What reviewers say of Janice Landry’s books
In The Price We Pay, Janice Landry offers us a straightforward and compassionate discussion of trauma and PTSD among first responders and others involved in shock events. Landry’s narrative is a delicate balance of journalistic inquiry, tempered by a respectful and protective treatment of the men and women who shared intimate and often painful details of their lives. This is a much-needed human and hopeful story during an age where scientific jargon, unfortunately, continues to mystify our understanding of the cause and recovery from the effects of terrible and unexpected events. The book contains a gentle caution about the power of secrets in contributing to lingering personal turmoil and suicidality among those who have been traumatized.
– Dr. John Whelan,
Psychologist, Author, Military Veteran
Janice’s interviewing skills from her years as a journalist show in both her books, The Sixty Second Story and The Price We Pay. She lets her subjects tell their own stories in a way that puts you there in the situation with them. Emergency first responders, and those who have gone through traumatic events, can read Janice’s books knowing they’re not alone.
– Paul Greene, former journalist
The Price We Pay is so well-written with many incredible stories between its covers. Each story spoke loudly to me, both as a first responder and a human being. I really believe there is no single audience for this book; anyone who reads it will connect with its words in one way or another. The interviews are candid, intimate, and, at times, very deep, raw and emotional. This book contains many stories of traumatic events and the vicarious trauma that affected those who lived through these events. But a much stronger message of hope and resilience, in the face of trauma, permeates each and every page; it left me feeling even more privileged to be a member of the first responder family and of humanity. This book is an absolute masterpiece …
– Christopher Boudreau, Paramedic,
Emergency Health Services Nova Scotia
Fair Warning
There are many traumatic incidents discussed in this book. The descriptions are detailed enough so the reader can have a clear understanding of what has taken place; however, care has been taken to not be overtly graphic for the sake of sensationalism, or to possibly trigger readers who may live with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), other mental health issues, or operational stress injuries.
Despite that, this work is not appropriate for children or youth, as it discusses violent crimes, including murders, war, abductions, rapes, plane crashes, workplace accidents, an earthquake aftermath, a riot and hostage taking, shootings, and one case involving a pedophile.
Please take care while you read.
Triggers are unique for each person. It is impossible to omit all of them for every reader.
The aim of my work is to educate the public, encourage discussion and awareness around mental health, and to ultimately help people impacted by trauma. I do not want, or intend, to revictimize readers.
Take heed of what is said by all the people in these pages. Start discussing and debating mental health and trauma before people deploy, respond, leave the workplace, classroom, or newsroom.
The Legacy Letters
How trauma affects our lives
Janice Landry
Pottersfield Press, Lawrencetown Beach, Nova Scotia, Canada
Copyright © Janice Landry 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or used or stored in any form or by any means – graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying – or by any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any requests for photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems shall be directed in writing to the publisher or to Access Copyright, The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (www.AccessCopyright.ca). This also applies to classroom use.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Landry, Janice, 1965-, author
The legacy letters: how trauma affects our lives / Janice Landry.
ISBN 978-1-988286-10-5 (softcover)
ISBN EPUB 978-1-988286-26-6
1. Psychic trauma--Canada--Case studies.
2. Missing persons--Nova Scotia--Case studies.
3. Murder--Nova Scotia--Case studies.
4. Criminal investigation--Canada--Case studies. I. Title.
BF175.5.P75L36 2017616.85’21C2017-902767-0
Cover design: Gail LeBlanc
Pottersfield Press gratefully acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities. We also acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Province of Nova Scotia which has assisted us to develop and promote our creative industries for the benefit of all Nova Scotians.
Pottersfield Press
83 Leslie Road
East Lawrencetown, Nova Scotia, Canada, B2Z 1P8
Website: www.PottersfieldPress.com
To order, phone 1-800-NIMBUS9 (1-800-646-2879) www.nimbus.ns.ca
Printed in Canada
Pottersfield Press is committed to preserving the environment and the appropriate harvesting of trees and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.
This book is dedicated to those who have lost their lives to or who have been affected by trauma, emergencies, accidents, and crime. It is for the victims, their families and loved ones. We care about you.
This work is also for the people, across professions, who selflessly and repeatedly try to help others in the face of adversity, conflict, and danger. Thank you.
Lastly, my writing is always dedicated to my immediate family: Rob, Laura, Theresa, and Betty, and especially to my late firefighting father, Captain Basil (Baz) Landry, M.B. Love you all.
Contents
Phonse Jessome’s Foreword and Legacy Letter
The Birth and Evolution of the Letters
Prologue: The Power of Eight
1 The Looking Glass
2 Andrea King: Roses in the Woods
3 Ann King: A Long-Distance Admission
Ann King’s Legacy Letter
4 Where is Kimberly McAndrew?
5 Forced Self-Reflection
6 Dave Worrell: Full Course – Gone But Not Forgotten
Dave Worrell’s Legacy Letter
7 Kate Lines: From Patrol Cop to Profiler
Kate Lines’ Legacy Letter
8 Elder Joe Michael and Morgan MacDonald: Comemmorating The Ultimate Sacrifice
Morgan MacDonald’s Legacy Letter
9 Angela Gevaudan: White Eagle Dove’s Wisdom
10 Erin Alvarez: Family Focus
Erin Alvarez’s Legacy Letter
11 Bill Sandford: The Memory Box
Bill Sandford’s Legacy Letter
12 Dave Ralph: First, First Responders
Dave Ralph’s Legacy Letter
13 John Bredin: Pushing Boundaries to Effect Change
John Bredin’s Legacy Letter
14 Al Tweten: Balancing Trauma with Beauty
Al Tweten’s Legacy Letter
15 Michael and Tracey Hilliard: The Other Firefighter
Tracey Hilliard’s Legacy Letter
Michael Hilliard’s Legacy Letter
16 Monique Bartlett and Lucie (Rouleau) Giocondese: The Search for Monique-Lucie
Monique Bartlett’s Legacy Letter
Lucie (Rouleau) Giocondese’s Legacy Letter
Postscript
Acknowledgements
Investigative Tips
Phonse Jessome’s Foreword and Legacy Letter
When Janice gave me the opportunity to introduce this book, I was
thrilled and intimidated. Her understanding of trauma and her ability to write clearly on such a difficult topic are gifts she shares willingly. My own battles with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) make trauma a topic I fear, even as I care deeply about it. We hear about trauma in the news quite often now. We see stories about PTSD and tragically much of it is about suicide, a topic we try to avoid. In this book, Janice points a bright light into the dark hole that is traumatic injury. She lets us see beyond the headlines into the very nature of trauma and those affected by it.
The Legacy Letters is much more than a book about trauma, though; it’s also a true crime fan’s treasure trove. Janice reviews many of the crimes she covered as a journalist, and even breaks new ground in one of Halifax’s oldest unsolved cases. That alone makes this a good read, but I believe her treatment of trauma elevates it to greatness.
I’ve known Janice for more than twenty years. We were adrenaline junkies back then, chasing trauma from the old ATV newsroom. The cliché about TV news is that if it bleeds, it leads. Trauma is drama, and drama is story. A good story is what TV news thrives on. Besides, with trauma there was always plenty of blood.
Janice worked exhaustively on human trafficking stories. It was a trauma-filled beat to cover. I chased the drug war the Hells Angels were waging with a former club member. It gave me nine bodies and the trauma that comes with murder. We worked side by side, but we were in competition for that lead slot every day. We joked recently that, in all that time, amid all that blood and violence we never asked each other a simple question: How are you holding up? We weren’t insensitive – we were addicted to the adrenaline, and neither of us understood the danger of trauma. Now I do, and as you’ll see in these pages, so does she.
I believe trauma is a physical force of nature. You can’t see or touch it but you certainly can feel it. Janice’s approach in The Legacy Letters is to revisit and update traumatic stories. In each she allows one of those left with the invisible scarring of trauma to write you a letter about it. Janice has made it her mission to champion the cause of those injured by trauma, especially first responders and their families. Here she looks deeper at how trauma affects a wider group. Why is that so important to me? Because I played with that fire for thirty-three years and it cost me my future. I believe people need to understand trauma and the darkness it leaves in its wake. I offer my own legacy letter as an example.
This letter is not intended to shock you, but parts of it might. The worst of my experience will remain off the page. The doctors tell me not to write about those things, not yet. If what you read causes something to stir inside, that’s important. I’ll explain why a little later.
The first time I felt the iron claw of trauma reach inside my chest and squeeze shut, it flooded me with adrenaline and fear. I was nineteen years old and reporting for CJCB radio in Sydney, Nova Scotia. An abandoned house fire had me parked among the fire engines. I worked there, tethered to my radio truck by the tiny wire that let me broadcast live. I was rooted on the sidewalk near the house, when everything changed. Once they had the fire down, firefighters found the blackened bodies of five homeless men in that house. They carried them out silently, laying them on the stretch of sidewalk next to the one where I was working. Those twisted and deformed bodies smouldered in front of me.
It was my first exposure to the reality of sudden, violent death. I was filled with unease and wanted to leave. I looked to the police and firefighters who continued their work. This was 1981 before the arrival of yellow tape, when journalists were given full access. Nineteen or not, I was a working journalist. I copied the first responders and kept busy. I learned a trick that night. I could funnel all that adrenaline into my work. Live reporting is a high-pressure, fast-paced job. Adrenaline helps.
It was a trick that served me well in much worse scenes over the years, but eventually it took its toll. When you ignore trauma, just work through it, that iron claw in your chest pierces your soul and leaves a deep scar that never heals.
My next exposure came soon afterward. I watched as the battered and broken body of a two-year-old girl was carried to a waiting ambulance. She’d been tortured and murdered in a thicket beside her house, her own little play area. The sight of her tiny body forced that claw back into my chest and ignited the fight or flight response. With no one to fight and nowhere to run, I began interviewing neighbours who stood watching the slow procession. I decided the trauma was theirs, not mine. I was a professional observer and there was no room for feeling in my world. I channelled the energy into my work again.
I carried that attitude with me to murders, fires, drownings, every kind of violent death. I watched and worked as broken bodies were pulled from car wrecks. When the body of a girl I had dated was pulled from her crushed car, I was almost knocked over by the shock. I forced myself to ignore what I felt and work on her story. Someone once joked in the newsroom that death was my thing. It wasn’t, but I rose to it every time.
Exposure didn’t always involve seeing the dead. Some of the most traumatic interviews I’ve done were with those left behind. I remember standing beside an impossibly small coffin talking to a mother whose days-old infant boy was inside. The boy’s father had smashed him repeatedly into their apartment wall for crying too much when he arrived home from the hospital. That mother’s howling anguish was a physical force that I felt deep inside as she begged me to explain “why.”
In 1992, I felt a different kind of trauma when I saw the bodies and blood in the kitchen where they made my daughter’s Happy Meals. I felt a sickening calm. No adrenaline, no fight or flight. A flatline of emotion marked my first episode of dissociation. I immersed myself in the trauma of the McDonald’s murders for the next three years, covering all the trials, seeing all the evidence, befriending the victim’s families, and finally writing a book about it all. I was changed forever.
In the years afterward, I began to crave danger as well as trauma. I needed to feel that rush of panic to feel alive. I pushed my luck so far on the crime beat, I was held at gunpoint three times. Each time I walked away and used the fear as fuel. I went to Bosnia and saw what no one should see, what modern weapons can do to a human. As I walked among the burned bodies and severed heads and limbs of the dead soldiers, I was back to myself, channelling the energy and working on how I would report what I was seeing to a TV audience back home. I did the same among the bloated bodies and starving children in Haiti and the 20,000 dead left by Hurricane Mitch in Honduras.
I remember in June of 1998 watching a Mountie cry outside a house where two young boys had been shot to death in their beds by a father who then turned the gun on himself. His tears made me wonder what was wrong with me, as I simply continued to work, flatlined again. I thought I’d seen it all by then. I knew I’d seen too much. Three months later I found out it could get worse.
I was thrown into trauma on a massive scale that September. On the waters off Peggy’s Cove, I saw what is left behind when a packed jumbo jet crashes into the ocean. I interviewed the families of those who died, felt their pain. It was after covering the crash of Swissair Flight 111 that I first heard the term post-traumatic stress disorder. It came a full year after the crash when I interviewed a psychiatrist who was reporting a large number of PTSD cases among the recovery workers who were on the water that night and in the days afterward.
Tears rolled down my face as I drove away from that interview. I knew I had every symptom the doctor described, and I’d had them for a long time. I refused to believe I had PTSD; I was just an observer. None of the trauma I covered was mine to claim. I sucked it up and went back to the newsroom where no one ever asked, “How are you?”
Television news, the way I practised it, was a game of shock and reward. I’d rush to a traumatic scene where I’d be shocked by what I saw. I’d record everything I could, rush back, and slam together a story. Then, still high on the deadline adrenaline and the shock of the latest trauma, I’d be rewarded with a slap on the back and a quick �
��Great work” from the boss.
The PTSD symptoms got worse when I arrived at work each morning. I couldn’t hold the first cigarette of the day without shaking. I had a short temper that was new, and my sense of humour was gone. I decided to change networks and go where people didn’t know me and wouldn’t notice the small changes. I also wanted to work alone as a VJ, doing my own camera work. Years later, in reading Judith Herman’s Trauma and Recovery, I learned the desire to work alone and continually expose yourself to trauma were classic signs of PTSD, as was the refusal to acknowledge it.
Flashbacks and tears behind the wheel of my truck became routine as I raced across the highways of Nova Scotia chasing trauma. In 2007, I finally went to see a doctor. By then, I was beginning to take unnecessary risks at work and especially on my motorcycle. I needed adrenaline.
The doctor told me I had PTSD and had to quit my job and go into therapy. He said it that bluntly and I ignored it completely, and went back to work the next day. I told no one. I was ashamed. I was just an observer – how could I have PTSD? I stayed in the chase for seven more years, until one day, after covering a mildly traumatic story, I just couldn’t pick up the camera anymore. There was more PTSD than there was me. I found my limit. I was done.
I’m in treatment now, but the flashbacks, the fight or flight response, and the adrenaline I craved so much are constant companions. So is an icy, clawing terror deep inside, a fear of people, public spaces, sudden noise – everything. I went from a full-throttle, go-anywhere reporter to a shut-in, because I ignored trauma. When you do that with trauma it doesn’t go away. Your subconscious holds onto it and eventually forces you to relive it over and over. Relive, not remember – there’s a big emotional difference.
It’s unlikely anyone will be exposed to the volume of trauma I was during those thirty-three years on the road. Still, this is a cautionary tale and one that highlights why Janice’s book is so important. It shows why we need to know more about trauma, and recognize what it is capable of. I made my mistake with my very first exposure. I stuffed it, ignored it, used it to fuel my work, but never allowed myself time to feel it. Never. That’s why the doctors say I have PTSD, a failure to properly process trauma.
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