Odysseus in America

by Jonathan Shay

  Our work is political also in the sense that we vigorously encourage the veterans to participate in the democratic political life of the country that they fought for. Unhealed combat trauma disables the basic social and cognitive capacities required for democratic participation:26

  • Being able to show up at an appointed time and place, possibly in a crowd of strangers.

  • Being able to experience words as trustworthy.

  • Seeing the possibility of persuasion, negotiation, compromise, concession.

  • Seeing the possibility of winning without killing, of losing without dying.

  • Seeing the future as real and meaningful.

  For any mental health professional to work with American combat veterans injured in the service of their country, and not to find incapacity for democratic participation to be a meaningful clinical issue, strikes me as odd, to say the least.

  In various ways and with varying intensity, members of the VIP team role-model participation in public life. We are active in education of other mental health professionals on trauma treatment in general, and on combat veterans in particular. The veterans participated with great satisfaction in video education projects for mental health professionals—two such videos formed presentations at professional meetings. As a team we have presented at professional meetings and published in professional books and journals, with full knowledge of the veteran community. I have publicly testified on veterans’ concerns at congressional hearings, done media appearances on the themes of combat trauma and on prevention of psychological injury in military service, written for the trade press (this book, for example, and Achilles in Vietnam), and lectured or organized conference panels on prevention of psychological injury for many active duty military audiences. The VIP veterans are particularly supportive of these “missionary” activities to the active military. They don’t want other young kids to be wrecked the way they were wrecked.

  In the traditional world of the health professional, such activities are regarded as a hobby, or a distraction from the “real” work of seeing patients one at a time in a health care institution. I believe that these public and political activities are integral to the treatment of complex PTSD after combat. That’s my view, at least; not everyone in the VIP team agrees. As a team we earn trust on the basis of our character, and our public activities are evidence of our character.27

  I have attempted here to sketch a portrait of an intentionally created and mindfully maintained community of combat veterans within a Department of Veterans Affairs clinic. The health professions in general have a long history of acting like the rooster who claims to raise the sun above the horizon each morning with its crowing. Much recovery from injury or illness is the body’s own work, which the skilled physician can only cooperate with. Likewise, recovery from complex PTSD sometimes happens “spontaneously.” I contend that self-organized or preexisting communities—that we have not yet found a way to notice and encourage—nourish such “spontaneous” recovery. Whether intentionally constructed or self-organized, the conditions required for recovery are the same: a trustworthy community.

  One kind of self-organized community is the Internet discussion group. As a segue to the next chapter, I reproduce here an e-mail message to the VWAR discussion group. It describes the experience of Army veteran Michael Viehman at the Wall with another veteran and the latter’s wife:

  I went to the Wall—once …

  Terminator [pen name of a discussion member who lives in the Washington area] and some other friends took me. I was in shock on the walk to my panel. I’m not used to pullin’ point … I had my boots with a medal wired to them and with a copy of “Helmets” [a poem] inside. I wouldn’t approach for a bit … I wanted to die … Finally I got the guts to go on up to the panel and stand there with my measly offering in my hand. There was a deep reason, to me, for each of the things I carried … I walked over III Corp and into Cambodia in those boots with my Brothers. That medal which I received, I never felt I deserved. You see … so many of my Brothers died—or worse … and never got one. I was nobody … nuthin’ … and I was NOT deserving. Others died and I got their medal…. I was afraid to go to the Wall ’cause I was afraid that my emotional numbing would come back as it overwhelmed me. I tell people that I don’t remember the names of my dead Brothers—I lie … As I ran across each name, they jumped out of the Wall, down my throat past the lump and back into my soul. I began to go numb and I just stood there with my boots an’ shit in my hands. ALL feeling left me as I stood there. THEN, one over-riding feeling washed over me—THIS IS A SACRED PLACE OF HEROES—I DO NOT BELONG HERE …

  I’m a little unclear about what happened next but I remember this much…. I turned, in shock, and began to move quickly away from the Wall—towards the chain. I would’ve gone through it but for strong hands stopping me…. A voice whispered in my ear something like “It’s OK, it’s OK” and “Talk—say it …” I heard a voice from somewhere say these words … “My stuff doesn’t deserve to be here—not the boots, not the Star, not the writing …” Some big burly, mean, son-of-a-bitch hugged me and first a quiver from deep within my soul escaped after 24 years … then a sob … The dam broke. I was wracked with deep gut-wrenching sobs as my soul was torn out and cast across the clear, starlit sky. Term, … EtN [Terminator’s wife], an’ others held me up. My dead Brothers watched and I could feel their concern—for me…. I finally took my boots an’ stuff and placed them at the panel with respect and tried to lay part of my life to rest. Never to forget … but, perchance, to move forward … I could feel my Brothers watching—I shit you not.28

  In the next chapter we hear some members of the VWAR Internet community begin to talk through and communalize the suicide of Marine Corps veteran and multiple amputee, Lewis B. Puller, Jr., the author of the 1992 Pulitzer Prize for Biography, Fortunate Son: The Healing of a Vietnam Vet. This autobiography was in large part a tribute to his father, Marine Corps Lieutenant General “Chesty” Puller, who was probably the most admired marine of the twentieth century. Lewis Puller’s grit and courage inspired many; the shock and prostration from learning of his suicide were deepened by the prior uplift.

  18 Lew Puller Ain’t on the Wall

  Lydia Fish is not a veteran. She is a professor of anthropology at Buffalo State College, and a scholar of the American folklore of war, particularly of the songs of the Vietnam War. When she created VWAR, “an Internet discussion list set up to facilitate communication among veterans, teachers, scholars and students of the Vietnam War,”1 she did not think she was creating a community. Even less did she think she was saving anyone’s life—yet over the few years that I was active in this Internet discussion, several veterans expressed their belief that they would have died by their own hand were it not for the social support that this cyber-community provided. Veterans in VIP have said the same about our program.

  I joined VWAR as one of the “scholars and students,” not as a clinician. While I freely expressed my beliefs (particularly in the value of such communities) I stayed clear of anything resembling therapy or medical advice. I hoped to learn and to gain critical feedback on my ideas and writings. Like any ordinary member, I exchanged information and opinions, got into arguments, made friends, learned a lot, and was addicted to my e-mail. About five years ago, when my “missionary work” on prevention of psychological and moral injury in military service was taking off, I could no longer put in the time. I decided that dropping out of the discussion would be better than being inattentive and superficial.

  What follows is an edited and abbreviated transcript of the first couple days’ responses by members of this community to news that Lewis Puller had killed himself, and—most important—of their responses to one another. All messages are used by permission of their authors, none of whom have ever been my patients.2 Most, not all, members of this discussion use nicknames. The discussion’s roughly two hundred members came from all over the country, from Florida to Puget Sound, from Massac
husetts to California, from the inner city to almost “off the grid” in the mountains of New Mexico or upper New York State.

  Date: Wed, 11 May 1994 17:45:14 EDT

  From: Corkster

  Subject: Lewis Puller

  X-To: Multiple recipients of list VWAR-L

  A sad sad day—Lew Puller committed suicide today—of course I can’t find Lola’s number—tried to call Cap’n Jack since I hope Lola didn’t have to hear it on the news … and the toll rises yet again.

  Corkster

  Corky Condon described herself this way: “Developer/Director of In Touch program—Incorporator of Sons & Daughters In Touch, a nonprofit organization for family members of VN KIA/MIA. Wall and Moving Wall volunteer, daughter of Robert E. Condon KIA 1/18/68, wife of a combat wounded (disabled physical and PTSD) veteran (LRRP, 25th DIV—RVN 1967-1968).”3

  Ah, shit! Just shit!

  Druid

  LEWIS PULLER AIN’T ON THE WALL

  News of Puller’s suicide is painful, then tearful.

  I drive ChuYen to the Wall in a Demon rage, we make the trip in eight minutes; if she’d been flesh and blood I would have ridden her to death.

  There are many kids at the wall, tour groups on a deadline. I walk the Wall to the Three Doods, waiting for kids and big-assed tourists to disperse.

  Alone at last, I light my candle; cupping the guttering flame in my right palm. Staring at the flame I clear my mind of all but the death of Puller.

  “God! God I’m tired of this shit! This is enough! No more! Please God! no more …”

  But God doesn’t answer, he never did; not then, not now.

  I cry again, not for Lew Puller, but for me. If he can do it, so can I. My acknowledgment of that fact scares the hell out of me.

  Walking down to the apex of the Wall I stand before the Ockham edge; 1975 on my left and 1959 on my right. Candle flame reflected in the beginning and the end equally. Lights from the walkway glowing upward on to each panel; joining as a single light in the edge, level with the flame.

  I see Puller, and many others, there in the mix of flame and lights.

  Not on the Wall …

  But they should be …

  Leaving the candle jammed in between two cobble stones I walk away to ChuYen.

  The candle guttering low and blue in the breeze.

  Copyright May 1994, W. T. Edmonds, Jr. All Rights Reserved

  Tom Edmonds writes the following about himself: “William T. Edmonds, Jr. Born Nov 1994. Both parents were WWII veterans. Raised in a tough blue-collar neighborhood in Houston Texas. First in my family to graduate from college although it took almost 15 years to get it done. Drafted in 1965, re-enlisted after Vietnam and spent a total of 10 years on active duty. After the Army I worked twenty years in data processing and computer security in the US and Saudi Arabia. Retired in 1992. Currently living in Falls Church Virginia in genteel poverty with my second wife Marybeth, a former Army nurse and Vietnam veteran, and our daughter (the youngest of 5 kids between us.) ‘Lewis Puller Ain’t on the Wall’ is from my unpublished manuscript THE WAY OF BAMBOO. I still write and make presentations to colleges and high schools about the war; and own and run several Internet discussion lists about the Vietnam War for veterans.”4

  Lola tried to encourage Puller to join the Mayday gathering—He didn’t come.

  Some writing is on the Wall. Some of it is between the lines.

  Corkster

  Nice obituary on “Morning Edition” (National Public Radio) this morning. They played excerpts from a reading he had given on “Fresh Air” a few years ago.

  May he rest in peace.

  Lydia

  Lydia Fish, the list owner

  One of the members had asked if Lew Puller was the same person as Chesty Puller.

  Monte,

  Lewis B. Puller, aged 48, lost his legs in Vietnam after stepping on a mine while leading a marine combat platoon.

  His book, Fortunate Son (Grove Weidenfield, 1991) was written as a tribute to his father, Gen. Lewis B. (Chesty) Puller, the most decorated marine in the history of the Corps. The book won the Pulitzer Prize for biography in 1992. He was planning to write a second book about Sen. Kerrey who he met while they were recovering from their wounds at the Philadelphia Naval Hospital in 1968.

  Says Kerrey after learning of Puller’s death, “Tragically, in the end he was not able to give himself the lift he gave to all those who read his book.”

  His wife Linda is currently a member of the Virginia House of Delegates. He’s survived by a son, Lewis 3d and a daughter, Margaret.

  A man not to be forgotten. This is a classic example of the old statement, “do as I say not as I do” if one is to honor what Puller wrote about in his book. I know it’s a hell of a lot easier said than done but it can be done.

  He may not be “on the Wall” but he is certainly “of the Wall” and “in the Wall” as we all are.

  dog handler

  Dog Handler is the Net moniker for Tom Sykes, who is Director of Media Services at Lawrence University in Appleton, Wisconsin; he is active with the Vietnam Dog Handlers Association.5 According to Harry G. Summers’s Vietnam War Almanac, dogs were used by American forces in Vietnam for “scouting, mine detecting, tracking, sentry duty, flushing out tunnels, and drug detecting … ambush avoidance and detection of sampan movement at night.”6

  Tears flow freely onto the keyboard today. I didn’t know Lewis Puller personally but he was a brother of mine. His visible scars were so terrible that maybe I just forgot that, of course, he would have the emotional ones too—like the rest of us.

  Michele called me at the Fire Department this AM before I got relieved to tell me of Corky’s post. I had to get off the phone quickly before I cried. I could feel the old sorrow, rage and frustration anew. I took one of the detectives (a fellow Redcatcher) outside and told him. Made his day too.

  It was in the morning paper on the table. Shit. One of the guys, not a vet, made some kind of derogatory remark about it. Not trusting my voice or my temper, I simply gave him “a look,” my eyes red with held-back tears. My anger must have been evident since he spilled his coffee on himself and went away. I saw another vvet explain things to him outside. I’m the in-house crazed nam vet and they are afraid of me. Good. I am too.

  So why am I so upset by this death of a brother? It’s not like it’s the first—or the last. Maybe because I admired his strength. Maybe ’cause I fear my lack of it will come home to roost. Maybe because we worked another suicide at the FD yesterday. 48 yo woman with both ventricles pierced by an 8 inch butcher knife sunk in her chest past the hilt (121) or the “sudden death” (122) that came later yesterday or the heart attack this AM about 0200 or the heart attack about 0600.1 do know—Death stalked the land yesterday.

  What about today? Maybe the woods. Maybe the chair in the corner. Maybe the highway. Was gonna drive the chevy/dodge truck today but it doesn’t go fast enough—the Supra does—I hope. I get real tired of hidin’ an’ runnin’ from the demons. Am I the only one? Has it crossed anyone else’s mind?

  You think maybe Lew was right? Is it the only real escape? I got questions. I’m out of answers.

  Lewis Puller—you have my utmost respect and admiration. I don’t drink anymore but today I will smoke one in honor of your Spirit. May you, at last, be at peace. I hope to see you when I get there.

  Peace,

  V-man

  Michael Viehman is also the author of the message that concluded the previous chapter. In e-mail to me on December 4, 2001, he wrote of himself, “Mike Viehman served in Vietnam as a Chaplain’s Assistant in War Zones C & D in the Iron Triangle region of III Corp out of firebases Libby, Gladys and Nancy while assigned to the 199th Light Infantry Brigade in 1970 and, later, with 3rd Ord Bn. He received the Bronze Star Medal and returned CONUS to work for over 20 years as a firefighter/paramedic before retiring on duty disability after breaking his back on his last fire call in 1995. He is now embarking on a second career in knife
making. He has been married to his second wife and helpmate, Michele, since 1975.” My wife and I met Mike and Michele at a VWAR camp-in in the Adirondack Mountains.

  hey. puller lives on. It’s up to us to keep him alive. through the tears, fears and pain. it goes on until we’re all gone and then, like all those who have gone before us, we belong to the great river. so it is, so it goes, one day at a time.

  voodoo chile

  Marc B. Adin, Fourth Infantry Division, Central Highlands, RVN, 1968-1969. He writes that he is now in end-stage liver disease, contracted from a blood transfusion in Vietnam.7

  i for one ask the same question everyday.

  am i the only one?

  It puller wasn’t alone

  i tried and failed a couple times

  next time i may succeed

  who knows

  the big question is when is the struggle

  no longer worth the effort

  when does the pain overwhelm the desire to live

  murray the k

  Warren Murray writes: “I was commissioned an 18 year old second It. and turned 20 in Vietnam. It remains to this day the most defining and debilitating experience of my life. I am ashamed of my PTSD diagnosis and feel somehow I have failed all those soldiers who served with honor.”8

  murray—

  i only tried once although i probably was trying more than once when it came to the way i lived my life for so many years. but for me living is for my family, my little girl and my wonderful wife, and my mom, and my brother who still lives with the horrors of Con Thien. i live for my cousin who is dying of aids, my aunt who is dying of alcoholism, my cousin who is dying of hate left over from the Ashau.

  i live to see the smiles on their faces when i tell them that i love them, cant live without them, and want to see them all the time, the pain, the pain is part of me, you, all of us and is never bigger than everyone we need and who need us.