Odysseus in America (32 page)

One kind of self-organized community is the Internet discussion group. As a segue to the next chapter, I reproduce here an e-mail message to the VWAR discussion group. It describes the experience of Army veteran Michael Viehman at the Wall with another veteran and the latter's wife:

I went to the Wall—once …

Terminator [pen name of a discussion member who lives in the Washington area] and some other friends took me. I was in shock on the walk to my panel. I'm not used to pullin' point … I had my boots with a medal wired to them and with a copy of “Helmets” [a poem] inside. I wouldn't approach for a bit … I wanted to die … Finally I got the guts to go on up to the panel and stand there with my measly offering in my hand. There was a deep reason, to me, for each of the things I carried … I walked over III Corp and into Cambodia in those boots with my Brothers. That medal which I received, I never felt I deserved. You see … so many of my Brothers died—or worse … and never got one. I was nobody … nuthin' … and
I was NOT deserving. Others died and I got their medal…. I was afraid to go to the Wall 'cause I was afraid that my emotional numbing would come back as it overwhelmed me. I tell people that I don't remember the names of my dead Brothers—I lie … As I ran across each name, they jumped out of the Wall, down my throat past the lump and back into my soul. I began to go numb and I just stood there with my boots an' shit in my hands. ALL feeling left me as I stood there. THEN, one over-riding feeling washed over me—THIS IS A SACRED PLACE OF HEROES—I DO NOT BELONG HERE …

I'm a little unclear about what happened next but I remember this much…. I turned, in shock, and began to move quickly away from the Wall—towards the chain. I would've gone through it but for strong hands stopping me…. A voice whispered in my ear something like “It's OK, it's OK” and “Talk—say it …” I heard a voice from somewhere say these words … “My stuff doesn't deserve to be here—not the boots, not the Star, not the writing …” Some big burly, mean, son-of-a-bitch hugged me and first a quiver from deep within my soul escaped after 24 years … then a sob … The dam broke. I was wracked with deep gut-wrenching sobs as my soul was torn out and cast across the clear, starlit sky. Term, … EtN [Terminator's wife], an' others held me up. My dead Brothers watched and I could feel their concern—for me…. I finally took my boots an' stuff and placed them at the panel with respect and tried to lay part of my life to rest. Never to forget … but, perchance, to move forward … I could feel my Brothers watching—I shit you not.
²⁸

In the next chapter we hear some members of the VWAR Internet community begin to talk through and communalize the suicide of Marine Corps veteran and multiple amputee, Lewis B. Puller, Jr., the author of the 1992 Pulitzer Prize for Biography,
Fortunate Son: The Healing of a Vietnam Vet.
This autobiography was in large part a tribute to his father, Marine Corps Lieutenant General “Chesty” Puller, who was probably the most admired marine of the twentieth century. Lewis Puller's grit and courage inspired many; the shock and prostration from learning of his suicide were deepened by the prior uplift.

Lydia Fish is not a veteran. She is a professor of anthropology at Buffalo State College, and a scholar of the American folklore of war, particularly of the songs of the Vietnam War. When she created VWAR, “an Internet discussion list set up to facilitate communication among veterans, teachers, scholars and students of the Vietnam War,”
¹
she did not think she was creating a community. Even less did she think she was saving anyone's life—yet over the few years that I was active in this Internet discussion, several veterans expressed their belief that they would have died by their own hand were it not for the social support that this cyber-community provided. Veterans in VIP have said the same about our program.

I joined VWAR as one of the “scholars and students,” not as a clinician. While I freely expressed my beliefs (particularly in the value of such communities) I stayed clear of anything resembling therapy or medical advice. I hoped to learn and to gain critical feedback on my ideas and writings. Like any ordinary member, I exchanged information and opinions, got into arguments, made friends, learned a lot, and was addicted to my e-mail. About five years ago, when my “missionary work” on prevention of psychological and moral injury in military service was taking off, I could no longer put in the time. I decided that dropping out of the discussion would be better than being inattentive and superficial.

What follows is an edited and abbreviated transcript of the first couple days' responses by members of this community to news that Lewis Puller had killed himself, and—most important—of their responses to one another. All messages are used by permission of their authors, none of whom have ever been my patients.
²
Most, not all, members of this discussion use nicknames. The discussion's roughly two hundred members came from all over the country, from Florida to Puget Sound, from Massachusetts to California, from the inner city to almost “off the grid” in the mountains of New Mexico or upper New York State.

Date: Wed, 11 May 1994 17:45:14 EDT

From: Corkster

Subject: Lewis Puller

X-To: Multiple recipients of list VWAR-L

A sad sad day—Lew Puller committed suicide today—of course I can't find Lola's number—tried to call Cap'n Jack since I hope Lola didn't have to hear it on the news … and the toll rises yet again.

Corkster

Corky Condon described herself this way: “Developer/Director of In Touch program—Incorporator of Sons & Daughters In Touch, a nonprofit organization for family members of VN KIA/MIA. Wall and Moving Wall volunteer, daughter of Robert E. Condon KIA 1/18/68, wife of a combat wounded (disabled physical and PTSD) veteran (LRRP, 25th DIV—RVN 1967-1968).”
³

Ah, shit! Just shit!

Druid

L
EWIS
P
ULLER
A
IN'T ON THE
W
ALL

News of Puller's suicide is painful, then tearful.

I drive ChuYen to the Wall in a Demon rage, we make the trip in eight minutes; if she'd been flesh and blood I would have ridden her to death.

There are many kids at the wall, tour groups on a deadline. I walk the Wall to the Three Doods, waiting for kids and big-assed tourists to disperse.

Alone at last, I light my candle; cupping the guttering flame in my right palm. Staring at the flame I clear my mind of all but the death of Puller.

“God! God I'm tired of this shit! This is enough! No more! Please God! no more …”

But God doesn't answer, he never did; not then, not now.

I cry again, not for Lew Puller, but for me. If he can do it, so can I. My acknowledgment of that fact scares the hell out of me.

Walking down to the apex of the Wall I stand before the Ockham edge; 1975 on my left and 1959 on my right. Candle flame reflected in the
beginning and the end equally. Lights from the walkway glowing upward on to each panel; joining as a single light in the edge, level with the flame.

I see Puller, and many others, there in the mix of flame and lights.

Not on the Wall …

But they should be …

Leaving the candle jammed in between two cobble stones I walk away to ChuYen.

The candle guttering low and blue in the breeze.

Copyright May 1994, W. T. Edmonds, Jr. All Rights Reserved

Tom Edmonds writes the following about himself: “William T. Edmonds, Jr. Born Nov 1994. Both parents were WWII veterans. Raised in a tough blue-collar neighborhood in Houston Texas. First in my family to graduate from college although it took almost 15 years to get it done. Drafted in 1965, re-enlisted after Vietnam and spent a total of 10 years on active duty. After the Army I worked twenty years in data processing and computer security in the US and Saudi Arabia. Retired in 1992. Currently living in Falls Church Virginia in genteel poverty with my second wife Marybeth, a former Army nurse and Vietnam veteran, and our daughter (the youngest of 5 kids between us.) ‘Lewis Puller Ain't on the Wall' is from my unpublished manuscript THE WAY OF BAMBOO. I still write and make presentations to colleges and high schools about the war; and own and run several Internet discussion lists about the Vietnam War for veterans.”
⁴

Lola tried to encourage Puller to join the Mayday gathering—He didn't come.

Some writing is on the Wall. Some of it is between the lines.

Corkster

Nice obituary on “Morning Edition” (National Public Radio) this morning. They played excerpts from a reading he had given on “Fresh Air” a few years ago.

May he rest in peace.

Lydia

Lydia Fish, the list owner

One of the members had asked if Lew Puller was the same person as Chesty Puller.

Monte,

Lewis B. Puller, aged 48, lost his legs in Vietnam after stepping on a mine while leading a marine combat platoon.