After returning home, I worked for Douglas Aircraft installing air ducts in the wings of F-4 jets. Later, I joined my brother’s concrete business. I started as a laborer and, through years of hard work, built my own company, Golden West. I learned early that persistence and pride in your work can take you farther than you ever expect.
In 1989, my mother passed away from cancer, a loss that deeply changed my life. My father later moved to Idaho, and eventually I found myself in Hawaii working on the restoration of the battleship USS Missouri. It was recommissioned during the Gulf War, and I was proud to handle the concrete work—curbs, gutters, parking lots, and storage areas. Each morning, I rode a ferry to work with Navy SEALs, passing the USS Arizona. It was a powerful reminder of service, sacrifice, and history.
I spent six wonderful years in Hawaii before returning to Idaho to care for my father, who had lost his sight, and my Aunt Ruby, who was battling cancer. After seven years, they both passed away. I was alone, older, and no longer able to do the heavy concrete work I had done my entire life. I had to reinvent myself.
That’s when I discovered a new purpose. I bought a good camera and began photographing nature and my animals—simple moments of beauty that brought me peace. I started placing those images on clocks, turning everyday objects into reminders that time is precious and beauty is always around us. What began as a small idea became a new chapter in my life.
In 2004, I suffered a major medical crisis. I woke up unable to see out of my right eye, confused, and weak. Doctors told me my carotid artery was completely blocked and could not be repaired. With no insurance, I went home believing my time was running out.
But it wasn’t.
More than 20 years later, I am still here. Recovery was hard, but I refused to give up. I’m grateful for the support of the VA and the healthcare that helped me continue forward. In 2006, during surgery for a hernia caused by years of physical labor, doctors discovered and removed a cancerous tumor in my bladder. Once again, I faced the possibility of the end—but instead, I chose to keep living with purpose.
Today, my clocks represent more than photographs. They represent survival, second chances, and the belief that no matter what life takes from you, it can still give you something new. Time keeps moving—and so do we.
Jerry Swisshelm
We are starting with clocks, both from Jerry's massive inventory of fond memories and pictures he has taken throughout the years, and also new ideas and pictures created or found by veterans and put together to help less fortunate veterans in need.