'They really took care of me': Cudahy veteran who died at 91 credited the VA as a lifeline
He described the Zablocki VA Medical Center as a lifeline that helped him survive several bouts of cancer, a broken hip, and multiple surgeries.
"It must be 20 years that I'm with the VA," Notham said in an interview with the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel shortly before his death. "And I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the VA. They really took care of me."
Notham died Aug. 3 at age 91.
In his final months, as the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs faced cuts and questions about its future, Notham often talked with family and friends about how much the agency had meant to him.
The VA, which operates 170 hospitals and more than 1,300 outpatient clinics, has undergone turmoil in recent months amid cuts, canceled contracts, and uncertainty under the Trump administration. After announcing plans to fire more than 76,000 employees early this year, the agency backtracked in July, saying it was on pace to reduce staff by around 30,000 people instead.
For Notham, the VA was a haven he relied on for decades to get top-notch medical care. And he wanted to protect it and the workers who had taken care of him.
Army veteran helped restore native habitat on abandoned farm
Notham was born in Durand, a city of about 2,000 people on the banks of the Chippewa River in western Wisconsin.
He served in the U.S. Army during the Korean War. Shortly before Notham was set to deploy overseas, the Korean Armistice Agreement was signed, ending the fighting. After his military service, he volunteered at the American Legion and Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) throughout the 1960s and 1970s.
Notham also worked at the Ladish Company in Cudahy for about 30 years, where he was a mechanical engineer, union steward and manager. He retired in 2003.
By the late 1980s, he was looking for a retirement project and found one near Wild Rose in central Wisconsin: an abandoned 19th century potato farm.
'When you look at pictures of what the house and the barn looked like, I sometimes think my mom should have been mad at him for buying it,' his son John Notham said.
Back then it was forty acres of barren land with crumbling buildings.
"They were falling apart," John said. "The barn was leaning two feet to the right and the house looked uninhabitable. I mean, they were from the 19th century."
With the help of his family and neighbors, Notham transformed the land into a thriving tree farm. He planted more than 20,000 trees, mainly balsam and white pine trees, and restored about ten acres of native prairie habitat.
Notham harvested some for Christmas trees, but grew most for timber. A small percentage have been harvested for paper and particle board pulp. He was committed to being a responsible steward of the land, John said.
When Notham needed furniture — or canes for walking — he used wood from the older oak trees on the property.
Even last year when he was 90 years old, he still occasionally drove his tractor on his land.
'They kind of became his canvas in life,' John said. 'Nothing brought him more pleasure than to spend the day working on his land.'
Notham's sons now own the farm and plan to continue his legacy by running it together.
Notham spoke out about his positive experiences at the VA
In his later years, Notham's appointments at the VA grew more frequent. He credited Zablocki with helping him recover from colon cancer in 2008, a knee replacement surgery in 2015, and esophageal cancer in 2023, in addition to several other health conditions.
In an April interview about the VA with the Journal Sentinel before his death, Notham and his friend Sally Ann Burdecki pushed back against criticism of the agency as a slow-paced and inefficient bureaucracy.
Burdecki praised Zablocki VA staffers as "just really on top of everything," including calling to remind them about appointments, offering valet parking when Notham was in poor health, keeping wait times short and following up after treatments.
"Everybody was extremely polite and personable. Made you just feel good to be there," she said. "All of those little things just made life better when you're going through cancer, numerous treatments and different things."
Notham said VA staffers responded with urgency when he needed something.
"They've been good to me," Notham said. "I can't find anything bad."
John said his father would want his family and friends to drink a toast to him rather than mourn his passing.
"Enjoy being part of his legacy and take a walk in the woods or prairie," John said. "And leave the land a better place when you depart."
Notham was preceded in death by his wife Elaine, daughter Judith Norberg and son Ross Notham. He is survived by his sons John (Ann Raghavan) Notham, James (Leigh) Notham and Gary (Kris) Notham, as well as his sisters, grandchildren, great grandchildren and many relatives and friends.
Graveside service and honors will take place on Aug. 22 at Woodville Cemetery in Hancock at 11 a.m. A celebration of life will follow at the Moose Inn in Wautoma.
This article originally appeared on Milwaukee Journal Sentinel: 91-year-old Cudahy veteran credited the VA as a lifeline
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Yahoo
7 hours ago
- Yahoo
'They really took care of me': Cudahy veteran who died at 91 credited the VA as a lifeline
Don "Sam" Notham was a fierce defender of the VA. He described the Zablocki VA Medical Center as a lifeline that helped him survive several bouts of cancer, a broken hip, and multiple surgeries. "It must be 20 years that I'm with the VA," Notham said in an interview with the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel shortly before his death. "And I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the VA. They really took care of me." Notham died Aug. 3 at age 91. In his final months, as the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs faced cuts and questions about its future, Notham often talked with family and friends about how much the agency had meant to him. The VA, which operates 170 hospitals and more than 1,300 outpatient clinics, has undergone turmoil in recent months amid cuts, canceled contracts, and uncertainty under the Trump administration. After announcing plans to fire more than 76,000 employees early this year, the agency backtracked in July, saying it was on pace to reduce staff by around 30,000 people instead. For Notham, the VA was a haven he relied on for decades to get top-notch medical care. And he wanted to protect it and the workers who had taken care of him. Army veteran helped restore native habitat on abandoned farm Notham was born in Durand, a city of about 2,000 people on the banks of the Chippewa River in western Wisconsin. He served in the U.S. Army during the Korean War. Shortly before Notham was set to deploy overseas, the Korean Armistice Agreement was signed, ending the fighting. After his military service, he volunteered at the American Legion and Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) throughout the 1960s and 1970s. Notham also worked at the Ladish Company in Cudahy for about 30 years, where he was a mechanical engineer, union steward and manager. He retired in 2003. By the late 1980s, he was looking for a retirement project and found one near Wild Rose in central Wisconsin: an abandoned 19th century potato farm. 'When you look at pictures of what the house and the barn looked like, I sometimes think my mom should have been mad at him for buying it,' his son John Notham said. Back then it was forty acres of barren land with crumbling buildings. "They were falling apart," John said. "The barn was leaning two feet to the right and the house looked uninhabitable. I mean, they were from the 19th century." With the help of his family and neighbors, Notham transformed the land into a thriving tree farm. He planted more than 20,000 trees, mainly balsam and white pine trees, and restored about ten acres of native prairie habitat. Notham harvested some for Christmas trees, but grew most for timber. A small percentage have been harvested for paper and particle board pulp. He was committed to being a responsible steward of the land, John said. When Notham needed furniture — or canes for walking — he used wood from the older oak trees on the property. Even last year when he was 90 years old, he still occasionally drove his tractor on his land. 'They kind of became his canvas in life,' John said. 'Nothing brought him more pleasure than to spend the day working on his land.' Notham's sons now own the farm and plan to continue his legacy by running it together. Notham spoke out about his positive experiences at the VA In his later years, Notham's appointments at the VA grew more frequent. He credited Zablocki with helping him recover from colon cancer in 2008, a knee replacement surgery in 2015, and esophageal cancer in 2023, in addition to several other health conditions. In an April interview about the VA with the Journal Sentinel before his death, Notham and his friend Sally Ann Burdecki pushed back against criticism of the agency as a slow-paced and inefficient bureaucracy. Burdecki praised Zablocki VA staffers as "just really on top of everything," including calling to remind them about appointments, offering valet parking when Notham was in poor health, keeping wait times short and following up after treatments. "Everybody was extremely polite and personable. Made you just feel good to be there," she said. "All of those little things just made life better when you're going through cancer, numerous treatments and different things." Notham said VA staffers responded with urgency when he needed something. "They've been good to me," Notham said. "I can't find anything bad." John said his father would want his family and friends to drink a toast to him rather than mourn his passing. "Enjoy being part of his legacy and take a walk in the woods or prairie," John said. "And leave the land a better place when you depart." Notham was preceded in death by his wife Elaine, daughter Judith Norberg and son Ross Notham. He is survived by his sons John (Ann Raghavan) Notham, James (Leigh) Notham and Gary (Kris) Notham, as well as his sisters, grandchildren, great grandchildren and many relatives and friends. Graveside service and honors will take place on Aug. 22 at Woodville Cemetery in Hancock at 11 a.m. A celebration of life will follow at the Moose Inn in Wautoma. This article originally appeared on Milwaukee Journal Sentinel: 91-year-old Cudahy veteran credited the VA as a lifeline Solve the daily Crossword
Buzz Feed
2 days ago
- Buzz Feed
15 Secrets People Will Take To Their Grave
While it's totally normal to keep certain secrets close to the chest, sometimes, sometimes we just have to share them with the world in an anonymous way. So when Reddit user Several-Director5804 asked: "What's a secret you'll take to the grave, but would tell anonymously on Reddit?" I thought I would share their answers. Here's what they said below: "My mom confided that she had an affair with her mom's second husband. They planned to start a life together, but he died first. Jeez, Mom, you couldn't find ANYBODY else?!?" —Wise_Yam_1414 "One of the times I told my parents I was going to spend the weekend in a sleepover at a friend's house, I instead had that friend drive me to the airport, where I'd booked a cheap flight to the UK so I could go watch a musical I'd also bought a ticket for. While I waited for the show, I ate lunch and also bought an illustrated edition of The Silmarillion. Once the show was over (worth every penny), I went back to the airport and waited there for my flight back. It was a very early morning flight back, but I was young then and figured I could pull off the all-nighter. Took the plane back home, my friend picked me up from the airport, spent the rest of the day at her house sleeping... and at night, my parents showed up and drove me home none the wiser." "I never actually graduated from culinary school. I was short a math class, and they let me walk at graduation anyway. 20 years later, and no one in my life has a clue except me." —Purple-Adeptness-940 "My biological grandpa was a war criminal. A school teacher in Japanese-occupied Korea during WW2, he forced his students to become Kamikaze pilots. Some survived the war and formed a lynch mob to hang him. Grandpa hid in the mountains and came back a year later as a dedicated communist guerrilla executing those former students, claiming they were colonial many more. He didn't survive the Korean War." "I knew my husband was going to propose the day he did. He was acting 'off' as we were about to leave the house, and while he was in the bathroom, I felt his coat, and felt the ring box. He later refused to go without his coat even on a warm day as we were walking around, and I had to hide that I knew why. I still acted surprised and legit cried (no acting there!) when he did it and was beaming the rest of the day (week, month, today). But I will never tell him I knew beforehand that he was going to do it." —Azhchay "It just feels wrong to say out loud, but losing a close friendship has impacted me more deeply and for far longer than my dad's death." "When I was 18, I helped my grandmother move into a nursing home. In her old house, tucked away in the back of a cedar chest, I found a small, locked metal box. The key was taped to the bottom. Inside were letters and a few faded photos of her with a man who wasn't my grandfather, along with a birth certificate for a baby boy I had never heard of. The dates showed he was born just a year before my own father. My grandmother passed away a few months later. On her deathbed, she was in and out of lucidity, but at one point she grabbed my hand, looked me dead in the eye, and said, 'Don't let him ruin them.' I knew exactly what she meant." "I did some digging online. I found him, her other son. He had a family, a good career, and seemed happy. He had his own life, completely separate and unaware of ours. My father has always idolized my grandmother, viewing her as a saint. My grandfather, who passed years earlier, was a good but difficult man, and my dad's relationship with him was strained. The image of his mother was the one constant, perfect thing in his life. I took the metal box out to a bonfire one night and burned everything. Every letter, every photo, and the birth certificate. I watched until it was all ash. I didn't do it for her; I did it for my dad. He deserves to keep the one perfect memory he has — And I condemned a man to never knowing his mother or his brother. I chose one family's happiness over another's truth. I don't know if it was the right decision, but I would make the same one again."—Big-Reporter7078 "That I found out purely by accident that my ex's dad killed himself. Ex was a baby when his dad 'died of cancer.' That's what everyone was told. Through work, I met someone who grew up on the same street as the ex's family. I said, 'Oh, you must know the Smiths,' and the customer replied, 'Yes, very sad when he jumped off the railway bridge.' The customer, on seeing my shocked reaction, tried to backpedal, but it was too late. I will never tell my ex (we are good friends and share a son), it would destroy him." "I destroyed the engine of a brand-new truck by pouring a bag of sugar into it. They lived a couple of miles from us in the country, but their son and I rode the same bus. My dog liked to stand by the road when I got home to wait for my brother and me. He was a pit bull/border collie and exceptionally sweet. Even though they were miles away, they didn't like that he was part pit bull. He was in our fenced yard when my family went to the store and gone when we came home." "He limped home three days later, and it was clear he had been run over by an ATV because the tracks were clear on his little flank. His leg was broken and twisted, and he was in so much pain. We didn't have the money to get him fixed up, so he had to be put to sleep. Local cops said there was nothing we could do and that the family (who were the only ones in the area who had an ATV) claimed they were terrified of our 'vicious' dog. The son also smirked at us on the bus and pantomimed riding over something and made a dog yelping noise. We buried him in our yard, and my mom let me plant a lilac over his grave. A few months later, those assholes got a brand new truck, and I decided to get some justice for Rex. They didn't have any cameras, so one night I walked through the fields to their shitty little hobby farm with a 5-pound bag of sugar and poured it into the tank of their new truck and into the ATV. We did get a visit from the cops two days later, asking if we knew anything about some property destruction that had happened the other night. My mom told them no, that we had all been home. Pretty sure she knew what I did because the next time we went to the store, she asked me to go get another bag of sugar to replace the one I used, and she grinned at me. Haven't told anyone except my spouse what I did back then."—Rainbow-Mama"There is a special place in hell for people who abuse animals."—ariesleorising "My anonymous secret that I'll take to the grave is this: I had a chance to save a very important friendship, but my pride got in the way. We drifted apart over a petty misunderstanding, and I was waiting for the other person to make the first move. I was so convinced I was right that I couldn't bring myself to text 'I'm sorry.' We never spoke again. Now, I realize that the minor argument wasn't worth losing a person who was so important to me. It's one of the biggest regrets of my life, and I think about it every single day." "I stole that bag of Jolly Ranchers from the teacher's closet when we had a substitute in 6th grade, 35 years ago. Not a big crime, but when the teacher said our class would no longer get candy for doing extra credit, I joined in with the choir of kids arguing that it was unfair to punish the entire class. I was told that the principal himself stopped by to lecture the class about the situation the next day, but I was sick at home from eating too many Jolly Ranchers." —Stabastian "I know a woman through friends of friends of friends (we are barely acquaintances). She is not very nice, and her husband is not very nice. Last year, I saw her husband at a nice restaurant, making out with a woman who was clearly in her early 20s. I initially noticed them because they were being so inappropriate with each other that they stood out. Everyone in the restaurant was a little creeped out. Then I realized who the guy was. Normally, I would say something to the wife — I'm that type of person — but not this couple. They are mean and weird. I just have a gut feeling that somehow they would come after me. So, I see them once in a blue moon, with their three kids, and I say nothing. But I'll never forget the husband publicly playing 'Where's the beaver' with a much younger lady." "One time in high school, I told my parents I was staying after class to study with friends, but I actually hopped on a Greyhound bus to Vegas with less than $50 in my pocket. My only plan was to sneak into a Cirque du Soleil show because I was obsessed with acrobatics back then. I made it in by following a group of VIPs through the wrong door — no one checked me. I watched the entire show from the sound booth like I belonged there. Afterward, one of the tech guys asked me to help carry some cables (I guess he thought I was an intern), so I ended up backstage." "Long story short: I accidentally ate dinner with the cast, got photos in costume storage, and even rode in their shuttle back to the hotel. I panicked at 2 a.m. when I realized I had no way home, but some of the performers thought I actually was a new hire and offered me a ride halfway back toward my city. I finally caught another bus home, stumbled into first-period math the next morning, and no one ever found out. To this day, my parents think I was studying algebra."—Few_Channel_2294 "While my ex-husband was dying, we fell back in love with each other. My kids don't know, and my current husband doesn't know that we carried on an emotional affair for the last several years of his life. Luckily, he had his cell phone locked up, so nobody found out. I quietly grieve him." And finally, "I have risen through the ranks of engineering, IT, and now marketing with zero ability to code, program a router, etc, no background in finance, nothing. I was an English major. I'm just well-read, intelligent, and an excellent communicator. I am great at understanding concepts and can learn pretty much anything." —MonicaRising Is there a secret you'll take to the grave, but are willing to share with us? Tell us what it is in the comments anonymously in the Google Form below:
Los Angeles Times
2 days ago
- Los Angeles Times
James Silcott, trailblazing Black architect who sued L.A. County over discrimination, dies at 95
James E. Silcott, a trailblazing Los Angeles architect who, thanks to many gifts to his alma mater, Howard University, became the most generous benefactor to architecture students at historically Black colleges in the U.S., died July 17 in Washington, D.C. He was 95. Silcott's memorial service took place on Saturday at Howard; he will be laid to rest in L.A.'s Inglewood Park Cemetery on Sept. 6. Silcott, who started in Los Angeles working for Gruen Associates alongside colleagues like Frank Gehry, made history as the first Black project architect for both Los Angeles County and UCLA. His successful legal battles with the county — he alleged that he had been unfairly terminated because of his race, and was later a victim of retribution for his lawsuit — shined a light on the entrenched barriers Black professionals faced in public institutions at the time. Born Dec. 21, 1929, in Boston, to parents from the Caribbean island of Montserrat, Silcott grew up in the city's Roxbury neighborhood during a time of limited opportunities for young Black people. Living in tenements and walk-ups, and making friends of all races and ethnicities, he learned self-reliance, resilience and cultural fluency, as he recounted in a 2007 oral history for Northeastern University's Lower Roxbury Black History Project. After graduating high school, he worked as a hotel cook alongside his father. 'I didn't know what I wanted,' he said. But an aptitude test at a local YMCA pointed him toward architecture. After being rejected from several architecture schools, he received a lifeline via Howard University in Washington, D.C. Silcott entered Howard — its architecture program was the first at a historically Black college to receive accreditation — in 1949. He came under the mentorship of Howard H. Mackey Sr., one of the most prominent Black architects and educators of the 20th century, known for instilling a sense of architecture's civic purpose. Silcott's studies were interrupted by three years in the U.S. Army during the Korean War, where he rose to the rank of sergeant. Returning to Howard, he earned his 5-year bachelor of architecture degree in 1957. Those years were marked by constant financial strain — often forcing him, as he put it, to decide 'whether to buy books or buy food' — an experience that would later drive him, as a donor to Howard, to ensure that future students wouldn't face that choice. He would never forget the role Howard played for him. 'He felt like when nobody else would take him, Howard took him,' said his niece Julie Roberts. 'He really credits them for laying the groundwork and setting the path and changing the trajectory of his life.' Silcott began his career working for architect Arthur Cohen in Boston before moving to Los Angeles — he always hated the cold, said his friends and family — in 1958. Joining Gruen Associates, one of the era's most influential firms, he, among other efforts, collaborated with Frank Gehry on the design of the Winrock Shopping Center in Albuquerque. He would soon work at UCLA's architectural and engineering office, becoming the school's first Black project lead on buildings like the UCLA Boathouse (1965), with its light-filled, maritime-inspired form — including porthole windows and an upper story deck for viewing races. Also at UCLA he collaborated with Welton Becket and Associates on the Jules Stein Eye Institute (1966), with its clean-lined facade of pale stone columns and glass walls that opened to natural light while maintaining shade and privacy. He later joined Los Angeles County's Department of Facilities Management, where he would become a senior architect and help oversee projects like the Inglewood Courts Building (1973, another collaboration with Becket) and Los Angeles County Southeast General Hospital (1971), eventually renamed Martin Luther King Jr. General Hospital. As the only Black architect working in the county, Silcott's good friend (and fellow Howard architecture graduate) Melvin Mitchell said he was not always welcome. 'None of those men could ever imagine someone of Silcott's race or color wielding that kind of power, despite the phony smiles and benign language used,' Mitchell said in his eulogy at Howard. At the end of the decade Silcott was demoted and later laid off during budget cuts — a move he contended was racially motivated. The county's Civil Service Commission eventually agreed, ruling in 1984 that he had been improperly terminated in order to preserve the jobs of white employees with less seniority, and ordering that he be reinstated with full back pay. 'I had to fight for my job just to make sure the rules were applied fairly,' Silcott told the Los Angeles Times. But the reinstatement was short-lived: within months, Silcott alleged that the county had retaliated by stripping away meaningful duties, among other retributions. 'They had him working in a closet at one time,' said Roberts. Later that year, the Board of Supervisors approved a roughly $1 million settlement offer to resolve his federal discrimination lawsuit. The Times noted that his case had 'become a rallying point' for those seeking greater equity in public employment. As Silcott later reflected, 'This was never just about me. It was about making sure the next Black architect who comes along doesn't have to fight the same battles.' Silcott would later work as an architectural consultant to public agencies and universities while serving on several public boards, including the South Los Angeles Area Planning Commission, the Los Angeles Cultural Heritage Commission, the Los Angeles Board of Zoning Appeals and the California State Board of Architectural Examiners. He built a stylish home in Windsor Hills, where he would regularly host family, not to mention mayors, council members, and, later, former President Obama, said Mitchell. In 1995 — retired as an architect — he took on minority ownership and a board seat at Kennard Design Group, one of the largest Black-owned architecture firms in the country, following the death of its founder (and Silcott's good friend) Robert Kennard. 'He didn't hesitate,' said Gail Kennard, Robert's daughter, who still leads the firm, and wanted to ensure the company's stability at a difficult time. 'He was always there to help. For advice, support, anything. Without hesitation he'd say, 'I'll do it.' He just had that generous spirit.' But Silcott's greatest love, noted Kennard, was Howard — particularly its Department of Architecture — where he would go on to become a historically prolific philanthropist, and help mentor generations of aspiring architects. 'He would tell me stories about people who were coming up in the profession,' said Kennard. 'He'd say, I found this new student and he or she's my new project.' Silcott's ability to support the school financially grew out of skillful real estate investments, which began with a few buildings in Boston that he inherited from his mother. He managed and expanded numerous properties both in Boston and Los Angeles. In 1991 he helped establish the James E. Silcott Fund, now valued at $250,000, offering emergency aid to Howard architecture students in financial distress. In 2002, he established the James E. Silcott Endowed Chair with an initial $1 million, bringing architects like Sir David Adjaye, Philip Freelon, Jack Travis and Roberta Washington to teach and mentor at Howard. And with a $1 million gift he funded the T. George Silcott Gallery, named for his late brother, providing a venue for exhibitions, critiques and public lectures. Silcott also made unrestricted contributions of hundreds of thousands more to Howard's Department of Architecture, supporting scholarships, travel fellowships and capital improvements. By the end of his life, his contributions to Howard exceeded $3 million, making him, according to the school, the largest individual donor to architecture programs at historically Black colleges and universities in the country. 'Howard and its school of architecture was at the very center of his life,' said Mitchell, who noted Silcott's gifts also helped keep the school afloat during difficult periods. Silcott received the Howard University Alumni Achievement Award, the Centennial Professional Excellence Award and the Howard H. Mackey Dean's Medal, named after his mentor. He also received the Kresge/Coca-Cola Award for philanthropy to HBCUs. In 2020, he was elevated to the AIA College of Fellows. After a stroke in 2020, Silcott moved to Washington, D.C., to be under family care. He was placed in hospice in 2022, and put on a feeding tube, but lived three more years against the odds, noted Roberts, one of seven close nieces and nephews who called him 'Uncle James.' 'He would not acknowledge that he wasn't going to live forever,' said Roberts. Silcott remained engaged with Howard until his death.
