Today they call it PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  A person who suffers a severe physical or psychological injury (sometimes both) can develop symptoms of PTSD such as the tendency to relive the event when something triggers a memory, avoidance of situations that remind you of the event, emotional numbness and generally feeling keyed up or on the alert (http://www.webmd.com/anxiety-panic/tc/post-traumatic-stress-disorder--symptoms).  Other indicators are despair or hopelessness, difficulty with controlling emotions and impulsive or self-destructive behavior, including suicide.  PTSD does not only occur among the military, but an alarming number of our young men and women returning from the battle field are diagnosed with PTSD and are resorting to suicide to escape. The rate of suicides has risen alarmingly during our wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and I can’t understand why our medical professionals and the military strategists who are guiding the progress of this war aren’t doing more to keep them safe and well. 

This topic came from one of my favorite web sites.  I’m a huge fan of the Doonesbury comic strip.  Garry Trudeau has a page called The Sandbox that is a forum dedicated to the military.  Men and women serving overseas can blog their experiences in an open forum.  Some are downright hilarious, as they write about the humorous things that get them through the day.  Most are earthy, visceral and touching, such as the one you will find here titled Nightmare by James Gibson: http://gocomics.typepad.com/the_sandbox/.   It’s worth reading and worth pondering.   

When our men from Strong came home from war, terms used were “battle fatigue” or “shell shock”.  I heard stories from two men in particular that have stayed with me, and I will not name them but will relate their tales.  One gentleman (a Strong man who passed last year) and his wife had shared separate bedrooms for decades, because he would come alert in his sleep and attempt to strangle his wife, thinking he was killing a Japanese soldier.   Another man who passed a couple of years ago in his 90’s would to his death day sleep with his shoes on and fully clothed as, “You never know when you might have to evacuate.”  In their day I have no idea what kind of help they would receive, if any.  But now we know what causes this trauma, we know how to diagnose it and know how to effectively treat it and attempt to return these young people back to living their lives. The fact that we are so often dropping the ball is beyond catastrophic, and I speak from experience.

This issue is very personal, as we lost my Dad to suicide 33 years ago Christmas. I know what the families of these men and women go through – the trauma, the pain and the guilt of not understanding what was happening in front of you and of not being able to see the signs. In many cases it's simply denial that doesn't allow you to see that the person you love is falling apart piece by piece until it's too late.  Once they are buried and mourned, you begin to remember the little clues.  There's this constant thinking, ”I saw that, why didn't I do something?” or “What could I have said to change things?”  In my case we simply had no experience with such an event.  Funny how fast you learn.  It's a trauma that's not easy to share or to talk with others about, but in the case of our young military families, these days we know what causes this, we know how to recognize it and we know how to help them.  So why aren't we?  Are we truly pushing these people out on the battlefield, reeling them back in and sending them home to fend for themselves with no support systems in place?

I remember being with our godson Andrew and his mother when he returned from his first Army deployment to Iraq.  We met him at Ft. Bragg along with all the other military families with the hugs, photos and the general decompression that comes with “My God, he's/she's finally on safe ground.”  Once we got to the hotel room, it was evident that he was totally WIRED.  Whether it was from exhaustion, fatigue, or just generally being shuttled from a tent to 4 solid walls in a 24 hour period, I'm not sure.  But he only wanted to pull out his command laptop and show us film and photos of what he had to deal with while over there.  Once he booted up, we had difficulty pulling him away to go eat his first decent meal in months.  He was so focused still on the field of battle, his friends that he left over there and of what was to become of him now that he was back on base.  He had a second deployment to Afghanistan that lasted 16 months, and thankfully was better prepared and had more time to adjust to the situations thrust upon him.  He returned, went to law school and is now serving as a Navy JAG in San Diego, happy, married, well-adjusted and amazing.  Maybe he had better coping skills than others, I really can’t say.  But I can say that we can do more to help those who don't cope as well.

To those of you who have sons, daughters, nephews and nieces or grandchildren who are currently serving their country, be there for them.  That’s the simple message here.  Notice them, talk to them, do not assume that whatever they experienced, that they will “get over it.”  By the time they do get past it, it might be too late to make a difference.

To learn more, here’s a link to an article from CBS News: http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-504763_162-57394452-10391704/study-suicide-rates-among-army-soldiers-up-80-percent/

Tammi

   On January 10th, 1943, the men of Strong crossed the equator.  At this time they performed the ceremony of King Neptune’s Court in order to win safe passage on through the Pacific.    Photos highlighting this ceremony are for viewing on the Memories of Strong page, and speak of mucho fun and hilarity shared by all.  There’s a neat story that’s attached to these photos however, one that brought me so much closer to understanding the bond that I share with my great-uncle who died 15 years before I was even born.  I’d like to share the story of these photos and how I got them, and of the letter that came to me after the death of his sister Lillian, or Toots as she was called most of her life. 

Back in 2007, Milt Hackett was kind enough to share these photos with me of the crossing of the equator.  At the time, I was just so pleased and excited to get them, that at first didn’t really understand what was going on.  Looking at them it appeared to be some kind of fraternity-like hazing on board ship, and the explanation evaded me.  Milt’s letter accompanying them did not explain the significance of the day.  As I was holding them in my hands, I looked at my hubby and said, “I wish I knew what was going on here.  I wish I had something from Billy that would explain this!”

When you put your request out to the universe, sometimes the universe answers.

A few months later, Billy’s sister Lillian died in Illinois.  Her family shipped some of her belongings to her only surviving sibling, my Aunt Stella.  Among those belongings there was a letter that  Billy had sent home, dated January 17th, 1943.  Stella knew all along of my affection for Billy and of my research, so she forwarded the letter to me.  Upon opening the letter and reading it, I had to sit down and collect myself.  He heard my request, he truly did.  Otherwise, how did this come to me? 

It was 70 years ago tomorrow January 17th, 1943 that Billy wrote this letter home. Here's a precious excerpt:

“Several days ago we crossed the equator. Perhaps you've heard of the ceremonies attending that occasion. The day before we crossed the line Davy Jones and his crew came aboard to serve subpoenas to all Polliwogs (those who had never been across). The next day Neptunus Rex and his court were aboard for the trial. In the court were the Queen and royal baby, three royal barbers, the royal chaplain, the royal surgeons, and the royal judge (Convictus Certainus). Besides these there was a receiving line made up of about fifty other Shellbacks (those who had been across the line before) and the royal imp, with horns, tail and trident.

The imp sought out each polliwog and escorted him to the receiving line, who drove him on hands and knees with fludgeons through a shower of seawater. After the judge had passed the usual decision, we were sent to the royal barbers – now I'm as bald as a bean.

The royal baby was a fat chief petty officer. He had on a huge diaper and had mustard colored gun grease smeared on his belly. Each polliwog had to kiss the royal baby's belly. Next we had massages and facials with fuel oil and graphite. Boy, what a mess.”

  Later, when I met Lillian’s son Jim and daughter Lilith for the first time I asked Jim about the letter and how they came to send it to Stella.  His response was, “I have no recollection of sending that letter with her things, or how it got there.”  So am I being fanciful and silly?  Or do I accept it as the gift it was and continue to pursue this project in the hopes that some day we will get to the Kula Gulf, we will film a documentary, get that Medal of Honor for Hugh Barr Miller Jr., and give Strong her place in history? 

I think I’ll stick with it.  It’s been an awesome ride so far.

Tammi

Sadly I report the loss of another Strong sailor, William James Stancill, native of Pitt County, North Carolina.  Mr. Stancill departed on New Year's Eve after a long and productive life.   He is survived by his: wife of 66 years, Louise Sumerlin Stancill;
daughters, Gayle Stancill, of the home and Maxine Stancill Edwards and husband, Kelly, of Winterville; sons, William Jennings Stancill and wife, Nancy and A.J. Stancill and wife, Sherry, all of Greenville; grandchildren, Edwin Stancill and wife, Crystal, of Emeral Isle, Jennifer Stancill McKeel, and Wendy Stancill Gaskins, all of Greenville, and Alan Stancill and wife, Carole, of Roanoke, VA; great-grandchildren, Dylan Stancill, Jonathan R. Stancill, all of Greenville, Deanna Stancill, of Emerald Isle, Bryce McKeel, Joshua McKeel, Paige McKeel and Abby Gaskins, all of Greenville, Jonathan K. Stancill and Elizabeth Stancill, of Roanoke, VA; sister, Nora Stancill Sutton, of Greenville; and a niece, Marlene Sutton Dory and husband, Bill, of Greenville.  Click on the link here to read the entire obituary: http://www.wilkersonfuneralhome.com/new_view.php?id=1969345 (Photo from Wilkerson Funeral Home site)

Just before the holidays I heard from Mr. Stancill's daughter, Maxine Stancill Edwards.  At the time her father was in ill health.  After responding to her, it wasn't until today that I heard back from her and she shared her news.  If anyone would like to send condolences you can follow the information on the obituary link, or I can hook you up with Maxine if you contact me directly.  There are a couple of photos of him as a young man in the Navy that will be posted to the Memories of Strong page.  Another shipmate lost, but he lives on in the hearts of his family and here on the web site.  As long as we talk about them, as long as we remember them, they are never really gone.  That's the way I like to think about it anyway. 

Smooth sailing, Mr. Stancill.  Calm seas and clear skies to you.

Tammi