Ron Leonard

Ron was born on October 13, 1937, in Roseburg, OR. His parents, Frieda and Eugene Leonard, were farmers from Kansas who moved there during the Great Depression looking for work. He had one older brother, Gordon, who was both his idol and co-conspirator throughout life in terms of mischief.

When Ron was young, his family moved back to a farm in western Kansas, outside of the small town of Quinter. He worked on the farm from a very early age, often rising before dawn to tend to the fields before going to his one-room schoolhouse. He and Gordon would also go hunting for quail and doves in the morning before school, and so he grew comfortable using close-range firearms.

When he was eight years old, “Ronnie” began playing peewee football. At that point in 1945, all the players wore leather helmets and limited pads. Ron was a three-sport athlete through high school: football quarterback and halfback, baseball pitcher, and spring track sprinter. His teammate and good friend Gene Tilton remembers them both having their “bell rung” multiple times, shaking it off, and being put back in the game to continue playing.

After high school, Ron was recruited to play baseball at Kansas State University but pivoted to play football as a quarterback. He spent one year there before taking a sabbatical to “find himself” as a milkman in California. This also could have been a result of having “too much fun as a freshman and not enough time in the classroom,” in his words.

Ron returned to Kansas and transferred to Fort Hays State, starring as a quarterback for his final three years. He recalled multiple instances of suffering concussions, including crashing into an opponent’s bench after an especially fierce tackle in the rain. He recalled that he “came back to, in the huddle,” and barely remembers the rest of the game.

After a successful athletic career at Fort Hays State, Ron graduated with a biology degree and began to teach high school for several years. However, as much as Ron loved teaching and mentoring students, he felt a deep need to serve his country and pursue adventure in the military.

In 1963, Ron was commissioned into the United States Air Force, following his brother Gordon’s path as an enlisted man in the USAF. At the same time, Ron was recruited for the USAF inter-military football team and continued to play there. However, after two years in the Air Force as a communications specialist, he again grew restless in a desk job.

Through a fortuitous contact, Ron managed a one-time transfer into the U.S. Army with no loss of rank. It came with one stipulation – he would have to attend Airborne and Ranger School. His extreme and arduous training prepared him tremendously for extended combat in South Vietnam in 1966. He often remarked that the lessons he learned during those long days and nights saved his and others’ lives in Vietnam.

In November 1967, Ron and his company were at the center of action on Hill 875 at the Battle of Dak To. As Captain and company commander, his involvement and determined heroism are detailed in the book “The Long Gray Line: The American Journey of West Point’s Class of 1966” and “Dak To: The 173rd Airborne Brigade in South Vietnam’s Central Highlands, June-November 1967.”

For his service and bravery, Ron was awarded multiple military medals, including the Distinguished Service Cross (second in recognition only to the Medal of Honor), Silver Star, and several Purple Hearts due to injuries suffered during his career. He was shot in the leg and had a grenade explode in his proximity, leaving shrapnel in his torso which would remain for the rest of his life. At one point, Ron’s compass was shot off his wrist while lying on his back. He was also exposed to blast injuries while calling in air strikes and survived mortar attacks, along with the continuous trauma of being exposed to high caliber firearms at close range.

After his first tour in Vietnam, Ron returned to the U.S. and was honored to be selected as an instructor/cadre at the Ranger school in Florida. During the “jungle phase” of the Ranger course at Elgin AFB, he met Dabney Osbun Delaney. Dabney remembers many times where Ron would jump out of airplanes and “bounce” landings, a military term for a parachute failure and a hard landing. He finished his Army career as a Master Jumpmaster, having completed more than 150 airborne operations, i.e., “jumps.”

Approximately 18 months after they met, Dabney and Ron were married. In 1971, he headed back to South Vietnam as a district senior advisor. At one point in time, it was reported that there were no American survivors in his district. Fearing he was MIA or killed, Dabney and their new daughter, Kathryn, waited for information while stationed in Hawaii. A few days later, Dabney received a note from Ron saying he was alive, lying in a ditch, and had been calling in air and artillery fire on enemy positions.

Altogether, Ron ended up spending 28 years in the military with the Air Force and the Army. His service included stations at Fort Bragg, NC; South Korea as the battalion commander of the 2nd Infantry Division in the DMZ, Fort Leavenworth, KS; Carlisle Barracks, PA; Fort Stewart, GA; Fort Monroe, VA; Fort McNair, DC, as an instructor at the National War College, and the Pentagon.

Ron retired from the Army in 1991 and began working as a defense contractor in the Washington, D.C., area. He was stationed at the Pentagon on the morning of September 11, 2001. He and a friend were walking to get coffee when they noticed a female passerby who appeared lost. They reversed course, escorting the young woman in the other direction down the hall. Several moments later, American Airlines Flight 77 struck the Pentagon, crashing into the area where Ron and his colleague had originally been heading. After several hours of no contact, his family learned he had taken it upon himself to hold the door open for thousands of Pentagon personnel fleeing the building.

After many years of combat and defense contracting, Ron officially retired in 2005. He continued to drive thousands of miles to assist with his grandchildren’s care, and to satisfy his love for “packing, moving, and anything orderly.” Ron’s physical health remained excellent, competing annually in his age group at the Pentagon’s Army Ten-Miler.

Slowly, over the next decade, those who knew Ron best began to notice changes. His stories became disorganized, and he confabulated more. He became moody and withdrawn at times and exhibited some uncharacteristic aggressive behavior. At the request of his family, Ron was evaluated by his military health team at Fort Belvoir, VA, between 2016-2017, and was diagnosed with mild cognitive impairment (MCI). As a proud former athlete and military hero, this was a shock to everyone, especially Ron.

In 2018, Ron was inducted into the Army Ranger Hall of Fame at Fort Benning, GA, and spoke to the audience when receiving his award. It was clear at that time he was struggling to communicate his thoughts and was frustrated by his limitations.

 

 

As his disease progressed, Ron struggled to function at home. In the spring of 2020, COVID struck and the family was forced into isolation. This period was especially difficult as he also lost his loyal dog, Jack. Going from walking the dog several times a day and exercising, Ron now retreated to sitting in his chair for hours at a time. Dabney noticed a decline in his mood and ability to function on his own.

Ron became dependent on Dabney for most tasks, like what groceries to pick up at the store, how to get home, and grew progressively more confused. In addition, he began to lose significant weight and have sleep disturbances. Ron was often awake multiple times during the night, wandering around and trying to leave the house to go “home.” He would forget the relatives and pets who had passed away and ask where they were.

The family made changes to the home, altering locks to prevent Ron’s wandering and sundowning, removing stove handles, and enlisting a wonderful aide who came and spent time with him during the day. Together, they sang and danced, something he loved to do throughout his life.

In the fall of 2022, after several disturbing episodes where Ron angrily tried to force his way out of the house, it became clear he could not safely be managed at home. Dabney and the family quickly, but reluctantly, decided to move out of their 30-year family home and into a progressive senior retirement community with associated memory care.

On December 1, 2022, Ron moved into his individual room at The Sylvestry Memory Care Center at Vinson Hall, in McLean, VA. The following day, Dabney moved into an independent living apartment across the street. She visited daily and watched as he became quite serene in this new environment. Ron became one of the favorites among the Sylvestry staff. He was known to be a gentleman by all the workers at the facility. As a military retirement memory care center for dementia patients, he was surrounded by other ex-military officers, some of whom he had served with during his career.

 

 

On March 19, 2024, Ron passed away peacefully after a brief illness, with family surrounding him. He died with dignity and will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery in late August 2024, with full military honors. In his last hours, the family decided to donate his eyes, brain, and spinal cord to the UNITE Brain Bank.

Ron started contact peewee football at age eight, suffering repeated brain injuries well into high school and college. As a decorated Army Ranger, he also endured multiple blast injuries and stress related trauma. We firmly believe the combination of the two arenas contributed to his rapid decline and ultimate diagnosis of Alzheimer’s dementia and CTE.

Our hope is that Ron’s unique situation of being a high-level athlete and a combat veteran will contribute significantly to the CTE community. If his donation helps identify serum markers which can be used to diagnose and limit further damage during one’s lifetime, his legacy will truly live on indefinitely.

Regaining Peace After a Life-changing Bike Crash

To this day, Jocelyn Pepe has only had one brain injury, albeit a very significant one – a concussion she suffered during a triathlon training ride. While on her bike, the former endurance athlete could not reach her brakes in time to stop and avoid a crash. She blacked out and hit her head on the side of the road but does not have any memory of the accident until being awoken by medics in the ambulance.

Jocelyn was raced to the hospital and received an MRI on her brain. The scan was clear of any brain bleed, but her jaw had been displaced and she lost two teeth. That, however, was only the beginning of her journey.

At the time of her fall, Jocelyn was studying for a master’s degree in psychology and neuroscience. She didn’t know much about concussions herself, just what she heard being around her son, who played hockey and experienced multiple concussions of his own.

In the months after she was discharged from the hospital, Jocelyn began to experience a number of different symptoms, some of which persist to this day. They included constant exhaustion, the inability to look at screens, nausea while driving, frequent debilitating headaches, and sensitivity to light, sound, and heat. It was so difficult for Jocelyn to string thoughts together she made the difficult decision to put her master’s program on hold.

One of the biggest changes to Jocelyn’s life after her concussion was navigating how she was perceived by people around her. Though she may have looked fine on the outside, she was still struggling internally.

“I felt as though people didn’t understand how difficult it was inside my head, as it was not a visible injury anymore,” said Jocelyn. “After my jaw and teeth were repaired, it was as if I was back to normal. I had to really prioritize brain recovery on my own.”

Jocelyn tried piecing together her healing slowly, working with various professionals including an oral surgeon, physiotherapist, a neuro-optometrist, naturopath, a chiropractor, and a neurologist. With their help, she started feeling a bit better day by day. After about eight months, Jocelyn was able to finish her master’s degree and gain a deeper understanding of concussions from a scientific perspective.

For now, Jocelyn still has her ups and downs but has found ways to manage her symptoms. From rest and ice compression to neuro-optometry, color therapy to realign her sight, and nerve blockers to mitigate the head and neck pain, these are among the treatments which have helped. She has adjusted her expectations on how much is possible mentally and knows there are days she might not be at her best. Ultimately, Jocelyn makes sure to consistently rebalance her physical, mental, emotional, social, and spiritual wellbeing.

“Immediately after the accident, I wanted to get right back to my triathlon training and goals of making the podium,” said Jocelyn. “At the time, that was part of my grieving process. It’s just about adjusting to a slower pace of life and turning your experience into a purpose.”

Jocelyn no longer rides road bikes or competes in triathlons. Instead, she focuses on low impact exercises which require less time commitment, including practicing yoga and taking daily walks. Jocelyn’s tried going on runs, which have been tough on her neck and head, though it’s slowly getting better.

Jocelyn’s passion for helping others led her to found TrU, a business which builds team wellbeing and healthy organizational culture through executive coaching with a mental health focus. She reached out to the Concussion Legacy Foundation after finding us on social media and relating to our hopeful content and messaging. She recently filmed her own #ConcussionHope video to remind others that healing with a concussion requires a whole-person approach. Now through her Inspiring Story, Jocelyn wants to show those recovering it’s possible to live a purposeful and fulfilling life following a brain injury.

A Former Soccer Player on Finding Her New Normal

My name is Sasha Pina, and for the past 13 years, I’ve been living with Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS).

During a Labor Day weekend soccer tournament in 2010, I had a career-ending concussion. As I jumped up to head the ball, an opposing player elbowed me on the right side of the head, and I passed out mid-air. As I was landing, my head hit the ground and I was knocked unconscious. I was quickly admitted to the pediatric ICU where I stayed for four days. While there, my mom found out I had a grade 3 concussion, in addition to a lateral skull fracture, brain swelling, severe amnesia, photophobia, and loss of peripheral vision in my right eye. What we didn’t know was how much help I would need when it came to remembering certain things, and that this journey was far from over.

I took up soccer when I was 7 years old and played all the way through club and high school until the age of 16. The game was my passion, and I had dreams of playing in college and hopefully as a professional. I even had a college scout. I was that determined. In all my years of playing, I experienced multiple concussions but played through the headaches because I didn’t want to be sidelined. I thought they would go away on their own. But I have learned not all headaches are really “just headaches.” Sometimes it was hard to get up, but I still continued to play. I knew what concussions were but didn’t take them seriously. I don’t recall taking any classes or hearing coaches talk to us about head injuries.

With this last concussion, I had throbbing headaches that wouldn’t go away. It felt like they were never-ending, and they would sometimes even keep me up during the night. I also had memory problems, trouble finding my words, mood swings, balance issues, and trouble with concentration. During school, I had to limit my time to half-days for my brain to rest, and I was told to avoid physical activity. My friends were constantly asking why I was leaving so early. I spent six months in an extensive brain injury rehabilitation center doing physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech therapy. Over the years my PCS symptoms got better, but now I live with other aftereffects, including seizures that started about 10 months post-injury.

In July of 2011, I was diagnosed with epilepsy after having my first seizure during a church service. I have focal aware and focal unaware seizures coming from my left temporal lobe. I take multiple medications to treat them, some working better than others. But the side effects cause me to get tired easily and struggle with memory, making certain days challenging. Fortunately, I have learned coping skills to help on tough days, and I always have amazing support from my mom no matter the situation. In February 2016, I had a device surgically implanted called a vagus nerve stimulator (VNS), a pacemaker-like device in the left side of my chest with a wire that wraps around the vagus nerve. The VNS sends electrical stimulations to my brain to prevent abnormal brain activity which can cause a seizure. It has been life-changing, and we also noticed it helping with some of my other symptoms. My seizures have come to a point where we are currently seeking other treatment at UCLA.

Life has been a roller coaster with quite a bit of ups and downs, looking for answers, going to doctors (neurologists, epileptologists, PTs, OTs, neuro-ophthalmologists), and hoping the next day, week, or even month will be better than the last. You never think how playing the game you love can end in the snap of a finger and change your life. And not just me, but the lives of everyone around me. I have lost friends because it was hard for them to see me the way I was, so they just left. Luckily, I gained some new friends, as well.

I have always been one to share my story with anyone that asks, since you never know who you can help. I am a huge advocate for brain injury and epilepsy awareness, and I am involved with a few amazing foundations. I’m an ambassador for the Danny Did Foundation, which spreads awareness for seizure detection devices and awareness on Sudden Unexpected Death in Epilepsy (SUDEP). I’m an ambassador for VNS Therapy, where I tell others about my journey with a VNS. And I also work for the Hundley Foundation, where we help families living with epilepsy and other disabilities.

I was always told that time heals all wounds. I have learned it might not heal the way you want it to, but in time, it will heal, and you will learn to adapt to your “new normal.” Take your time to recover — no one is rushing you. Focus on the good, as any progress is something to celebrate. Make sure to have a strong support system of family and friends; I wouldn’t be where I am today without them. As hard as sharing my story has been at times throughout the years, it has helped me in my healing while also being helpful to others. Take it one day at a time. Remember, you are doing the best you can! If you think someone has a concussion, encourage them to tell their coach or parents, go to the doctor, and take the time to heal.

100 Feet of Peace: Healing in the Deep

In February of 2024, I embarked to Fiji on a press trip with the Professional Association of Diving Instructors (PADI), not just to explore the soft reef capital of the world, but also to discover a deeper healing process. As a former professional minor league hockey player, I was continuously dealing with and abruptly reshaped by traumatic brain injuries (TBIs) throughout my career. I never anticipated confronting these challenges during youth and high school hockey, undoubtedly the important developmental years of life. While in Fiji, a profound realization stirred within me, as I was quick to reflect on a truth that this was more than just diving in a beautiful destination — it was about internally processing how existing in the depths beneath the surface would bring me through a recovery journey.

My Journey to Diving

My time in sports built physical and mental resilience but left me and my family struggling to navigate the delicate complexities of TBI while laboring through the rippling tax of the injury. My initial introduction to diving as a kid evoked a mix of excitement and inspiration, a gratitude I owe my dad. In 2016, I got certified as a PADI Open Water Diver, allowing me to dive to 80 feet and explore an entirely new world in the ocean. Given the effects of my TBIs, engaging in my sport was a calculated risk, one I recognized and took measures to mitigate with a team of medical professionals as I entered my junior, collegiate, and professional playing career.

I navigated those years concussion-free yet underwent a serious search to find a solution for my lingering symptoms. As I started a deep dive (no pun intended) into building out my “toolbox” of symptom relief, I discovered that my first love gave me a profound sense of equilibrium. I call it ”saltwater therapy,” a phrase I learned from surf culture in 2016 while spending a few months away from the ice. I used surfing as a trial and error of sorts in my healing journey, watching the sunrise over Pismo Beach, California. Along with other neurologist recommendations, this was a promising tool for my toolbox, a new avenue for recovery — one that involved tranquility and tapping into my flow state in the waves. It wasn’t until my first dive later that year that I started to feel a similar ease.

 

The First Dive

The first dive was transformative. As I descended into the warm waters of Mexico, the weight of gravity — and my struggles — lifted. I was enveloped by an overwhelming sense of peace; the only sounds were my breath and white noise of the depths of surrounding marine life. The anxiety and constant noise cluttering my mind began to fade, replaced by an all-consuming calm. It was a manifestation of being truly present in the moment, a practice often recommended for mental wellness but seldom achieved with such clarity.

Fast forward several years and many dives later, I was in Fiji on the PADI press trip. Exploring the variety of vibrant coral ecosystems and marine life, I find stillness and tap into my flow state, a self-expression of full release. In that moment I am “in it” and focused, yet distant and relaxed. My mind draws away from the pressures that consume me: any pains, aches, worries, or troubles. My existence transforms to connection — connection through breath and weightlessness, gratitude and love.

Diving and Mental Health

Mindfulness and meditation can be greatly helpful during concussion recovery and enhance mental health, especially for those recovering from psychological trauma or even a variety of neurological conditions. The rhythmic breathing that naturally derives from diving mimics meditative breathing techniques, which help in reducing anxiety and improving emotional stability. Each dive deepens my connection to the present, a much-needed and welcomed escape from the usual rush of symptoms and thoughts.

 

Personal Transformation

Throughout my time in Fiji, each dive seemed to peel away layers of mental strain. When changing my buoyancy in the water, I drew parallels to the physical representation of mental and emotional release, allowing me to explore depths of both the ocean and my consciousness naturally. I would not realize the physical and mental processes taking place until after the dives. The vivid colors of coral and the playful curiosity of fish always bring an atmospheric wonder difficult to find anywhere else — a sensation I find replicated in different ways when reliving moments of my life in my flow state. Diving always gives me a meaningful and gentle reminder that despite my injuries and limitations, the capacity for awe, joy, inspiration, and appreciation remained unimpaired.

Reaching into Your Depths

The art of diving is, at its core, a practice in mindfulness, which has proven to greatly aid in my mental and even physical health recovery. The focused, controlled breathing, the profound silence and stillness under the water, and the removal of everyday sensory overload contributes to a therapeutic composure hard to find elsewhere.

This realization has reinforced my perspective on alternative therapies as a means of relief and aid for others in their journey with TBI. It has also developed my passion and appreciation for diving, which I plan to pursue further. It’s a testament to the unexpected pathways or tools, as I call them, to healing, which exist in our simplest connections — with others, water, nature, faith, spirituality, and even within the quiet depths of ourselves.

Make the Dive!

For anyone grappling with mental health issues or recovering from physical injuries, consider exploring the world of diving. The combination of physical activity, mental focus, and the serene environment may offer a new dimension of therapy and joy. If you’re looking to embark on this journey, PADI caters to all levels, life situations, and circumstances, guiding you safely into the calming waters of our Earth.

Diving in Fiji wasn’t just about the adventure and the destination. It was a profound journey to wellness, a testament to the power of our vast oceans. Whether above or below the surface, it seems there is a world of healing waiting to be discovered.

Read more about Tyler’s journey in this interview with KARE 11 Minneapolis.