Derry man makes it through tragedy on his way to triumph

As a 5-year-old, Jeremy Feldbusch cried any time he was called to the mat to wrestle. Two decades later, he's been chosen to receive the Medal of Courage from the National Wrestling Hall of Fame.

How Feldbusch, 25, got from there to here is a tale of achievement, tragedy and triumph.

When Feldbusch receives that wrestling medal April 23 at a banquet at the Green Tree Holiday Inn, he might take it home and put it next to his Purple Heart, the one he earned in Iraq. It's next to the Purple Heart his late grandfather won during World War II after he survived the D-Day invasion.

Feldbusch also earned the Bronze Star with Valor because of his valiant actions April 3, 2003. That's the day Feldbusch lost his eyesight, the result of an artillery round landing nearby as his unit defended the Haditha Dam, northwest of Baghdad.

A piece of shrapnel roughly one inch by one inch and a quarter-inch thick entered through his right eye, cut across the frontal lobe of his brain and damaged the optic nerve to his left eye.

Feldbusch spent five-plus weeks in a medically induced coma and months in the hospital. His forehead was rebuilt with titanium mesh, plates and screws. His weight dropped from 220 pounds to 160. His survival has been characterized as a miracle.

Thousands of miles away, Iraq is being rebuilt under the direction of the United States. Sitting in the living room of his parents' home in Derry Township, Feldbusch is rebuilding his life. Thoughts of receiving this wresting medal have brightened his spirits.

"I can envision no greater medal to receive than that one," Feldbusch said. "I wrestled for 13 years, and still love the sport. It's quite an honor to me. It's quite amazing. Jaw-dropping."

The Feldbusch story is all of that.

He chuckles now at memories of his early wrestling career.

"I was happy-go-lucky, but when my weight got announced, I was crying. I didn't want to wrestle. I'd go out on the mat and quicker than the match started, I'd be on the ground getting pinned," he said. "The crying stopped. I walked off and I was fine. Our coach said to my mom and dad, 'Keep him in it. This is going to pass.' The next year, it passed. I started winning, and had a great time wrestling."

There would be more wrestling travails, though, like his 0-12 sophomore season at Derry Area High School. Feldbusch thought he might have won one match, but his father reached by telephone at work for verification, said, no, it had been 0-12.

"Glad you remembered the statistics, dad," Feldbusch said.

His senior season, as a 189-pounder, Feldbusch came up a match short of making the state high school tournament. But later that year, he won a Pennsylvania freestyle championship and advanced to the national tournament in North Dakota. A separated shoulder forced him to drop out during his first match at nationals.

"He was disappointed, but I told him, 'You won states, wrestled on a national team. You did a lot buddy,' " said Brace Feldbusch, his father. "He didn't have all the titles, but he was all heart and effort. He was a pretty good wrestler."

Michael Clair, national director of the National Wrestling Hall of Fame's state chapter program, said Feldbusch is the fifth wrestler to be honored with the Medal of Courage by the Pennsylvania chapter in the past 12 years. His name will be added to a plaque at the national hall of fame in Stillwater, Okla.

"Obviously, what Jeremy did as a wrestler, and what he continues to do in overcoming almost insurmountable difficulties from being injured in Iraq, make him a very worthy recipient," Clair said.

Feldbusch considered continuing to wrestle at Pitt, but instead concentrated on earning a bachelor's degree in biology.

Following graduation, Feldbusch leaned toward entering the military. His father advised him to wait a few months and decide. He waited, then enlisted in the U.S. Army.

"The date I set foot on Fort Benning was Aug. 28, 2001," Feldbusch said.

The events of Sept. 11, 2001, would change the world.

"I know a lot of people it may have given pause," Feldbusch said. "I still wanted to be there. I still wanted to serve my country. When you sign those papers, you can go to combat at any time. When I signed those papers, I knew I wanted to serve my country and my family which had raised me, my friends I grew up with and the many people I didn't know."

He excelled at Ranger school, a feat acknowledged by a plaque his mother, Charlene, keeps among the souvenirs of his military and wrestling careers.

Feldbusch wanted to become an officer the hard way, working his way up through the ranks.

"That way," he said, "the soldiers who are underneath you have a lot of respect for you, because you know what you're doing. You're not some guy pushing work off to them. You've been there. You're not an overpaid private as a second lieutenant."

Feldbusch had made it to sergeant in the Third Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, before his military career was cut short on that dam in Iraq.

"Because of the Doppler effect, an artillery coming toward you on either side, you can hear a long whistle coming in and it gets sharper as it comes toward you," he said. "But the round coming in on top of you, you really don't hear a sound until the last second. You might hear a small whistle, and that's what happened."

Feldbusch remained conscious after the injury, but gradually faded because of his wounds and pain-killing medication.

"A physicians' assistant told me I started swearing, talking about women and talking about trees," Feldbusch said. "I said 'Now why am I swearing, talking about women and talking about trees?' Another Ranger I told this to later said 'Sounds just like a Ranger to me.' "

Feldbusch and his mother recently visited New York City to help raise money for the Wounded Warrior Project, a charity that seeks to help wounded veterans financially.

While there, Feldbusch was surprised with the first George C. Lang Award, named for a Medal of Honor winner who had recently died. The award was in recognition of Feldbusch's courage and dedication to helping disabled veterans.

New York City documentary filmmaker Richard Hankin is in the midst of a project featuring the Feldbusches. He already has 75 hours of footage, and expects eventually to have to whittle down 100 hours to 80 minutes, targeting January 2006 for a release of the film.

"The cohesiveness of this family and how strong they were impressed me," said Hankin, who had met Feldbusch through the Wounded Warrior Project. "And I was interested in the fact he was one of three sons and also interested in how each family member seems to be dealing with situation in their own way.

"Plus, I felt comfortable with them and they felt comfortable with me. Me and my cameraman ended up spending Thanksgiving with the family and it was great, just a lovely holiday. The other thing was, I was interested in the small-town setting. The area really has been incredibly supportive of him and his family."

Feldbusch keeps busy, but not so busy that he doesn't have time to learn how to play drums and guitar. He also skis.

Feldbusch flew last month to New Hampshire to ski.

"You couldn't wipe the smile off my face for anything," he said.

Charlene Feldbusch, as mothers will, worried. The process involved another skier with tethers to the blind skier just in case of problems. Feldbusch wore a helmet and an orange vest advertising his blindness.

"Oh my God, I was glad to get home," Charlene said. "I wanted him to do it because he wanted to do it. You can't live in a bubble. But any banging of the head, or shifting of that reconstruction, could be fatal."

Brace Feldbusch was the spotter when his son took a deer during the last season. Using a laser sight on a pistol, and targeting input from his father, the former soldier bagged the deer.

"It was awesome to be out there together and him being able to hunt legally," Brace Feldbusch said.

Life has become a matter of perspective.

"I miss the work I was doing before. I miss driving quite a bit. I'd like to be able to ride a bike again on my own," Feldbusch said. "But I plan on getting my master's degree. I once wanted to be a doctor, and I still could be one. About the only thing I can't do is be a commercial airline pilot."

His family is grateful simply to have him with them.

"We feel Jeremy is banged up pretty good and stuff, but we are able to do things with him and we're thankful," his father said.

Jeremy has come to terms with his injuries.

"It is a process," he said. "Does this process have an end• For some it does. For me, has it ended• Yeah, it has."