The fog rolled softly across the open field in Newnan, Georgia — the same field where years ago, Johnny Joey Jones took his first painful steps on prosthetic legs. The air was cool, filled with the scent of damp grass and the faint sound of laughter echoing through the morning mist. For many, it looked like an ordinary day in the South. But for Johnny and the group of veterans and children gathered around him, it was anything but ordinary. It was a day about courage — about learning how to rise again.
Johnny Joey Jones, a retired Marine and Fox News contributor, is more than a voice on television or a public speaker. He’s a living example of what resilience looks like. After losing both legs to an IED explosion during his service in Afghanistan, Johnny turned pain into purpose. His journey from the battlefield to the rehab field was marked by unimaginable physical and emotional battles. Yet, it’s that same battlefield spirit that inspired him to launch Operation Rise Again — a grassroots initiative aimed at helping wounded veterans and disabled children rediscover their strength and self-worth.
The Birth of “Operation Rise Again”
The idea came to Johnny not in a boardroom, but during one of his darkest nights in recovery. He remembers sitting in his hospital room at Walter Reed, staring at the empty space where his legs once were, feeling lost and broken. But then, he saw another veteran — a double amputee like himself — walk past his room, laughing. It wasn’t the sight of the prosthetics that caught Johnny’s attention. It was the joy. “That’s when I realized,” he later said, “that maybe I hadn’t lost everything. Maybe I just had to learn to live differently.”
Years later, Johnny founded Operation Rise Again to bring that same spark of hope to others. The program blends physical training with emotional mentorship, creating an environment where no one feels alone in their fight. Veterans train alongside children born with disabilities, each learning from the other in unexpected ways. “It’s not about how far you can walk,” Johnny often tells them, “it’s about how far you can believe.”
Training Beside Them, Falling Beside Them
On this particular misty morning, Johnny’s presence on the field was magnetic. He didn’t stand apart or issue commands from a distance. Instead, he was right there in the dirt with them — lifting weights, adjusting prosthetics, steadying a boy’s shoulders as he learned to balance. His laughter filled the air, a sound that carried both grit and grace.
When a young veteran stumbled and fell, Johnny didn’t rush to help him up. He sat down beside him instead. “It’s okay to stay down for a second,” Johnny said quietly. “But you don’t stay there forever.” Moments later, the man pushed himself up — slowly, shakily, but with a determination that brought the small group to applause.
That’s the philosophy of Operation Rise Again: not perfection, but perseverance. Progress, Johnny says, isn’t measured in steps, but in courage.
The Boy Who Wanted to Walk Like Johnny
Among the group was a boy named Mason — eight years old, full of fire, born without legs due to a congenital condition. From the first day he met Johnny, Mason couldn’t take his eyes off the Marine’s metal legs. “I want to walk like you,” he said, his voice trembling with both awe and innocence.
For weeks, Johnny worked beside Mason — encouraging him through falls, adjusting his prosthetics, teaching him how to balance. There were tears, laughter, and moments of silence when both simply sat on the grass, breathing hard and staring at the sky.
Then, one day, Mason did it. He ran — not far, just a few meters — but enough to make Johnny’s eyes glisten. The metal of his own prosthetics caught the morning sun, reflecting not just light, but victory. “That moment,” Johnny later recalled, “was worth every scar, every setback. Because it proved that loss can become a bridge — if you’re willing to walk across it.”
Teaching Courage, Not Just Movement
Johnny often tells participants that the real training happens inside, not outside. “Your legs, your arms — those are tools,” he says. “But your will, your spirit — that’s what carries you.” In Operation Rise Again, the lessons go far beyond physical therapy. Participants write letters to their younger selves, talk openly about fear and trauma, and support one another through every step of recovery.
One veteran, Mark Stevens, a former Army medic, said the program saved his life. “I thought I was done,” Mark admitted. “But Johnny showed me that I wasn’t broken — I was just being rebuilt.”
Parents of disabled children echo the same sentiment. One mother said through tears, “My son used to look at himself with shame. Now he looks in the mirror and sees a warrior.”
A Field That Heals
The field in Georgia isn’t just a training ground — it’s sacred soil. It’s where Johnny’s journey began, and now it’s where others begin theirs. The grass still bears faint tracks from wheelchairs and prosthetic feet. The air carries stories of struggle and triumph. Every laugh, every tear, every hand reaching down to lift another marks another small miracle.
On weekends, families gather to watch. Some bring food, others bring music. Local country artists — friends of Johnny’s from his years of advocacy — sometimes show up to perform acoustic sets for the veterans. It’s less a camp and more a community — one built on empathy, grit, and unshakable American spirit.
Beyond the Field
Operation Rise Again has grown far beyond that Georgia field. Johnny now travels across the country, speaking at schools, veteran hospitals, and corporate events — spreading the message that everyone has a battle to fight, and everyone can rise. The program has inspired satellite chapters in Texas, Tennessee, and North Carolina, each run by veterans who were once trainees themselves.
But Johnny insists it’s not about building an empire. “It’s about building people,” he says. “Every time a kid stands taller, every time a veteran rediscovers his smile — that’s the real victory.”
He’s also working with prosthetic designers to create more affordable, adaptive models for children. Many of these kids come from low-income families who could never dream of paying for advanced prosthetics. Johnny’s foundation partners with donors and engineers to make sure no child is left behind because of cost. “If you’ve got the will,” he says, “we’ll find a way.”
The Man Behind the Mission
Despite his growing fame, Johnny remains humble. Friends describe him as someone who never forgot where he came from — a small Georgia town, a hardworking family, and a deep sense of duty. He still visits the same diner where he ate breakfast as a kid. He still drives his old pickup, with a prosthetic leg resting against the gas pedal and country music playing on the radio.
When asked what keeps him going, Johnny doesn’t hesitate. “Gratitude,” he says. “I shouldn’t be here. But I am. So I’m going to make it count.”
His words aren’t just motivational — they’re lived truth. For Johnny Joey Jones, hope isn’t abstract. It’s something you build, step by step, with metal, sweat, and heart.
The Legacy of “Operation Rise Again”
As the mist lifted that morning and the sun broke through the clouds, the field came alive with color and motion. Veterans walked. Children ran. Parents cheered. And at the center of it all stood Johnny — steady, smiling, a man who had turned his deepest pain into purpose.
He knows he can’t heal every wound. But what he offers — courage, community, and compassion — is often the first medicine people need.
No one leaves that field the same. Because there, on that sacred patch of Georgia soil, they learn that a soldier can lose his legs — but never his hope. And sometimes, that’s enough to help the whole world stand a little taller.
