thedrifter
04-08-08, 08:24 AM
Regional: Vietnam vets help today's warriors
By BRIGID BRETT
War would be so much easier to bear if it was as black and white as a John Wayne movie: us and them, good and evil, right and wrong.
Instead, it's a million shades of gray.
I realized this more than ever on March 28 at the American Combat Veterans of War's warrior debriefing at Camp Pendleton, along with about 90 Marines who probably still had sand from Iraq in their boots.
I listened to five Vietnam veterans talk about what it means to be a warrior ---- the mix of pride and shame, camaraderie and abandonment, exhilaration and fear.
"We're here because we care about you, dammit, and we don't want to see the same thing happen to you that happened to our generation," Navy Cross recipient Col. Al Slater told the Marines. It was clear, from the passion in his voice, that he meant it.
Each one of these older vets has also been through "that other war that has to be faced when you take your uniform off and become a civilian," battling demons and doing whatever they can to bury the feelings of shame, fear and aloneness that clung to them like a toxic gas for years after returning from combat.
The result: addictions, uncontrollable anger, abusive relationships, failed marriages, lost jobs.
If there's anything harder than being in combat, Bill Rider of American Combat Veterans of War told this new generation of warriors, it's admitting you need help when you get back to the civilian world. It was only when he finally realized how far he'd sunk and how much he needed help, that he began to acknowledge the horrors of his Vietnam experience and started the decades-long process of healing.
In March 2006, when Marine Reserve Sgt. Josh Thomas returned from Iraq and attended one of American Combat Veterans of War's warrior debriefings, he didn't think much of what they said applied to him. All he could think about was how happy he was to be home again, reunited with his wife, his best friend.
But it wasn't long before he started having trouble sleeping; and when he did manage to fall asleep, he'd have nightmares about what he had seen and done in Iraq.
He became so anxious in public places that he stopped going out. He'd always been a pretty easygoing guy, but now he was on such a short fuse that it took almost nothing to trigger overwhelming feelings of rage and outbursts of anger.
He hated himself for hurting his wife, but he couldn't stop. Finally, out of sheer desperation, he went to the Veterans Affairs San Diego Medical Center in La Jolla and knocked on the door of the American Combat Veterans of War office. Vietnam vets Bill Rider, Dave Pelkey and Mike Ireton were there, and they listened to Thomas for four hours.
"I'd stopped trusting people. But I felt I could trust them," he says.
It's been about a year since that day, and Thomas says he doesn't know what he would have done without the guys at American Combat Veterans of War. He's had therapy and been on medication for his severe post-traumatic stress disorder, but what he really counts on is the organization's Thursday night vet support group in Oceanside.
And knowing he can go to their office whenever he needs, and just talk.
Valley Center resident Brigid Brett is a freelance columnist for the North County Times. Contact her at brigidbrett@aol.com.
Ellie
By BRIGID BRETT
War would be so much easier to bear if it was as black and white as a John Wayne movie: us and them, good and evil, right and wrong.
Instead, it's a million shades of gray.
I realized this more than ever on March 28 at the American Combat Veterans of War's warrior debriefing at Camp Pendleton, along with about 90 Marines who probably still had sand from Iraq in their boots.
I listened to five Vietnam veterans talk about what it means to be a warrior ---- the mix of pride and shame, camaraderie and abandonment, exhilaration and fear.
"We're here because we care about you, dammit, and we don't want to see the same thing happen to you that happened to our generation," Navy Cross recipient Col. Al Slater told the Marines. It was clear, from the passion in his voice, that he meant it.
Each one of these older vets has also been through "that other war that has to be faced when you take your uniform off and become a civilian," battling demons and doing whatever they can to bury the feelings of shame, fear and aloneness that clung to them like a toxic gas for years after returning from combat.
The result: addictions, uncontrollable anger, abusive relationships, failed marriages, lost jobs.
If there's anything harder than being in combat, Bill Rider of American Combat Veterans of War told this new generation of warriors, it's admitting you need help when you get back to the civilian world. It was only when he finally realized how far he'd sunk and how much he needed help, that he began to acknowledge the horrors of his Vietnam experience and started the decades-long process of healing.
In March 2006, when Marine Reserve Sgt. Josh Thomas returned from Iraq and attended one of American Combat Veterans of War's warrior debriefings, he didn't think much of what they said applied to him. All he could think about was how happy he was to be home again, reunited with his wife, his best friend.
But it wasn't long before he started having trouble sleeping; and when he did manage to fall asleep, he'd have nightmares about what he had seen and done in Iraq.
He became so anxious in public places that he stopped going out. He'd always been a pretty easygoing guy, but now he was on such a short fuse that it took almost nothing to trigger overwhelming feelings of rage and outbursts of anger.
He hated himself for hurting his wife, but he couldn't stop. Finally, out of sheer desperation, he went to the Veterans Affairs San Diego Medical Center in La Jolla and knocked on the door of the American Combat Veterans of War office. Vietnam vets Bill Rider, Dave Pelkey and Mike Ireton were there, and they listened to Thomas for four hours.
"I'd stopped trusting people. But I felt I could trust them," he says.
It's been about a year since that day, and Thomas says he doesn't know what he would have done without the guys at American Combat Veterans of War. He's had therapy and been on medication for his severe post-traumatic stress disorder, but what he really counts on is the organization's Thursday night vet support group in Oceanside.
And knowing he can go to their office whenever he needs, and just talk.
Valley Center resident Brigid Brett is a freelance columnist for the North County Times. Contact her at brigidbrett@aol.com.
Ellie