine Construction, military and Veterans Administration benefits officers, rehabilitation counselors and Joe “the DAD” Miller. The FAM and TDOF goal is to bridge the various gaps and merge benefits into a durable home solution desired by the veteran. WE NEED YOUR SUPPORT AMERICA TO TAKE CARE OF THE ESTIMATED 1,600 OTHERS!!! 

FAM is about military families helping their own

There is no greater need, nor higher goal than to solve the problem of sheltering our wounded and disabled military members and their families. Affordable housing units must be created when these special needs heros are forced to transition from institutional care into the community.

Families of American Military (FAM) and The Disability Opportunity Fund (TDOF) have formed a nonprofit organization (NPO) alliance to combine their collective resources and bring together the private sector and government programs. Combining financial resources and integrating military family support with VA benefits programs, their aim is to resolve this festering wound of the war.

The “Shelter Our Families” program will bring the current excess of housing inventory around the nation to bear, which is valued far below previous levels, to meet the demand of this very special and under-served population.

In one representative example, a special operations sniper was hit by enemy fire and wounded while in his fighting position. He was quickly attended by our world-class combat medics and began to be medically evacuated (medevac) when his medevac was hit by an IED. Initially listed in “grave” condition, his wounds so severe, he was not expected to survive. Weeks later, his condition began to improve and ultimately, he survived. His story is one of the most severe cases, but not uncommon among the thousands of survivors who are now severely wounded, disabled and homeless.

Severe cases that involve traumatic injuries, brain dysfunction, amputations, paralysis and severe burns may require solutions in the following 5 major areas most impacted by multiple disabilities:

• Mobility
• Transportability
• Home Care
• Occupation
• Housing

Solution. The FAM/TDOF Nonprofit Alliance is focused on creating the housing solution. The housing solution begins with identification of options for the applicant such as ownership or rental, determining his/her desired geographic location and a determination of custom retrofit needs to overcome the disability condition. The alliance will integrate government programs, oversight and statute to ensure the beneficiary is not taken advantage of.

Choice. The applicant’s needs will then be documented in an agreement and presented to the FAM/TDOF Alliance for action. The applicant then decides what they want and the proposal is then put in action. Using under market value housing, below market rate financing and strict compliance with statute, the alliance then executes the action plan.

Result. The alliance contracts with the lending institution, brokerage firm, construction company and property management firm to engage the applicant’s desires, settle a purchase or rental contract, execute the terms and deliver the result- a suitable, durable and below market value housing solution on behalf of the disabled military member.

This week, I’m turning my space over to a good friend and former roommate, Army Lt. Col. Robert Bateman, who recently completed a year long tour of duty in Iraq and is now back at the Pentagon. Here’s Lt. Col. Bateman’s account of a little-known ceremony that fills the halls of the Army corridor of the Pentagon with cheers, applause and many tears every Friday morning. It first appeared on May 17 on the Weblog of media critic and pundit Eric Alterman at the Media Matters for America Website.

“It is 110 yards from the “E” ring to the “A” ring of the Pentagon. This section of the Pentagon is newly renovated; the floors shine, the hallway is broad, and the lighting is bright. At this instant the entire length of the corridor is packed with officers, a few sergeants and some civilians, all crammed tightly three and four deep against the walls. There are thousands here. This hallway, more than any other, is the `Army’ hallway. The G3 offices line one side, G2 the other, G8 is around the corner. All Army. Moderate conversations flow in a low buzz. Friends, who may not have seen each other for a few weeks, or a few years, spot each other, cross the way and renew.

Everyone shifts to ensure an open path remains down the center. The air conditioning system was not designed for this press of bodies in this area. The temperature is rising already. Nobody cares.

10:36 hours: The clapping starts at the E-Ring. That is the outer most of the five rings of the Pentagon and it is closest to the entrance to the building. This clapping is low, sustained, and hearty. It is applause with a deep emotion behind it as it moves forward in a wave down the length of the hallway.

A steady rolling wave of sound it is, moving at the pace of the soldier in the wheelchair who marks the forward edge with his presence. He is the first. He is missing the greater part of one leg, and some of his wounds are still suppurating. By his age, I expect that he is a private, or perhaps a private first class.

Captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and colonels meet his gaze and nod as they applaud, soldier to soldier.

Three years ago when I described one of these events, those lining the hallways were somewhat different. The applause a little wilders, perhaps in private guilt for not having shared in the burden. Yet now almost everyone lining the hallway is, like the man in the wheelchair, also a combat veteran. This steadies the applause, but I think deepens the sentiment. We have all been there now. The soldier’s chair is pushed by, I believe, a full colonel. Behind him, and stretching the length from Rings E to A, come more of his peers, each private, corporal, or sergeant assisted as need be by a field grade officer.

11:00 hours: Twenty-four minutes of steady applause. My hands hurt, and I laugh to myself at how stupid that sounds in my own head. My hands hurt. Please! Shut up and clap. For twenty-four minutes, soldier after soldier has come down this hallway – 20, 25, 30. Fifty-three legs come with them, and perhaps only 52 hands or arms, but down this hall came 30 solid hearts.

They pass down this corridor of officers and applause, and then meet for a private lunch, at which they are the guests of honor, hosted by the generals. Some are wheeled along. Some insist upon getting out of their chairs, to march as best they can with their chin held up, down this hallway, through this most unique audience. Some are catching handshakes and smiling like a politician at a Fourth of July parade. More than a couple of them seem amazed and are smiling shyly.

There are families with them as well: the 18-year-old war-bride pushing her 19-year-old husband’s wheelchair and not quite understanding why her husband is so affected by this, the boy she grew up with, now a man, who had never shed a tear is crying; the older immigrant Latino parents who have, perhaps more than their wounded mid-20s son, an appreciation for the emotion given on their son’s behalf. No man in that hallway, walk ing or clapping, is ashamed by the silent tears on more than a few cheeks. An Airborne Ranger wipes his eyes only to better see. A couple of the officers in this crowd have themselves been a part of this parade in the past.

These are our men, broken in body they may be, but they are our brothers, and we welcome them home. This parade has gone on, every single Friday, all year long, for more than four years.

Did you know that? The media hasn’t yet told the story. And probably never will.