The night before John Kennedy’s inauguration in 1961, the nation’s capital was blanketed by more than two feet of snow. My twin brother and I were 15 and Eagle Scouts. For reasons that escape my recollection, we were invited to serve as ushers assisting VIP guests to their seats in bleachers along either side of the presidential reviewing box at the White House. We awoke early to discover our street blocked by unplowed drifts for the half-mile separating us from Georgia Avenue, the major thoroughfare running 12 miles south into Washington. At 6:30 AM, we undertook the trudge to see whether buses were running. Rather surprisingly, they were.

We arrived at our reporting station on Pennsylvania Avenue about 10:30 a.m. Thousands of Army troops from Fort Belvoir in Virginia were scraping snow off the bleachers into cardboard boxes and then carrying these beneath the stands to dump them there. It was slow going, yet by noon you wouldn’t have known it ever snowed. Other soldiers shoveled snow on the street and hauled it away. The asphalt was then swept clean, ready for the Inaugural parade. The thought ran through my mind should I ever have to serve in the military, I would prefer to go as an officer — barking out orders appeared a better assignment with very little heavy lifting demanded.

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I was assigned to a section reserved for Congressional Medal of Honor winners. We were fewer than 20 years distant from World War II, as well as the Korean “police action.” I seated 40 or 50 Medal recipients, a smattering still serving while most strained the seams of their separation uniforms. Most were accompanied by a spouse or family member. A row along the street accommodated those in wheelchairs. What was most surprising to me, as a teenager, was how normal these men seemed. They were not 10 feet tall or candidates for a Marvel comic page. They looked like the fathers who lived on our suburban street, yet each had performed death-defying acts of heroism. Mostly enlisted men, they treated me with surprising courtesy and deference. It was the first time in my life I was addressed as, “Sir.”

Wearing a scout uniform, complete with my Order of the Arrow sash slung across my shoulder, was sufficient to be addressed as an adult. With the majority of Congressional Medals awarded posthumously, we were told President Kennedy, a decorated Navy officer himself, had specifically requested all living Medal winners be invited to attend his inauguration. There was a single veteran from the Spanish-American war, and another handful who fought in World War I. Most, however, were Korean and World War II veterans.

Congressional Medals of Honor are not frivolously awarded. They are earned for acts of astonishing personal gallantry. These are the extraordinary acts of ordinary men and women. For any veteran, there is no greater honor that can be bestowed on a soldier or sailor than recognition for the courage and valor demonstrated in protecting the lives of his or her comrades.

Former President Donald Trump besmirched the memory of these veterans as he recounted his awarding of the Presidential Medal of Freedom to Miriam Adelson in 2018. She may be a perfectly admirable citizen, but everyone knows her recognition was for the prodigious sums of money she and her deceased husband contributed to Trump campaigns and the Republican Party. As the widow of a billionaire casino mogul, whose major properties are located in China, she has personally done little or nothing to advance freedom either here or there. Her medal was purchased with humongous bank transfers. I’m sure Democratic presidents also have awarded Presidential Medals of Freedom for comparable generosity. But none claimed this was an honor that matched or exceeded the Congressional Medal of Honor. They are not “equal,” as Trump alleges, by any stretch of the imagination.

As my friend Don Stanton, who has chaired the Colorado Transportation Commission and is a retired Naval aviator, noted in a letter to the Washington Post, “Americans honor those who step up to serve and lead in our armed forces, but President Trump’s recent statement that the Medal of Freedom he gave to a wealthy donor was better than the Medal of Honor has again revealed his disdain for the military.”

I can’t help recall Fredrick A. Lisiewski, whose name can be found etched on the Vietnam Memorial wall. Radioman Lisiewski reported to me at the Naval Radio Station Fort Allen, Puerto Rico. He was affectionately called “Drifty” by the sailors assigned to our watch section. In 1969 he received transfer orders reassigning him to a Riverine unit in the Saigon Delta. I approached my commanding officer and asked whether we couldn’t arrange to have this transfer changed. I was advised, ”Mothers send us their boys and the Navy returns them as men.”

Riverine, or “brown water” duty, was hugely dangerous and I feared Radjoman Lisiewski would never survive this assignment. I went so far as to suggest, “I doubt he will last a month.” A few weeks later we were informed Fredrick had been lost during his second week on the Mekong River. I was then asked to write a letter to his parents since he had failed to serve in Vietnam long enough for his current commanders to knowledgeably comment on his previous service.

I incorporated the conventional bromides regarding Radioman Lisiewski’s service having been a credit to both the U. S. Navy and his country. I hope they provided some small solace to his family in New York. We would learn months later Drifty had been commended for bravery, something I wish I’d known when I penned my condolences. No medal, however, alters my opinion, then or today, that Fredrick Lisiewski never should have been placed in harm’s way. Of the more than 50,000 names inscribed on the Vietnam Memorial wall, I only carry a photo on my phone of his — a reminder of the sacrifice he made 8,000 miles from home as one future president was enjoying a Rhodes scholarship in England while another was faking bone spurs stateside. This sailor was neither a sucker nor a loser, but a patriot.

Miller Hudson is a public affairs consultant and a former Colorado legislator.