To the editor:
For the first time, I share common ground with Franklin College professor and Daily Journal columnist John Krull. His recent column, "Transforming wounds into gifts," describes his latter-day friendship and conversations with the late Kurt Vonnegut in a way that resonates with me.
When Krull penned “…writing helped Kurt (a World War II combat veteran) cope with the trauma that tormented him,” I was right there. And Kurt’s son, Mark, further opined, “… the therapy for combat veterans struggling with post-traumatic stress disorder — PTSD — is to tell their stories to other vets.” This good advice needs to be shared widely.
Why?
That’s been my experience, too, these past 50 years. When I returned from the Republic of Vietnam during the spring of 1969, we soon realized I was unable to cry with my wife or anyone else; nor mourn at funerals for family members and friends. Rather, I’d be mirthful; hence, no funerals for a long time. I was healed of the inability to cry a decade later, while attending a prayer and praise meeting with close friends. However, reversing the inappropriate death response took decades longer, but is OK today.
As a business writer (texts, newsletters) I didn’t address my trauma for two reasons. First, to do so would surely have ended my career as an officer in the Marine Corps reserves. And, it was too hurtful to dredge up certain memories from my 13-month tour of duty in RVN.
All that changed Christmas Eve 2005, during a chance encounter in a CVS pharmacy on the south side of Indianapolis. The manager there, after helping me find some last-minute gifts, noticed the gold USMC emblem on a chain around my neck and asked to talk. I was reluctant to do so, but she insisted. She was dealing with her anti-Vietnam War attitude and actions, as a university student during 1969, and now, her only son is an Air Force airman, headed for Iraq. “We talked. I cried. She atoned” is how I describe the consequences of that emotional meeting, in the short story, "Making Amends," since published in American Legion magazine and elsewhere.
Well, that cathartic experience freed me to begin writing about events that had crippled me for (then) nearly four decades. "PUC Beer" tale describes a chance meeting, in 1989, with the fighter pilot who, with his wing man, drove the NVA back from our defensive perimeter. "Four for Fortitude" describes four mementos I carried into battle, taped to my dog tags; a gold signet ring; a steel bullet; John Wayne P38; and one nasty fleshette. And "Got Rep" tells of my first civilian job success as a manager, in large part, because my minority work crew had been told, erroneously, I was a cold-blooded killer.
There are more tales, but you get the idea.
Point? Much of the trauma and what caused it so long ago (i.e., not crying in front of my Marines following firefights, as we collected our dead and wounded; and, laughing in the face of death before and during battle) have been dealt with, in large part, by writing about it.
Just as Krull concludes his column, “Telling stories saved my friend’s life. And enriched ours.” I know doing likewise has brought closure and healing to me — finally and fully.
George Allen, lieutenant colonel, USMCR
Greenwood
