Van of Valor

By Dr. Kevin P. Wallace
Van of Valor

ALEXANDRIA, VA — In the world of warriors, there are those who serve, those who lead, and those rare souls who transcend both to become something far greater: living proof that the human spirit cannot be conquered.

I’ve had the privilege of calling Col. Gregory D. Gadson a friend since 2018, when our paths crossed through the Team Fastrax Warrior Weekend to Remember. 

Over the years, I’ve watched him descend from the sky in a tandem jump, hit the ground on his prosthetic legs, and rise to his full six-foot-four frame with the same quiet confidence he carried as a West Point football captain. 

But it’s not what Greg does that moves you, it’s who he is.

And who he is was forged on a Baghdad street on the night of May 7, 2007.

Pride, Poise, and Team; three words and the motto Gadson carried from his days wearing No. 98 for the Black Knights at the United States Military Academy, would be tested as few have ever been tested.

Commanding the 2nd Battalion, 32nd Field Artillery during the Iraq Surge, Gadson had led his men with such effectiveness that his battalion stood alone in the 4th Infantry Brigade: zero fatalities. Zero. In a war zone, that’s nothing short of miraculous leadership.

But war doesn’t keep ledgers of fairness.

Returning from a memorial service for two fallen soldiers, men he had lost, Gadson’s Humvee was struck by an IED. The blast hurled him from the vehicle. He landed face-up on a Baghdad street, bleeding into the dirt.

What happened next reads like scripture written in blood and grace.

A 19-year-old private, a medic Gadson had personally selected for the unit, reached him first. That young man applied tourniquets that would save his commander’s life. 

In the chaos of triage, Gadson, ever the leader, ever the teammate, quipped to a nurse struggling with her gloves: “How are you going to save my life if you can’t get my glove off?”

That line? Pure Greg. Even at the threshold of death, he’s coaching.

That night, Gadson’s heart stopped six times. He received 129 units of blood. His body was ravaged. Both legs were lost above the knee. His right arm was severely damaged.

And when he finally reached Walter Reed, one of the lead doctors awaiting him was Paul Pasquina, a former West Point football teammate.

From the gridiron to the operating table, the team was still there.

Here’s the part that still stops me cold when I think about it: Gadson fought to stay on active duty.

Not to collect a pension. 

Not to fade quietly into a well-deserved rest. 

He fought to serve. 

He became the first director of the Army Wounded Warrior Program (AW2), advocating for soldiers whose bodies had been shattered in service to their country. 

In 2012, he made history as the first double-amputee to command a major Army installation, taking the reins as Garrison Commander of Fort Belvoir.

When he finally retired in 2014 as a full colonel, his decorations included the Distinguished Service Medal, three Bronze Stars, and the Purple Heart.

But Greg would be the last person to list those himself.

In 2007, while still in recovery, a former teammate invited Gadson to speak to the New York Giants. The team was 0-2, adrift. Gadson, sitting in a wheelchair, spoke to those professional athletes about teamwork. About living in the moment. About what it means to fight for the man beside you.

The Giants went on a 10-game road winning streak.

They invited him back. He stood—standing—on their sideline. When they pulled off one of the greatest upsets in NFL history, defeating the undefeated Patriots in Super Bowl XLII, they gave him a ring.

Greg Gadson has a Super Bowl ring. But ask him, and he’ll tell you the ring belongs to the team.

Today, when he’s not traveling the world as a motivational speaker for Fortune 500 companies and veterans’ organizations, Greg pursues another passion: landscape photography.

I’ve seen his work. And, above the dozen reasons we’re friends, I know photography has been the hinge-pin. As a career military photographer, he knows my work and I’m glad to know his too.

There’s a tenderness in how he frames the world, the mountains, rivers, skies, that speaks to a man who has looked into the abyss and chosen, deliberately chosen, to find beauty.

Maybe that’s the real lesson of Gadson. Not the survival, though that’s miraculous. 

Not the career, though that’s distinguished. 

Not the Hollywood roles, though his debut in Battleship alongside Alexander Skarsgård was a moment of pure poetry, playing a double-amputee officer finding his way back.

No, the real lesson is simpler.

He never let the worst moment of his life define the rest of it.

Through Team Fastrax, I’ve watched Greg interact with wounded warriors, with Gold Star families, with young paratroopers who can barely speak in his presence. He treats every single one like a teammate. 

He listens. He encourages. He embodies.

When I think about the men and women we honor through the Van of Valor, those who have given so much for this country, I think about Greg Gadson. 

Not because he’s perfect. 

Not because he’s famous. 

But because he made a decision in the darkest hour that echoes still:

He chose to live. And then he chose to serve. And then he chose to inspire.

Six times his heart stopped. Six times it started again.

I believe I know why. The world wasn’t finished with Gregory Gadson. And Gregory Gadson wasn’t finished with the world.

Dr. Kevin P. Wallace is the co-founder of Van of Valor, and is a Bronze Star with Valor and Purple Heart recipient. He has participated in the Team Fastrax Warrior Weekend to Remember since 2018.

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