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For 10 weeks, Beckett fought for his life in a room at Miami Valley Hospital. "All I could move were my eyes, and when they told me there was a good chance I'd be a quadriplegic, I just said, 'Naw, I'm OK. I'll do all right," he recalled, his blue-gray eyes bright beneath bushy eyebrows.
Beckett, who is paralyzed from the armpits down, has lived at the VA Center since February 1983. Nearly 20 years. During that time, he has become one of the center's most popular - and inspiring - residents.
There are lots of things Beckett can't do. Like dress himself. And get in and out of his wheelchair without assistance. What he can do, though, is provide a smile and an encouraging word or two to those who aren't handling their disabilities nearly as well as he is.
Earl Bass, 70, a Korean War veteran, has known Beckett for 14 years. "Rich is a great guy," Bass said. "You never see him frowning or hear him complaining. He always has a positive attitude. And, if you're a little down, he can pick you up real fast."
Beckett shrugs off such praise.
"When I see others who are having trouble dealing with life, I just tell them the best way to keep healthy as a disabled person is don't think about the things you can't do and focus on the things you can accomplish," he said.
Since he's been in the wheelchair, Beckett has mastered table tennis, bowls with the aid of a ramp device that helps guide the ball and plays a pretty heady game of double-deck pinochle.
The former West Carrollton High School football, baseball and basketball player is especially proud of his performance in the 2001 National Veterans Wheelchair Games in Cleveland. The competition is for paralyzed and other disabled veteran athletes, and Beckett - who attaches the table-tennis paddle to his hand with an Ace bandage - won three golds and a couple of silver medals.
"I push and push and push myself some more," he said. "After the accident, when I was lying in the hospital flirting with the angels, it suddenly dawned on me that there must be a reason why I was still alive.That's when I realized my maker still had plans for me. I decided to stick around and see what those plans were."
It was a sunny day, and Beckett was roaming the grounds in his wheelchair.
"I get all over this campus," he called over his shoulder to his visitors, who had to hustle to keep up with him. "Cold weather doesn't bother me, but if it's raining, well, I might stay inside, because rain makes it a little tough to control this old chair."
When Beckett is out and about, everybody notices. Motorists toot their horns as they pass. A VA Medical Center employee taking a cigarette break calls out a greeting.
"Hey, Rich, how's it going?"
"Everything's A-OK," Beckett replied, flashing a thumbs-up sign.
His first stop that day was the Dayton National Cemetery, which has more than 40,000 graves and is one of the oldest national cemeteries in the United States. Dating to the Civil War, the messages on the dazzling white marble headstones are terse, unsentimental: Name, rank, branch of service, unit, birth date, date of death.
"I enjoy the serenity of this place," Beckett said. "Sometimes I come here to spend a little quality time with my maker. I listen, mostly. We all need to listen more. Other times, I visit the grave of a longtime friend who was also a paraplegic. He up and died on me last May. He was a prince of a fellow."
Beckett, who goes home on weekends to spend time with members of his family, enjoys life at the center.
"This place isn't perfect, but tell me something that is. The food's good. The people are nice. The grounds are magnificent. I don't think I could be at a better place."
Then he gazed out at the cemetery, where the headstones are arranged in long, tidy rows, like soldiers marching into battle.
"This may sound odd," he said, "but sometimes when I'm up here I almost think I can hear the sounds of the old troops."
Then Beckett was off and rolling again in the golden afternoon light, past the closed Home Chapel, where President Ulysses S. Grant addressed the old soldiers of the Civil War in 1871, and the shuttered Putnam Library, which is named for Lt. William Putnam, one of the first Union troops to lose his life.
Beckett's destination was the six-lane bowling center, another of his favorite spots at the VA complex.
By the time other bowlers started trickling in, Beckett already had two 300 games and was one roll of the ball away from making it three in a row.
Suddenly, all eyes were on Lane 5, and the man in the wheelchair who once rolled 180 consecutive strikes.
"He's something else, isn't he?" Beckett's friend Wes Shaffer said as he retrieved the ball and placed it on the metal ramp in front of the wheelchair.
Beckett - his head bowed as though deep in thought - spent the next few seconds brushing at the ball with the back of his hand, then gave it little nudge, sending it rolling down the ramp and onto the lane.
The ball started out at the far right, narrowly avoiding the gutter, then began to hook ever so slowly toward the coveted 1-3 pocket.
"Got it!," Beckett exclaimed with a grin, a split second before the ball crashed into the pins. Shaffer, also grinning, penciled another big X onto the score sheet.
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