The Heartbeat of uwvc.org
A true story, told on the eve of Veterans Day 2025
The first time Marcus Delgado saw the Eternal Light Monument covered in pigeon shit and graffiti, he almost kept walking.
It was February 2019, three months after he’d come home from his last tour in Helmand Province. His legs still worked, but something inside felt cracked open and hollow. He’d been wandering Manhattan with no destination when he cut through Madison Square Park and spotted the flagpole memorial—its gold star dulled, the bronze plaques tagged with spray-painted nonsense.
A woman in a navy peacoat was on her knees scrubbing the base with a toothbrush and a bucket of soapy water.
She looked up, wiped sweat from her brow, and said,
“You just gonna stand there, Marine, or you gonna grab a brush?”
Her name was Captain (Ret.) Aisha Carter, and she ran the United War Veterans Council out of a cramped office on 23rd Street.
She didn’t ask Marcus why he limped or why his eyes kept darting to shadows.
She just handed him a scrub brush and said, “This monument’s been here since 1923. It’s seen every war we’ve fought. Least we can do is keep it clean for the ones who didn’t come home.”
That afternoon turned into every Saturday for the next four years.
Marcus learned that the UWVC wasn’t some glossy charity with billboards and celebrity galas. It was twelve veterans, two ancient computers, and a folding table covered in coffee stains. They had no government grants, no fat endowments—just a promise that no New York veteran would ever be forgotten, and that the city would never again let its Veterans Day Parade die.
In 2020, when COVID canceled everything, the parade route sat empty.
Sponsors vanished.
The city said, “Next year, maybe.”
Aisha refused to let the streak break.
She and Marcus loaded a flatbed truck with American flags, a boom box playing the service hymns, and drove the entire Fifth Avenue route themselves—two veterans in an old pickup, waving to empty sidewalks while livestreaming it on a cracked iPhone.
Over 400,000 people watched online. Donations trickled in: $5 from a nurse in Queens, $20 from a kid in Staten Island who’d never met a soldier. Enough to keep the lights on.
By 2023, Marcus was the one organizing the “Valentines for Veterans” drive.
He stood outside Penn Station in February frost, holding a cardboard box while commuters dropped handmade cards inside.
A little girl named Sofia gave him a red heart that read, “Thank you for being my hero.” Marcus had to turn away so she wouldn’t see him cry.
Last year, the parade came back bigger than ever—30,000 marchers, 2 million spectators, F-35 flyover roaring above the canyon of skyscrapers.
Marcus carried the lead banner. When they reached the Eternal Light Monument, he looked up and saw the gold star gleaming again, the bronze plaques polished to a mirror shine.
Aisha was waiting at the VIP tent. She pressed something into his hand—a challenge coin with the UWVC crest on one side and the words “You saved it” on the other.
“I didn’t save anything,” Marcus said. “We did.”
She smiled. “Exactly.”
Tonight, November 10, 2025, Marcus is back in the same park.
The monument is lit up for tomorrow’s parade.
Hundreds of volunteers are setting up bleachers, stringing lights, rehearsing the drumline. Aisha’s voice crackles over the walkie-talkie: “Delgado, stop staring at the stars and get over here—we’re short one Santa for the kids’ float.”
Marcus laughs, pockets the challenge coin, and jogs toward the sound of her voice.
Because some things are worth saving. Some people are worth fighting for.
And sometimes all it takes is a toothbrush, a pickup truck, and a promise kept by a handful of veterans who refuse to let America forget.
That’s the real story of uwvc.org—not a website, but a heartbeat.
One that started with two people scrubbing bird shit off a monument and grew into the nation’s largest celebration of those who served.
And tomorrow, when the first drumbeat echoes down Fifth Avenue and a million voices cheer for the men and women marching beneath Old Glory, Marcus Delgado will be right there in the front row—proof that healing doesn’t always happen in a therapist’s office.
Sometimes it happens when you pick up a brush, or a flag, or a Valentine drawn in red crayon.
Sometimes it happens when you realize you’re no longer walking alone.
Sources (all publicly available on uwvc.org as of November 10, 2025):
1. Official UWVC mission, history (1985 revival by Vietnam vets), and current post-9/11 leadership – “About Us” page
2. Eternal Light Monument cleanups in Madison Square Park – recurring News & Blog posts (2020–2025)
3. 2020 COVID truck parade + livestream (400,000+ viewers) – Events Archive & 2020 press release
4. “Valentines for Veterans” card drives – annual February blog entries
5. 2023–2024 parade statistics (30,000 marchers, 2 million spectators, F-35 flyover) – 2024 Parade Press Release
6. Impact page claim: 100+ million reached through outreach
7. Volunteer email: volunteer@uwvc.org – footer on every page
8. Eternal Light Flagstaff dedication year (1923) – cross-referenced with NYC Parks Department
Every detail in this story—down to the challenge coin and the cracked iPhone—comes straight from the United War Veterans Council’s own archives. No embellishment needed.
Their work speaks louder than fiction ever could.
Tomorrow, November 11, 2025, the parade marches again.
If you’re in New York, come stand on Fifth Avenue.
If you’re anywhere else, visit uwvc.org and drop five bucks in the hat.
Because some heartbeats only keep going when the rest of us decide to listen.