Paul A. Dillon was 25, a young husband and new father, armed with two college degrees and a promising future, when he was forced to come face to face with his own mortality.

He was not alone, but that didn’t make it easier. The year was 1970. The place was South Vietnam.

Four decades later, Mr. Dillon sits on The Chicago School Board of Trustees, one of the institution’s strongest proponents of using the power and the potential of psychology to support the millions of troops and veterans who came before and after him.

“Were there psychological issues that manifested themselves in the soldiers I knew? I’m sure there were, but I wouldn’t have recognized the signs. The Army didn’t talk about those things in those days,” he says.

As a ROTC-trained first lieutenant, Mr. Dillon worked with Vietnam’s Civil Aviation Authority, negotiating air space agreements that would allow U.S. military planes to take off and land in the embattled region. Frequent trips into the field to supervise mobile radio control tower personnel brought the war into clear focus for him, but he refers to the “culture shock of seeing people work and live as they did thousands of years ago” as an equally impactful experience.

Mr. Dillon, left, with a former college roommate, Captain Gary W. McKillips, at the headquarters of the 4th Infantry Division Pleiku, South Vietnam, in 1970.

“When you come from a college-educated, middle-class background of fast cars and supermarkets, you have no frame of reference for the work you see people doing with primitive farm implements,” he says. “It takes time for you to become acclimated to your surroundings.” It just adds to the stress of being in a war zone and separated from your family, he adds.

Today, Mr. Dillon is a strong voice in support of initiatives like the Home Again project that The Chicago School has undertaken in partnership with the Illinois National Guard and the Michael Reese Health Trust (see story, page 20). The services provided to the families of soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan—and especially activities that encourage children to deal with the fears brought about by a parent’s deployment—are critical additions to the mental health initiatives that are receiving increasing priority in organizations striving to meet the needs of military and veteran families.

“When I was in the service, there were absolutely no services targeted to the psychological issues that families experienced,” he says. “It was hard—it was very, very hard, but you did the best you could. When I think back to what it was like during my one deployment, I can’t even imagine what it’s like for the families of soldiers who serve multiple tours of duty. The volunteer soldiers of today are true heroes in my book.”

The Army didn’t talk about those things in those days.

While acknowledging the difficulty of returning home from a war that was not widely supported, Mr. Dillon reflects on the changes in popular sentiment he witnessed over the years that followed. The turning point, he says, was the Vietnam Veterans Parade that took place in 1986 in downtown Chicago.

“That day, you just got a sense that something big was happening,” he recalls. “I was in a business suit and I stopped to watch. First came the marchers in fatigues and medals, led by General Westmoreland. It was like a coming out party for veterans. Then came the veterans in wheelchairs, all to an outpouring of support—it was like one of the ticker tape parades from old news reels. For the first time, we sensed the feeling of ‘welcome home’.”

During his 35-year career in the professional services industry, Mr. Dillon has been active in a wide array of community activities and served on numerous nonprofit boards, but says he has experienced particular satisfaction serving as a Chicago School trustee. His tenure—which was jump-started when he happened to sit next to President Horowitz at a community event—has seen him integrally involved in marketing and publicity functions, in governance, and in connecting the school with individuals and organizations that have helped it grow in both potential and public recognition. He has been instrumental in securing several of the honorary degree recipients and commencement speakers who have shared the platform at recent graduations.

“The true highlight of being a trustee is attending commencement,” he says. “This job isn’t about budgets or buildings or accounting systems. It’s about watching the expressions on the faces of graduates—and watching their eyes dance in the light—as they pick up their diplomas. No matter what’s going on in your life, that day is an uplifting experience. And those students are why trustees like me give our time and treasure.”