Odysseus in America (36 page)

And like Term, I—m willing to grab the hand of anyone else who is reaching for the skids or scrambling over the gunwale.

sharkbait

Dear All,

When I was in DC and met Corkster, I learned from her that the Friends of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial have a program called IN MEMORY devoted to Vietnam veterans who have “died prematurely”
as a result of their service in and around Vietnam. My impression is that the program has just started. I looked through the IN MEMORY book, and about two-thirds of the men remembered in there died of Agent Orange related illnesses and most of the remaining third had killed themselves.

You've all heard me rant and rave about how we should regard combat veterans who suicide as “died of wounds” and I'll spare you a repetition. However, I shall repeat my impression that the Ù­familiesÙ­ of veterans who have killed themselves are mostly sitting alone with this in pain and shame and the cruel notion that they themselves have fucked up or their son or daughter has fucked up—no other choices. Their surviving comrades sometimes find themselves in the same box. The IN TOUCH program is up and running and I believe is superbly suited to helping the families of these veterans to be in contact with each other if they are willing (IN TOUCH is Ù­alwaysÙ­ extremely protective of everyone's right to be in control of who they speak to).

I am sending a check for $200 to the Friends of the Vietnam Veterans' Memorial today, earmarked for IN MEMORY/IN TOUCH—as soon as Corkster posts the address (I have handed out the hundred or so fliers she sent me and forgot to keep one for myself!). I'll also spare you ranting and raving about the importance of Ù­preventionʅ in general—but I must remind everyone that the children of a veteran who kills him or herself are at Ù­greatlyÙ­ increased risk of suicide themselves, so keep in mind that fostering systems of mutual support among the families of veterans who have died of wounds by suicide is crucially important “secondary prevention” (please forgive the public health jargon) of suicide in their children.

Ù­MuchÙ­ love to you all,

Jonathan

I first developed the habit of signing my correspondence with veterans “Much love,” while active on VWAR, without understanding why I was doing it. I have continued this habit—with more self-awareness and mindfulness—when corresponding today with active duty military service members (only after we have developed a relationship of trust and friendship, of course), knowing that it pushes the envelope of their culture. In Part Three, I address the importance of the love that military people develop for each other in protecting them from psychological injury.
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Partners have their demons too. Bailing out may have felt like their kind of suicide … couldn't do it anymore. I still say God bless Toddy. She did hang in there for 25 or so years. Lew made a choice about his life just as Toddy did. Who are we to say what was highest and best for each of them.

Sally

Sally Griffis is a Vietnam War widow.
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I read the book the way you did, Polecat.

It could be that after all those years she left him—someone said they read/heard that. It could be that that was a final wound that Lewis Puller couldn't deal with; I don't think anyone can know that. Even if that's true, the guy whose book I read would take responsibility for her departure and not lay the blame on the woman who kept him going for so long.

But what do I know, anyhow? (ans.: As much as the rest of you.)

FNG

Jim Lynch writes, “Jim Lynch served as a platoon leader and company commander with the 48th Transportation Group from early February, 1969-early February, 1970. His units ran line-haul truck convoys throughout III and IV Corps; the southern half of South Viet Nam.”
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Veewees,

I didn't see the NightLine program, but even the Ù­suggestionÙ­ that Lew Puller's suicide is Toddy's fault is disgusting.

In Lew's own words, in his book “Fortunate Son,” his wife is the hero. She is the one who suffered with him every day. She also came from a military family, and married him in spite of knowing that he would be going to Vietnam, and what could happen. What did happen.

She was the faithful wife who got into the hospital bed with him when he needed to affirm his masculinity after his terrible injuries. She bore his children facing an uncertain future.

She stuck with him for 25 years, most filled with turmoil and pain;
some filled with the joy and excitement of winning a Pulitzer Prize. She drove him to hospitals hundreds of times: for surgery, physical therapy, counseling, or alcohol addiction.

She raised the kids during the years that he was depressed and went into rage and self-pity. I have no doubt that there were times that Toddy felt that she should leave him in order to save the children. She was probably frequently torn by having to consider that decision.

Toddy remained sober, facing the problems alone, while Lew drank to escape. I think Lew intended to show that alcoholism was his problem; it pervades his book, from times before he went to Vietnam. One review that I read said that Puller may have been saying that alcoholism was a bigger problem than the loss of his limbs.

If you disagree with what I have said, but have not yet read his book, please go read it.

I am not trying to degrade Lew Puller's memory, but Toddy went through a hell that she could have escaped from for 25 years.

But she stayed with him all those years. Now she has even more pain to carry. She has my deepest respect and sympathy.

for Lew:

Day is done,
Gone the sun,
From the land,
From the sea,
From the sky.

All is well,
Rest in peace,
God is nigh.

Much love,

Polecat (aka Jim Schueckler)

You can see even from this fragment, edited from a much longer dialogue, that extremely important themes came up in this discussion, including veterans' suicides,
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veterans' spouses and the toll exacted from them, the relationship of veterans to nonveterans, and the Wall. It is immediately evident that this cybercommunity's members were already doing many of
the things that veterans do with and for each other in our VIP community-building treatment program. VWAR veterans provided each other with the various forms of validation. They expressed a wide range of emotions that relate complexly to their military traumas, to the aftermath, and to other people's reactions to their emotions. They realized that they have something to give to others. And while they discovered that others are enough like themselves that they have no reason to feel like freaks, they also discovered that other respect-worthy veterans hold disparate and even contradictory views on many things.
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They created all of these benefits for themselves, without mental health professionals. They were doing this before I came and continued to do so after I left.

The veterans in the group unquestionably grieved together and helped each other construct cohesive narratives of what they had experienced. Safety and self-care were openly supported. Sobriety was another matter. I recall on and off discussions about whether the bar and lounge metaphor for VWAR was a healthy one. Occasionally, messages had a strong smell of liquor on their breath, as though the writer was sitting at his computer getting progressively drunker as the message traffic passed back and forth on the screen.

One member of VWAR voiced the sense of merging of place and identity,

… We be here for the duration, a period of existence.
Our existence.
We will stay for as long as Lydia keeps the doors to the bar open.
I ain't goin' nowhere.
Got nowhere else to go.

“The Lounge: We Can Never Leave,” by Michael W. Rodriguez.
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(Michael Rodriguez is a Marine Corps combat veteran of the Vietnam War. He has an eloquent Web site called Humidity Moon: mikerod.home.texas.net/. His collection of short narratives is published under the same name by Pecan Grove Press, San Antonio.)

… You fuckers ain't much, but I know every one of you.
You be my Bros.
I shared your chow and my last cigarette;
You called in my medevac,
And I helped burn your “Dear John” letter.
… We can never leave.

I was witness to a number of occasions when the social contract of VWAR was debated or was severely tested by threats of violence or by abuse. In the social contract debates, Lydia Fish, the list owner, acted much like a constitutional monarch and aimed to make VWAR a safe place to struggle over these perennial questions. When violence was threatened, she moved swiftly and firmly like an absolute monarch to exile any member who compromised safety. As list owner, she had the power to cut someone off from receiving e-mail from the community or from sending messages to it. The social contract established by the VIP veterans is much stricter than that of “Lydia's Lounge,” but on the point of safety, they were in accord.

“Pissing contests”—denigration of the importance of others' experience compared to one's own—were perennial problems. At one point a schism took place, and a group of combat veterans who were dissatisfied with the presence of nonveterans and noncombat veterans on VWAR left to form a combat-veterans-only “closed” discussion list. The “bar and lounge” metaphor for VWAR captured its openness—anyone could walk in and pull up a stool at the bar—but also captured the necessity for the newcomer to get comfortable and establish himself or herself with the regulars, to learn its customs and mores. The breakaway group established something along the lines of a members-only private club. A stranger would find the door locked. However, many members of this private club continued to belong to VWAR in addition.

The Internet discussion technology has certain advantages over traditional face-to-face group therapy or support group. Among these are the obvious ones: its open 24/7, which no group therapy is; you can think about what something means and what you want to say at your own pace—you don't lose out to members with a quicker tongue; several people can talk at once without interfering with each other; if you raise an issue or mention something that's bothering you, you don't have to worry about whether it's off the theme that the group is pursuing at this moment—there's likely to be someone else who wants to respond.
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