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								|  Country singer-songwriter Stephen Cochran is a former 
			Marine and a wounded veteran. His back was broken in an ambush while 
			he was serving in Afghanistan in July 2004. Now, with his music 
			career on track, Cochran also works to promote programs that help to 
			meet the needs of wounded veterans. Courtesy photo.
 |  | WASHINGTON, Jan. 29, 2009 -- Stephen 
					Cochran was a normal 19-year-old with a dream of making 
					music his life when the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks 
					led him down an unplanned path to the Marine Corps. 
					“I dropped out of college. I walked away 
					from a record deal,” he said. “I was engaged.” 
					 He didn't discuss his decision with his 
					parents, or even his then-fianc�e, who broke the engagement 
					when he announced he'd enlisted. “It was really the first 
					grown-up decision I'd ever made,” Cochran said. 
 The musician, born in Pikeville, Ky., grew up in Nashville's 
					songwriting and recording community. There, he learned the 
					art of songwriting from his father. He made his musical 
					debut on the radio at age 3 and had his first band by 15.
 
 At 17, he was offered a record deal, but he and his parents 
					agreed that he needed to go to college first. If this offer 
					had been made now, they reasoned, there would be others 
					after college.
 
 While at Western Kentucky University, Cochran played 
					lacrosse and continued to write songs and play music. True 
					to his parents' prediction, he was offered another record 
					deal. But he wanted to finish school.
 
					The company offered a promissory note, but 
					then Sept. 11 happened. “It 
					was just so horrific,” he said. “It's like I'd been called. 
					I'd never been pulled so hard to do something.” |  | 
| It may have been the audacity of the 
					attacks, but more likely it was his family's long history of 
					military service that drew him to enlist, he said. Both 
					grandfathers served, as did an uncle and several other 
					relatives. 
 “I've always been raised very, very patriotic. It's just 
					what I had to do,” Cochran said of his decision to join the 
					Marines.
 
 It wasn't long before he found himself in Kuwait with the 
					2nd Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, part of the 1st 
					Marine Expeditionary Force, waiting to cross into Iraq. He 
					was 20.
 
 Once the unit crossed the Kuwait-Iraq border, contact with 
					the enemy was a daily ocurrence, Cochran said. When the 
					unit's tour was finished, the Marines had fought their way 
					to Tikrit and back.
 
 “We brought every man home with us,” he said. “They said we 
					did 111 missions. That was more missions than any other unit 
					had done since Vietnam.”
 
 But daily battle takes its toll. Cochran said he thinks 
					every Marine in his section showed signs of post-traumatic 
					stress disorder.
 
 Four months later, however, the entire battalion volunteered 
					to go to Afghanistan with the 22nd Marine Expeditionary 
					Unit. They figured nothing could be worse than Iraq.
 
 They were wrong.
 
 “In Afghanistan, everything was just dead. There was no 
					foliage. The people wouldn't look you in the eye,” he said, 
					adding that he and his buddies had learned that usually 
					meant they had something to hide.
 
 In fact, after several months of daily fighting in 
					Afghanistan, the Marines began to wonder just how wrong 
					they'd been about nothing being worse than the fighting in 
					Iraq.
 
 “Some of us came up with a theory that maybe we had been 
					killed in Iraq and now we were in hell,” Cochran said with a 
					chuckle that belied the seriousness of the thought.
 
 That theory may have been conceived during a mission where 
					the Marines were outnumbered more than 2 to 1 and he lost 
					one of his best friends.
 
 “It was a suicide mission,” Cochran said. “We 100 percent 
					knew there was going to be a casualty on this mission. We 
					knew it.”
 
 The mission initially sent a five-man team into what Cochran 
					described as very hostile territory. When 26 insurgents 
					ambushed the team, another seven-man team responded. Despite 
					killing 14 insurgents before the fight was over, they'd lost 
					one Marine.
 
 “If you wanted to pick one man to represent the entire 
					military, it was him,” he said about the Marine. “We were 
					all trying to figure out different ports we could get drunk 
					in. He was trying to get us into Bible study.”
 
 About a month later, on July 14, 2004, Cochran was on his 
					last mission, working security for convoys carrying 
					equipment back to Kandahar, when he was injured.
 
 Just 20 yards inside Kandahar, the vehicle he was riding in 
					hit an anti-tank mine. He was thrown from the vehicle and 
					broke the five vertebrae in his lower back.
 
 When he woke in the National Naval Medical Center in 
					Bethesda, Md., a month later, he discovered he was paralyzed 
					from the waist down and most likely never would walk again.
 
 To add insult to injury, the record company that had offered 
					Cochran the deal dropped him, saying they couldn't put $1 
					million dollars into a paraplegic.
 
 “I understand. It's a business,” he said. “[But] I never 
					believed I was never going to walk again.”
 
 The doctors at Bethesda weren't so hopeful. Despite the fact 
					that Cochran's spinal cord was intact, the bone and 
					cartilage were severely damaged and were pulling on his 
					spinal cord. The doctors' best suggestion was to fuse the 
					bone together to alleviate the pain.
 
 Another option surfaced, however. Though his doctors in 
					Bethesda, who were just beginning to see the types of 
					injuries that became typical with servicemembers fighting in 
					Iraq and Afghanistan, were vehemently against the idea, his 
					mother -- and first sergeant -- pushed for the procedure. 
					They finally won.
 
 Kyphoplasty, a procedure used to restore fractured vertebra, 
					usually is reserved for older patients suffering from 
					degeneration of the vertebrae and cartilage. However, six 
					months after an orthopedic surgeon at Vanderbilt Medical 
					Center used essentially 4 pounds of cement to fix the 
					crushed vertebrae in Cochran's back, he was up and walking 
					with the help of a walker.
 
 Today, he's back on the country music scene and has a deal 
					with Aria Records. His debut album, “Friday Night Fireside,” 
					has received more than favorable reviews.
 
 While music is his passion, Cochran said, he found room for 
					a second passion after his recovery: working to make sure 
					wounded veterans have what they need to recover and live the 
					fullest life possible.
 
 He does this is by working with the Independence Fund, a 
					nonprofit organization that, among other things, provides 
					robotic wheelchairs to veterans confined to wheelchairs. The 
					high-tech chairs can walk stairs and give the veterans their 
					height back, Cochran said.
 
 “They can look everybody in the eye,” Cochran said. “That's 
					the biggest thing. When I was in a wheelchair ... I had to 
					look up at everybody. It was a big shock to your confidence. 
					This raises them up to where they can have a conversation 
					and look you in the eye.”
 
 It has the same technology as the Segway personal 
					transporter, so it won't fall over, he added.
 
 As amazing as that piece of technology is, Cochran said, 
					bigger things are on the horizon and he'll do everything he 
					can to make sure veterans have access to them.
 
 “My goal is that the bigger I get in music, the bigger my 
					pulpit can get to preach on my soapbox ... and really get more 
					people involved,” he said. “There's a lot of people in the 
					music business who talk a lot. We just need them to get 
					their checkbooks out now.”
 
 What Cochran said he would really like, however, is for 
					veterans to never have to worry about what comes next.
 
 “I want to have a foundation that covers you from the time 
					you enlist or from the time you're commissioned until we put 
					you in the ground,” he said. “There is no reason a man 
					shooting a basketball should have to not worry about 
					anything in life, and a man that is ready to take a bullet 
					should.”
 
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