Telling the Truth about War
For the first time in my life since I left the Marine Corps I stood
in front of uniformed Marines of a higher rank and told the truth. It was
a good day.
I was on Route 216 in Beekman, NY, when the GPS announced, "You have reached
your destination." To my left was a cement wall about thirty feet high and
running what looked to be a mile long. I slowed to read a sign that said
Green Haven Prison.
I had been invited by Paula Zwillinger, president and founder of Semper Fi
Parents of Hudson Valley, NY, to speak about my recently published book,
The Making and Unmaking of a Marine. I intended to talk about Post
Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and how war could separate soldiers from
their souls. As a Marine vet I would be telling this military audience about
my journey of decoding the trance the Marines had put upon me so that I could
be an effective killer.
As I walked to the building I stiffened when I saw a group of Marines in
uniform. Inside I looked around for Paula, whom I had never met. After mistakenly
asking two different women if they were her, someone pointed to a blond women
surrounded by a group of civilians? The only thing I knew about Paula was
that she had lost a son in Iraq. I introduced myself and as she shook my
hand and said, "I hope you don't mind, but I have moved you to the lunch
time-slot." I was supposed to give my speech at 10:00 AM.
I picked up a schedule and saw that representatives from the Marines Corps
would first be talking about the Millennial Generation, then Iraq and
Afghanistan. After this IED injured Marines would speak about the "Wounded
Warriors" program at Camp Lejeune.
When a group of uniformed men entered the building my jaw tightened; it had
been forty years since I'd been in a room with uniformed Marines. A tap on
my shoulder and Paula, whispered in my ear "Another change: you can talk
while we're eating lunch, if that's okay." I nodded. She strode to the front
of the room and started the program.
There must have been fifty to sixty people sitting at round tables in the
room. Paula asked each table to introduce themselves. By the time it got
to me I had learned that three families had lost sons in the Iraq War.
Paula then introduced a Gunnery Sergeant, whose name I instantly forgot.
He stood before us in his camouflaged desert utilities, sleeves rolled up
above his elbows, his tapered shirt clinging to his powerful torso. He looked
to be in his early forties, a little gray showing in his quarter inch hair
cut.
The Gunny was using a PowerPoint presentation from Rochester Institute of
Technology to tell us about the young folks from the Millennial Generation.
Gunny told us he used to be a Marine Recruiter. As far as I was concerned
he still was here he was selling the Marines to people whose sons were dead
on the battlefield. Even though he'd been held hostage in Desert Storm in
Baghdad, he still believed in the good the US was doing in both the current
wars. He told us how proud he was of the Millennial Generation Marines. After
a half hour Gunny had made the point numerous times that these kids made
very good soldiers.
Next up were the "Wounded Warriors," Sergeant Jason Simms, Sergeant Tom Simard,
Staff Sergeant Robert Moon, Sergeant Keith Klein and Corporal, Nick Scalf.
One at a time these men came before us, each one anxious. Their shaking hands,
trembling voices, shifting of weight, and shuddering told us as much as their
words. Each man recalled how he'd been injured by an IED. Giving us details
of where and how the devices was planted, where the shrapnel entered their
bodies, what organs and muscles it tore up, and the number of operations
that had to be performed. Every man ended by saying how glad he was to be
alive.
After they finished, another Marine got up and told us about how great the
"Wounded Warriors" program at Camp Lejeune was. He said its goal was to help
vets heal in a barracks together where there were other men that understood
war.
By this time, many in the audience had tears on their cheeks, including me.
The program was then opened to questions. One woman asked, "What more could
we in this room do to help veterans? What are we missing that you need from
us?"
The wounded Marine who'd said he was considering staying in the service answered
quickly: "What you can do for us is to not vote for Hillary Clinton." The
room erupted in applause and laughter, grateful for the release of tension
that had built up from listening to their painful stories.
I sat there with my hands resting on the table wondering how this group was
going react to me when I started talking about what happens to a soldier's
soul when he walks off the battlefield.
Lunch was served, a ten foot hero sandwich, potato salad, iceberg lettuce
with Kraft dressing. I did not eat. I waited for Paula to announce me, so
I could do my speech and leave as quickly and quietly as possible. When she
stood before the group she said, "Right after we eat, the Gunny is going
tells us about the new military equipment our guys are using."
It was 1:30 when Gunny stood up and told us about the new flak jackets that
Marines in country were getting. Everyone applauded.
Finally, at 2:00 PM I got up from my chair to stand before a group who'd
endured three hours of frontal assault by the Marine Corps. The papers shook
in my hand as I read about how our souls are wounded when we kill other human
beings. My voice cracked as I told them that Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
(PTSD) is a viral disease and gets spreads from the veterans to their families
and their communities. I ended by suggesting that forgiveness both from the
enemy as well as from within oneself is the only road I know that offers
healing. I said "Thank you" and heard scattered clapping as I walked towards
the table where my book was for sale.
The final speaker was George Fregiau from K-9 for combat Veterans. George
and Hope, his black lab, came before the group and George showed us how the
dog was being trained to turn on a light switch. As he spoke I noticed a
woman inching her way towards my table. She bent over and whispered that
she wanted to buy two books and would I sign one to her son and the other
to her husband. And before George was done showing us all the tasks Hope
would be able to do to assist disabled veterans, six more people had come
to buy my book. Although to me it looked like they'd slinked up to my table
trying not to be seen, two out of the three families who'd lost sons had
bought my book. Each person mentioned to me that it was such a relief to
hear someone speak about what war does to our soldiers. One sad faced woman
told me that her son won't speak to her about what happened to him in Iran.
"Maybe he'll read your book," she whispered.
For the first time in my life since I left the Marine Corps I stood in front
of uniformed Marines of a higher rank and told the truth. It was a good day.
Larry Winters
14 Millrock Road
New Paltz, NY 12561
845-255-4513 email:
winters.lawrence@gmail.com |
