Odysseus in America (33 page)

His book,
Fortunate Son
(Grove Weidenfield, 1991) was written as a tribute to his father, Gen. Lewis B. (Chesty) Puller, the most decorated marine in the history of the Corps. The book won the Pulitzer Prize for biography in 1992. He was planning to write a second book about Sen. Kerrey who he met while they were recovering from their wounds at the Philadelphia Naval Hospital in 1968.

Says Kerrey after learning of Puller's death, “Tragically, in the end he was not able to give himself the lift he gave to all those who read his book.”

His wife Linda is currently a member of the Virginia House of Delegates. He's survived by a son, Lewis 3d and a daughter, Margaret.

A man not to be forgotten. This is a classic example of the old statement, “do as I say not as I do” if one is to honor what Puller wrote about in his book. I know it's a hell of a lot easier said than done but it can be done.

He may not be “on the Wall” but he is certainly “of the Wall” and “in the Wall” as we all are.

dog handler

Dog Handler is the Net moniker for Tom Sykes, who is Director of Media Services at Lawrence University in Appleton, Wisconsin; he is active with the Vietnam Dog Handlers Association.
⁵
According to Harry G. Summers's
Vietnam War Almanac,
dogs were used by American forces in Vietnam for “scouting, mine detecting, tracking, sentry duty, flushing out tunnels, and drug detecting … ambush avoidance and detection of sampan movement at night.”
⁶

Tears flow freely onto the keyboard today. I didn't know Lewis Puller personally but he was a brother of mine. His visible scars were so terrible that maybe I just forgot that, of course, he would have the emotional ones too—like the rest of us.

Michele called me at the Fire Department this AM before I got
relieved to tell me of Corky's post. I had to get off the phone quickly before I cried. I could feel the old sorrow, rage and frustration anew. I took one of the detectives (a fellow Redcatcher) outside and told him. Made his day too.

It was in the morning paper on the table. Shit. One of the guys, not a vet, made some kind of derogatory remark about it. Not trusting my voice or my temper, I simply gave him “a look,” my eyes red with held-back tears. My anger must have been evident since he spilled his coffee on himself and went away. I saw another vvet explain things to him outside. I'm the in-house crazed nam vet and they are afraid of me. Good. I am too.

So why am I so upset by this death of a brother? It's not like it's the first—or the last. Maybe because I admired his strength. Maybe 'cause I fear my lack of it will come home to roost. Maybe because we worked another suicide at the FD yesterday. 48 yo woman with both ventricles pierced by an 8 inch butcher knife sunk in her chest past the hilt (121) or the “sudden death” (122) that came later yesterday or the heart attack this AM about 0200 or the heart attack about 0600.1 do know—Death stalked the land yesterday.

What about today? Maybe the woods. Maybe the chair in the corner. Maybe the highway. Was gonna drive the chevy/dodge truck today but it doesn't go fast enough—the Supra does—I hope. I get real tired of hidin' an' runnin' from the demons. Am I the only one? Has it crossed anyone else's mind?

You think maybe Lew was right? Is it the only real escape? I got questions. I'm out of answers.

Lewis Puller—you have my utmost respect and admiration. I don't drink anymore but today I will smoke one in honor of your Spirit. May you, at last, be at peace. I hope to see you when I get there.

Peace,

V-man

Michael Viehman is also the author of the message that concluded the previous chapter. In e-mail to me on December 4, 2001, he wrote of himself, “Mike Viehman served in Vietnam as a Chaplain's Assistant in War Zones C & D in the Iron Triangle region of III Corp out of firebases Libby, Gladys and Nancy while assigned to the 199th Light Infantry Brigade in 1970 and, later, with 3rd Ord Bn. He received the Bronze Star Medal and returned CONUS to work for over 20 years as a firefighter/paramedic before retiring on duty disability after breaking his back on his last fire call
in 1995. He is now embarking on a second career in knifemaking. He has been married to his second wife and helpmate, Michele, since 1975.” My wife and I met Mike and Michele at a VWAR camp-in in the Adirondack Mountains.

hey. puller lives on. It's up to us to keep him alive. through the tears, fears and pain. it goes on until we're all gone and then, like all those who have gone before us, we belong to the great river. so it is, so it goes, one day at a time.

voodoo chile

Marc B. Adin, Fourth Infantry Division, Central Highlands, RVN, 1968-1969. He writes that he is now in end-stage liver disease, contracted from a blood transfusion in Vietnam.
⁷

i for one ask the same question everyday.
am i the only one?
It puller wasn't alone
i tried and failed a couple times
next time i may succeed
who knows
the big question is when is the struggle
no longer worth the effort
when does the pain overwhelm the desire to live

murray the k

Warren Murray writes: “I was commissioned an 18 year old second It. and turned 20 in Vietnam. It remains to this day the most defining and debilitating experience of my life. I am ashamed of my PTSD diagnosis and feel somehow I have failed all those soldiers who served with honor.”
⁸

murray—

i only tried once although i probably was trying more than once when it came to the way i lived my life for so many years. but for me living is for my family, my little girl and my wonderful wife, and my mom, and my brother who still lives with the horrors of Con Thien. i live for my cousin who is dying of aids, my aunt who is dying of
alcoholism, my cousin who is dying of hate left over from the Ashau.

i live to see the smiles on their faces when i tell them that i love them, cant live without them, and want to see them all the time, the pain, the pain is part of me, you, all of us and is never bigger than everyone we need and who need us.

pohenry, #83

Henry Flores is professor of political science at St. Mary's University in San Antonio, Texas. He writes, “I teach statistics, research methods and elections and voting behavior. I'm 57 years of age, am married to a literary critic and am the father of a brilliant, athletic, and highly creative 15 year old daughter. Oh yeah, we have a great dog—a dachshund named Caramelo.”
⁹

Got ahold of Rod [Lola] last night. Rod already knew about it; he'd called Puller yesterday, got the brother-in-law who told him. No surprise to Rod.

Peg pointed out something worth noting after reading the newspaper article this morning. While a lot of response focuses on Lew's being defeated by depression, failing to survive in the long term his injuries, being unable to deal with it all, in fact he was a survivor for 20-odd years. He parlayed a shitty hand into a lot of success, and that's what he should be remembered for, not his final act. That act tells us just how fucked that war left him, but his life tells us what kind of man he was.

Cap'n Jack

Jack Mallory is a former captain in the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment and Vietnam Veterans Against the War member, now a high school teacher, counselor, and father of two young boys.
¹⁰

V-Man,

Here's what happened to me day before yesterday. Being a Vvet helped me help somebody then. I don't know if this means anything.

A guy people would consider a “bum” was down on the sidewalk. His face was white, he had cold sweat running through his clothes,
which were a rag tag collection. He had a beautiful set of Nikes on his feet. An ultimate incongruity.

He was shaking and looking up and down, holding the back of his neck. His hair, an oily mess—remember that?—was pasted to his scalp so I could see completely through to his pate. One person had stopped, but others were afraid to look at him or acknowledge his presence. I stopped, not because I'm a good guy by any means, but because I felt “there but for the grace of God go I.” With my head problems, we could have been bros. There are a lot of bros out there.