By Dr. Kevin Wallace
Van of Valor
NORTH PORT, Fla. – It’s August 2025. The Vermont air is thick with the scent of pine and impending rain as the Van of Valor rolls through the Green Mountains.
We are merely 80 days into a 280-day mission, a continuous blur of 27,116 miles across the lower 48.
My heart is heavy but full.
Behind the lens is my wife, the non-profit co-founder and the mission’s technical soul, anthropologist Lauren Wallace.
As we set up our mobile studio, Lauren checks the audio levels and whispers, “Every one of these stories is a stitch in the fabric of this country, Kevin. If we don’t capture the tremor in their voices now, we lose the truth of the sacrifice.”
Here are the stories from our stop in the 14th state of the Union.
The Guardians of the Medals: Living Purple Heart Recipients
Maj. Zachariah Fike lives near St. Albans. He didn’t want to talk about the shrapnel he took in Afghanistan; he wanted to talk about the medals under his bed.
He’s the founder of Purple Hearts Reunited.
He carries the weight of the thousands of “lost” hearts he’s returned to families.
Joining him in honor were the young lions of the Vermont National Guard, Maj. John Lescure, CW2 Nicholas Fazio, and Sgt. Alex Jarvis, fresh from a Christmas Day drone attack in Iraq. Their wounds were new, their resolve ancient.
Since Day 1 and in concept, Lauren and I agreed to never be those “blood thirsty journalists” or ever chase a story; we agreed to be here for them first, and them only. Therefore, it would be in poor taste to approach people before they’re ready.
Lauren, adjusting the lighting to catch the glint of the medals we still got to photograph, noted:
“Capturing these medals together shows that the Purple Heart isn’t just history, it’s a living, breathing lineage of service that spans generations of Vermonters.”
In Marlboro, we learned of Richard Hamilton. At nearly 100 years old, we were told he wasn’t up for an interview, but we know through research that not all that long ago, his memory of the 10 months spent in a German Stalag was as sharp as the Vermont winter.
He spoke of the hunger and the cold, but mostly of the camaraderie that kept him alive.
We also reflected on Lt. Col. Floyd A. Mitchell, whose story we recorded through archival letters in Barre, is a man who survived the fall of Corregidor only to perish on a “hell ship.”
Finally, we stood in the quiet cemeteries where the red granite markers of the fallen stand guard.
We honored men like Louis Provost Peck, who carried his WWII wounds into the highest courts of the state, and the countless others whose names are etched into the Purple Heart Trail along I-89.
They are the “silent partners” of our 27,116-mile journey, the ones who couldn’t sit in our van but whose presence guided every mile.
“We aren’t just filming people,” Lauren said as we packed the van for the next state. “We are filming the soul of a nation that was paid for in Vermont granite and American blood.”
The Van of Valor moved on… and the story continues.
If you enjoy these stories, follow our social media @VanOfValor, and read all our stories at www.HelpVoV.com. Also, if you feel inspired, please support this non-profit mission at the same website, or reach the team at Manteo.Creative.SPOT@gmail.com.
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