thedrifter
07-05-07, 07:38 AM
MAYO: Fourth reminds some war veterans of personal battles that linger
Published July 5, 2007
They went around the table, telling their war stories in quiet tones. And then a volley of fireworks exploded outside. A few of the veterans flinched.
"Why they got to shoot those off so close?" asked Danny Shannon, a Vietnam veteran.
For the last few years, Shannon has led a weekly group counseling session for post-traumatic stress disorder at Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 8195 in West Park. A dozen turned out for the latest meeting Tuesday night, including three who fought in Iraq.
The Fourth of July isn't their favorite holiday. We hear fireworks. They flash back to incoming mortar rounds and roadside bombs.
"When I hear loud noise, I freak out," said Michael Culmer, 24, a Carol City resident whose Kansas-based Army unit spent a year in Fallujah until September 2004.
He spoke about someone setting off fireworks last week outside the barbershop where he works. "I just reverted back to basic training and got in the high crawl position. I had no control."
I figured Independence Day would be a good time to listen to these veterans' stories. For all the talk of freedom and patriotism on July 4, it has become just another American excuse for excess, a time to feast on hot dogs (66 in 12 minutes, anyone?) and see whose fireworks show can be the biggest. It's easy to forget there's a war going on. It's easy to forget that many who made it home safely now are fighting battles of a different kind.
The three Iraq veterans spoke of having hair-trigger tempers and fractured relationships, of "self-medicating" with alcohol and narcotics to escape the nightmares of war, and of battling government bureaucracy to get benefits and medical care.
"It's an everyday struggle," said Junior Telfort, 24, whose Hollywood-based Army Reserve unit spent a year in the Al-Anbar region, the so-called Sunni Triangle. "When you come home, they have the parade, the water cannons shooting over your bus. When you first go to the VA, they welcome you back with open arms. But then the lights kind of dim and you kind of get pushed to the side."
Kirk Bosfield, 24, of Dania Beach, served two tours in Iraq with the Marines. He said he got called for a third tour, even though he said he has been diagnosed with traumatic brain injury from a mortar blast and is classified as 70 percent disabled by the Department of Veterans Affairs. Shannon said U.S. Rep. Kendrick Meek intervened to get that order rescinded. "I don't think [the VA] does enough to get us the proper counseling," Bosfield said.
Shannon said he started this group to fill a gap. He said talk therapy helps and the veterans feel comfortable with each other.
"A lot of people don't understand, because you can't see PTSD or TBI," he said, referring to post-traumatic stress disorder and traumatic brain injury. "It's not like someone who's missing an arm or two legs. People think they're faking."
This is a VFW Post used to doing things on its own. It was founded by a group of black veterans during the Vietnam War, when many VFW halls in South Florida were segregated.
Bosfield, who returned from his second tour in October 2005, said he has had a hard time readjusting to civilian life. The nine Vietnam vets who sat around the table nodded in recognition. Some talked about their own drug and alcohol abuse, family breakdowns and prison terms.
"This PTSD, you've got to deal with it now. Otherwise, it will hunt you down," said Bobby White, a Vietnam veteran who is a counselor at the Fort Lauderdale Vet Center. "You can try to ignore it, cover it up with the booze and the drugs, but it will eventually get you in your nightmares, your daymares, your liver, kidneys and spleen."
Telfort understood: "When I first came back, I drank until I blacked out. But at some point, the s--- that's deep down inside comes calling for you. You start thinking about that 8-month-old baby that got killed by a ricochet, you start remembering all those things you never wanted to see."
All those things that come back with every firecracker and thunderclap.
Michael Mayo's column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday.
Read him online every weekday
at Sun-Sentinel.com/mayoblog.
Write to him at mmayo@sun-
sentinel.com or 954-356-4508.
Ellie
Published July 5, 2007
They went around the table, telling their war stories in quiet tones. And then a volley of fireworks exploded outside. A few of the veterans flinched.
"Why they got to shoot those off so close?" asked Danny Shannon, a Vietnam veteran.
For the last few years, Shannon has led a weekly group counseling session for post-traumatic stress disorder at Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 8195 in West Park. A dozen turned out for the latest meeting Tuesday night, including three who fought in Iraq.
The Fourth of July isn't their favorite holiday. We hear fireworks. They flash back to incoming mortar rounds and roadside bombs.
"When I hear loud noise, I freak out," said Michael Culmer, 24, a Carol City resident whose Kansas-based Army unit spent a year in Fallujah until September 2004.
He spoke about someone setting off fireworks last week outside the barbershop where he works. "I just reverted back to basic training and got in the high crawl position. I had no control."
I figured Independence Day would be a good time to listen to these veterans' stories. For all the talk of freedom and patriotism on July 4, it has become just another American excuse for excess, a time to feast on hot dogs (66 in 12 minutes, anyone?) and see whose fireworks show can be the biggest. It's easy to forget there's a war going on. It's easy to forget that many who made it home safely now are fighting battles of a different kind.
The three Iraq veterans spoke of having hair-trigger tempers and fractured relationships, of "self-medicating" with alcohol and narcotics to escape the nightmares of war, and of battling government bureaucracy to get benefits and medical care.
"It's an everyday struggle," said Junior Telfort, 24, whose Hollywood-based Army Reserve unit spent a year in the Al-Anbar region, the so-called Sunni Triangle. "When you come home, they have the parade, the water cannons shooting over your bus. When you first go to the VA, they welcome you back with open arms. But then the lights kind of dim and you kind of get pushed to the side."
Kirk Bosfield, 24, of Dania Beach, served two tours in Iraq with the Marines. He said he got called for a third tour, even though he said he has been diagnosed with traumatic brain injury from a mortar blast and is classified as 70 percent disabled by the Department of Veterans Affairs. Shannon said U.S. Rep. Kendrick Meek intervened to get that order rescinded. "I don't think [the VA] does enough to get us the proper counseling," Bosfield said.
Shannon said he started this group to fill a gap. He said talk therapy helps and the veterans feel comfortable with each other.
"A lot of people don't understand, because you can't see PTSD or TBI," he said, referring to post-traumatic stress disorder and traumatic brain injury. "It's not like someone who's missing an arm or two legs. People think they're faking."
This is a VFW Post used to doing things on its own. It was founded by a group of black veterans during the Vietnam War, when many VFW halls in South Florida were segregated.
Bosfield, who returned from his second tour in October 2005, said he has had a hard time readjusting to civilian life. The nine Vietnam vets who sat around the table nodded in recognition. Some talked about their own drug and alcohol abuse, family breakdowns and prison terms.
"This PTSD, you've got to deal with it now. Otherwise, it will hunt you down," said Bobby White, a Vietnam veteran who is a counselor at the Fort Lauderdale Vet Center. "You can try to ignore it, cover it up with the booze and the drugs, but it will eventually get you in your nightmares, your daymares, your liver, kidneys and spleen."
Telfort understood: "When I first came back, I drank until I blacked out. But at some point, the s--- that's deep down inside comes calling for you. You start thinking about that 8-month-old baby that got killed by a ricochet, you start remembering all those things you never wanted to see."
All those things that come back with every firecracker and thunderclap.
Michael Mayo's column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday.
Read him online every weekday
at Sun-Sentinel.com/mayoblog.
Write to him at mmayo@sun-
sentinel.com or 954-356-4508.
Ellie