Jefferson Awards: Potts helps provide food for veterans
Mar. 18—LIMA — Her title may be director of the the Veterans Food Pantry of Northwest Ohio.
To watch Elizabeth "Betsy" Potts in action on a recent morning, she mostly directs herself as a devoted volunteer for the organization, which offers two to three days' worth of food for area veterans, free of charge.
She helped the volunteers who grabbed boxes of food items off a truck by carrying boxes of cans and putting them into storage. She pulled a cart of cans of vegetables and started placing them on shelves, in preparation for the veterans who'd visit later that day.
"So many of our veterans had a hard time when they were in the service," said Potts, who served in the Marine Corps writing orders stateside and working in the mailroom during the Vietnam War. "... They're just so grateful for having someplace to go. We find some of our veterans will come in here because they're in a group of veterans who understand: 'Oh, where were you? What unit were you in?' All that. That's a little side thing that is gratifying sometimes."
Potts is one of eight local winners of the Jefferson Awards for Public Service and will get a $300 donation to the charity of her choice on her behalf. All the winners will be recognized at an event Tuesday, March 25, with one winner receiving an additional $700 donation for a non-profit.
Potts started volunteering at the food pantry 15 years ago, when it was in the basement of Memorial Hall, after moving back to Lima with her husband, an Air Force veteran from the Vietnam era, after working at post offices in Charlotte and Columbus. She served as a co-director after five years and became its sole director, a volunteer position, five years ago.
The pantry moved to 810 W. North St. in February 2015 and serves 275 families every month during its pickups on Wednesday and Friday afternoons. It's a choice food pantry, meaning veterans pick what they want while they're there.
It's completely funded by donations and is financially stable right now, Potts said. It benefits from other veterans and civilian organizations raising money on its behalf and some savvy buying of non-perishable goods by Potts. Sometimes it gets fresh fruits and vegetables or even eggs donated to help veterans.
"Volunteerism is at the heart of Ms. Potts' daily activities," Denis Glenn wrote in his nomination letter for the Jefferson Awards. "She encourages others to volunteer by not only her words but by her actions. She crosses many diverse paths and treats all with respect, something she learned from her days as a U.S. Marine."
Potts also serves as the paymaster at the Marine Corps League, treasurer with the Vietnam Veterans of America Chapter 089, treasurer with the Daughters of the American Revolution and as a member of the Friends of the Library.
She also enjoys genealogical research, where she found she had a second-great-grandfather, George Washington Lowery, who served in the Civil War and other ancestors who served in the Revolutionary War.
She said she was surprised when she learned she was a local winner of the Jefferson Awards, showing her humility along the way.
"You read the stories of everybody else that has been here or dominating anything," she said. "You know, all I do is run a pantry. It takes maybe 20 to 30 hours a week that I'm doing something for the pantry. It just completely shocked me. I just couldn't believe it."
JEFFERSON AWARDS
The 2025 Jefferson Awards for Public Service committee has selected nine winners from throughout the region, including eight adult winners and one youth winner. They will be honored at a banquet March 25 at Veterans Memorial Civic Center in downtown Lima.
Read past Jefferson Awards profiles at LimaOhio.com/jeffersonawards.
Reach David Trinko at 567-242-0467 or on Twitter/X @Lima_Trinko.
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'Help me understand that one,' I say. 'Imagine you're hurting like hell and all you want to do is tell your friends and family what happened, hoping they'll understand, hoping maybe they'll tell you they're sorry about what you had to go through and reassure you that you're not some kind of monster. But all they do is pretend what you did was great and parrot a bunch of lame horse shit about being a hero. It's like you're being choked to death from the inside and you look to others for help and they just smile and look away.' 'Psychological and emotional violence,' I say. He nods. I look at the clock and mention that it's been five minutes. 'You kept your part of the deal, James. I've got time if you want to talk more but I want to keep my end. It's your call.' His hands are steady now and his breathing is normal. 'Thanks for coming after me. I'm good now.' He reaches out his hand. He squeezes mine tight and says, 'Thanks for not thanking me for my service when we met.' I nod. 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Some struggled with explosive tempers, anxiety or depression related to the scars of war; others with emotional numbness, alcohol and/or drug addictions, or feeling disconnected from others. Some had polished up a handful of well-rehearsed war stories sanitized of blood, gore or moral ambiguity, which they'd offered family and friends so as not to upset them. Others simply kept quiet. But as death approaches, it can claw up stories and memories that have been suppressed. These memories can be fragmented and poignant with details of war's horror ― the smell of burning bodies, the eyes of a dead buddy gazing up at the sky, the numb immersion day after day after day in violence, killing and death. Sometimes they are laced with moral pain and shame ― the killing of civilians, lifeless bodies of 'the enemy' being desecrated in the rage of a battle's aftermath. As I walk back to the training, I think about a B-17 pilot who participated in bombing raids during World War II intended to incinerate German cities. The point had been to kill every man, woman and child ― every dog and flea unlucky enough to be on the ground. He'd done his duty and returned from war assured that he'd helped save the world from fascism. But humans, despite misguided notions about war being part of the 'human condition,' are not wired to kill each other however just the cause may seem. As an old man, he was haunted by the belief that he was a mass murderer. He was convinced he was going to go to hell after he died and there he'd feel the kind of fiery torture he believed he'd inflicted on others. Like James, he had winced at reflexive expressions of thanks for his 'service.' The message he heard was: W e believe that you were performing a service, standing up for freedom, protecting the weak, saving democracy. You're a hero. That's our story and we don't want to hear your story if it makes us uncomfortable or challenges us in any way. He didn't want someone else's story shoved down his throat; he wanted someone with whom it was safe to tell his own without being judged or rejected. He wanted to unpack some of what he'd been carrying and find compassion for the 20-year-old young man he'd been when thrust into the bloody savagery of war. He wanted to begin to heal before he died. As someone who works with dying veterans, I've learned to never automatically thank them for their service. I realize many are justifiably proud of their time in the military, of friendships forged, courage shown and service given. I know that most appreciate expressions of thanks and that these expressions are often genuine and heartfelt on the part of those offering them. But I would rather disappoint those who expect me to join the chorus of thanks than close the door on a single veteran like James who needs someone who won't flinch or look away if they choose to share what they have been carrying. Refusing to lead with the culturally sanctioned chant 'Thank you for your service' sends the message to veterans like James that I'm not pushing a story that denies their experience. It's safe to talk. I can be trusted to listen without judging. Those veterans who have noticed and asked about my lack of obedience to the social custom of using the euphemism 'service' have generally understood and appreciated my reasons once we discussed them. Several shared things with me during those conversations they would not otherwise have shared. Things they, too, had been carrying. But there's another reason I never give automatic thanks or use the word service. It's an easy out for the rest of us. It lets civilians like me off the hook when it comes to taking any responsibility for what we have allowed political and military leaders to do in our name. It allows us to wash our hands of any culpability for how they, and we, have used our troops. That's part of what I think James meant when he said all wars are acts of betrayal. Calling the sum of actions taken in war 'service' is a convenient way for the rest of us to deny what our warriors have been asked to do. It makes it easy for us to turn away from or to deny the burning anguish, grief and regret many carry. Insidiously, it also allows us to avoid asking awkward questions: Were we really justified in using violence to kill so many other human beings? Why are we so desperate to idealize those who have done the bloody, heartbreaking work of war? Who profits ― politically or financially ― from all this division and violence? What are we so damned afraid of? The 'service' euphemism has become so prevalent that it is now part of a cultural trance state that shuts down honest conversations about these and other questions. Automatically thanking a veteran for his or her service can inadvertently telegraph to those whose experiences fly in the face of our well-rehearsed storyline that we don't want to hear what really happened ― that we don't care about what they might be carrying. This not only reinforces our collective conceit that our own hands are clean, it ensures that we will not have to carry anything ourselves. Euphemism piles upon euphemism. Hiding the slaughter of war behind the innocuous word 'service' allows us to call the children James saw killed 'collateral damage.' Calling bombs 'smart bombs' and calling it 'precision bombing' when we unleash them on others allows us to conceal those children from our awareness as well as the pangs of grief in those left behind. It even allows some of us to vilify those Americans who dare dissent or protest the dropping of bombs as 'unpatriotic' or 'un-American.' When American troops are killed, we are protected, as though we are children, from any images of their charred and mangled corpses. Once more we are slathered in reassuring euphemisms. Our 'fallen heroes' and their 'brave sacrifice' are lauded by a ratings-obsessed media and politicians vowing revenge on an enemy also in thrall to the delusion that they are providing a service by killing young American men and women. If we really want to 'honor the ultimate sacrifice' our soldiers have made, if we really want to ensure that they have 'not died in vain,' we need to stop lying about war by hiding behind socially enforced rituals, platitudes and euphemisms. If we really want to help those who have survived and carry the wounds of war, we need to stop hiding from and denying war's cruel brutality. We must make sure it is safe for veterans who have been in the military during a time of war ― regardless of whether they were directly exposed to combat ― to speak for themselves and to speak the truth. And we need to listen to all of them, not just the ones whose stories make us feel good about ourselves. Note: Names and some details have been slightly altered to protect the privacy of the individuals discussed in this essay. This essay originally ran in January 2022 and is being rerun now as part of HuffPost Personal's 'Best Of' Series. Scott Janssen is a hospice social worker and writer. He has written extensively about providing trauma-informed care for patients who are terminally ill and has spoken nationally about ways to better support veterans who are nearing the end of their lives. His work has appeared in dozens of publications, including Social Work Today, Psychotherapy Networker, American Journal of Nursing, Reader's Digest, and The Washington Post. His novel Light Keepers is a visionary adventure about the transformational power of kindness and love when the world appears lost in anger, conflict, and fear.
