another snow

another snow

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I’ve been stuck in the snow before. Strange how it seems-this scene in the photograph was on December 25 1997. The weather has no calendar.

Today the papers are filled with the stories of stranded motorist. The Washington (DC) Post had a photo of an empty city on its front page today.  One foot of snow stopped everything.

40 years ago I saw this same thing. I remember being stranded at the Greyhound bus station on New York Avenue in the center of DC. Our bus crept into the station-very late…the snow storm had become one of record in the history books of weather. Everything was shut down.

I mark things by time. I find odd connections to time frames. The exact number of 40 years strikes me-a snow storm the near equivalent of the one I remember comes as if it is some kind of private ceremony from God to me…of course,that is crazy talk from a bothered man-but like the hawk that flew into my house two years ago New Years Eve I see a Spiritual symbol in the way the weather is today.

Yes-far fetched,a “not so” kind of thing…to most. But the way my mind works it certainly is something….mostly because it triggers an emotion and a memory from that night I got stranded in the snow in Washington DC,and-nearly the exact time and date.

I remember Eddie Lachman. I think he was the last person to be kind to me before I ended up in barracks D. Barracks D was the detention barracks that I was taken to…my crime? Being caught in the snow storm is what it amounts to. I was in the Navy and unable to check in on ship because of the storm.

Eddie Lachman plowed his way through the snow covered roads in a VW Beetle driving me home to my parents house in the suburbs.We seemed to be the only car on the road. We met in the lounge that connected through a section of the bus depot. There was not much else to do but get a drink-there was not many others in the lounge,so meeting and chatting with Eddie was not so hard. He insisted on getting me to my destination-a sailor wishing to be home for a holiday

He was an older man-from Holland,a newspaper journalist who covered the White House for his paper.

I became friends with Eddie-briefly,after my discharge and release from barracks D. I visited his home in Georgetown in NorthWest DC. I ate meals cooked by his Vietnamese housekeeper remembering he had told me she once served him his own house-pet for supper. Eddie even sent me money after I fled the DC area and came to Micanopy Florida.

My emotions are sensitive to this time of year! Not like the shopping frenzy of emotions….but the kind from memories that are connected with some event in ones life that becomes imbedded forever. It is a cruelty that lasts-that I can’t ever forget. A little while ago I did my usual in the bathroom-and the usual was there…the damage which instantly strikes a memory which has already been fused by the exact thought I have each morning-now for 40 years. The rape.

Everyday there is something that reminds me.

conflict…

104

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

 

Life is conflict. My dictionary says-prolong fighting;warfare!

I woke this morning and it seemed I was walking and climbing in my sleep. The dreams during my sleep made me fight to keep alive…I was in a prison-and it was as if any of us there were desperate for survival. I woke tired,the dream was that physical.

This shack on the St.Johns River is so far out of the reaches of access-the only way here is by boat. For miles this is the only structure. Could I find peace from myself there? Alone?

My life feels alone. I’ve had to keep so much in. Others have not known the truth about me. Others have known something but not everything. They began to know  only what they concluded might be-but what this was had nothing to do with me.

I found a solitude that was so comforting on the St.Johns back in the early 1990’s when I was first introduced to traveling by motorboat to camp. Along the river are various countless camps-some more up-scale such as the cabin in the photo…there are hundreds such scattered all along the lengths of the river-all so secluded,and unreachable unless by boat.

My first trip up the river sent me into a deja vu with strong Spiritual sensations. In the southern part of the St.Johns the river is wide and tiny grass islands are spread for miles. Something about passing along those islands at slow float takes me back in time. All the time there feels like it is a heavens much as it is a haven.

Conflict? I am very torn about things this time of year. It seems my dreams become more wildly vivid about being locked away. My memories of my time in the Navy become more depressing-the crixmix helps provoke that. Yesterday I visited my son and his family…the crixmix tree that sat in their living room impacted me more. I want to stop going anywhere-the bell ringers at the grocery spout out the cheer shit of the season-everywhere it seems the crixmix  salutation is given. Even my therapist wished me a happy holiday-without thinking.

It is all broken. I have no idea why it happened. I only know it stole almost all what was supposed to be me. I remember the times our family would drive around the hills of our neighborhood and look at the crixmix lights and decorations. It seemed like a special time – I’ve forgotten that it is supposed to be.

I remember always hoping for a white wonderful snow-this for the day of the gifts,that is sort of what made it more special.

I remember a snow did come. I will never forget it.

At age 18-my first holiday away from my family was spent on board ship. I had only been on the ship since that October-we spent Thanksgiving eating the traditional meal…then sat back to watch (of all things) Alice’s Restaurant (I guess because of the Thanksgiving storyline of the film).

I had never been away from home during this time-the holiday of the feast.

We went through Thanksgiving and crixmix on board ship. By we-I mean 2/3’s of the ship. Since we were in home port the ship was divided into 3rd’s for the holidays. Our section was given the New Year weekend,except that year New Years was on a week day,so I had that weekend to spend at home.

It was a crazy idea-it always has been…but there was a bus that made round trips from the base to Washington DC-we called it the ‘liberty bus’ because we were urged to go in uniform to DC,and many did even when there was risk of being late returning to ship. Most time those who showed up late were restricted to remain on ship for two or three days,nothing severe.

I had every night off because I worked in the galley. The Friday night of the New Years weekend was a free night for me too.

I had it in my head that I could extend the weekend….somehow make my holiday a little longer-to make up for missing crixmix (what I have since called Christmas) so I took the liberty bus to DC. My 18 year old mindset was to make a wild dash home and holler “”Happy New Year” and a wild dash back to the return bus and be on time for roll call the next morning. After roll call-I had a three day pass which I had with me as I traveled that night.

It snowed.

The snow began an hour into the trip-and quickly got worse. We crept into Washington and it seemed the bus station was the only place with life-the snow had covered everything and everyone was stranded.

In the bus station-as in the airports and train stations,there was a military travel liason office. I reported there that I was in trouble-showed them my liberty pass and they called the ship. The situation was explained and I was told if I could make it home I was free to go and enjoy my holiday.

I don’t know what happened between time. I know I got a ride home in a VW Beetle driven by a Dutch newspaper writer…Eddie Lachman. He plowed that little car right through the snow and dropped me at my parents door.

I cannot remember exact minutes. I do remember my older brother showing up a day later. We were stationed together-he was not to happy with that arrangement,an idea I got while in boot camp a few months earlier. He was sent to arrest me and take me back to the ship. I learned there some charges were made about drug use. I found myself in a detention barracks that night. The next day was New Years Eve.

I had not peed the entire day. We drove away from our parents house early in the morning-and by the time I entered barracks D it was close to 8:30 in the night. I had to pee.

I had never been incarcerated before then. I found myself holding my bedding-standing in a group of men that appeared to all be rough and undesirable. I had to walk past the crowd thinking what I was just told by the man who gave me my bedding …”welcome to barracks D-Drugs,Drunks,and Degenerates”. He spoke the words as if he was a woman.

In my haste I found a bunk separated away from the other men. I walked past the crowd and kept my self distanced-but instead I drew attention to three who came and surrounded my solitary bunk.

The one spoke to me. Through his nose it sounded-he called me ‘mister’. It was in a very nasal twang with sarcasm and meanness. There were words of threats but quickly ended because they sounded lights out.

“We’ll see you soon,mister” which made me lay there longer than I could ever stand it. I had to pee so badly.

I waited until I thought everyone was sleeping-something like 80 to 100 men.

I made my way to the head (toilet) as quietly as I could.

I got there and as I readied to pee I heard the twang come out of his nose…”hello mister”, and then I was socked in the head. As I went down I could see the man with the womans voice and some others looking at this through a hole in the concrete wall. I don’t know how many times I was hit. I pissed myself and my clothes as my pants and skivvy’s were yanked off.

I was raped.

merry crixmix?

happy new year….?

the real Hero’s

looking at the USS Arizona Memorial

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I have no words to really intro into this morning…I just want to say-
God Bless America!
December 7,1941

walking to Washington DC?

243

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

Walking to Washington. I did it once before-nearly,when my grandfather in Pottstown (Pennsylvania) died back in 1970 or 71. Lost track.

I hitch-hiked much of the way. Those days it was easy to stand along the roadside and stick the thumb out to catch a ride.

I remember sleeping the first night under an over pass on the interstate. In those days I-95 was sporadic and often the road went through detours . It was not easy travel. The only food I remember eating was raw corn that I picked across a fence in a field along the highway. I remember how thrilled I was years later to learn that Jesus and His disciples did the same thing-gleaning the corn from a field to eat.

I was not allowed to attend the funeral. I arrived at my parents in the suburbs of DC and was expecting to continue to Pottstown to attend Pop-Pop’s funeral. My father refused to take me to Pottstown.

It is a long way by foot and thumb. Now a day that mode of transport is mostly forgotten. I can tell you that the style of it never will.

I want to do it again! I have had the thought in my head for a couple of years. Florida once had a governor that walked from one end of the state to the other to meet voters and earn their respect. It worked-they sent Lawton Chiles to head the state and further on to Washington DC. Why did he walk? To gain attention…they called him ” Walkin’ Lawton “!

I’m not running for any political offices. I am not in that mode of understanding. Politicians give enough of not much to give me that impression. Maybe it is just me-and maybe I need to try to believe one more time.  I do know that if one raises enough hell about something they are listened to a little more carefully. For example-the road out in front of my place. A two mile stretch which is also on a county line. Not one of the counties took responsibility for the road-and over the years it became crowded and worse to drive than any road in Daktari. We raised our voices as a community and the elected could not help hearing us. The road is paved.

            *******************************************************

I am having a difficult time writing this. My emotions are shaky much because of the holiday seasons coming up-and my nightmares are beating me lately. I recently was interviewed by a pair of journalists who are compiling the stories of other survivors-survivors of  ‘military sexual trauma’ (MST) and the duration of the two days telling my story have added to the weakness I experience around this time of year.

My holiday in 1969 was when my sexual trauma took place. To be more specific-it was New Years Eve 69-70-it was around 0200,22 hours before the new year began.

The things that took place during that time altered my life forever. For many years I thought I was the only one it ever happened to-but learned what happened to me has happened to others…enough others that it is called MST.

All the series of pages written in this journal explain many things about my life as a male survivor of sexual trauma-rape! I also explain that the reason I came to write all of this is because after 35 years of silence my story came to the attention of our local VA hospital. There I began treatment for post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Eventually I was told to apply for veterans benefits- a way of closure and validation.

The man I was required to appeal to made some concerning remarks. They were not only concerning-they were hurtful. This man was to represent me as an advocate regarding something in my life so tattooed in my soul from the pain of what happened in 1969-70,and he was a bigot. I told this person about being raped and he made jocular comments and expected me to see the humor. He could not be in charge of something so serious to me-he had no education and the responsibility of caring for a rape survivor had no business being in his control.

I am nearly tempted from the fatigue of writing to members of Congress and Senators regarding the need for changes in how veterans suffering from MST are treated in respect to the other veterans who have received honorable injuries in the line of duty. Now knowing what I have learned-there are thousands of MST survivors,many who do not know of the rights they have,many who are too frightened to find out. I am nearly tempted to begin a walk towards Washington DC to raise awareness of the crime of MST and the fact that survivors have had their rights violated by the bigotry of the advocates placed to represent them.

I will try to continue this later…

barracks D drawing

barracks D drawing

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

 

This is not easy to do. Trying to relate everything from the past 40 years into just a page of words-the right words….and,to tell the things on your mind in just a few hours of just a few days-to relate the pain and describe the losses or explain the fears. No-none of it is easy.

 

I used to leave the visits with my former therapist (Charlotte-at the VA)
and would feel like I was walking through mud about waist deep.The feeling came from the exhaustion from the work of telling my story…to the first person who ever wanted to listen. You have to understand carrying over 35 years of personal torment by yourself-to finally release it was the work and the results have been difficult but there.

 

I am tired like that today-I spent the past Tuesday and Wednesday telling my story again, being recorded and filmed, and learning some had not been recorded, so…telling my story again,being recorded and filmed. Today is Friday and my body is feeling better. Yesterday I could hardly move. Today I still feel worn-but I also feel power in what has just happened this past week.

 

I have never found trust in anybody in my life until I met Charlotte B. (my VA therapist) I know it took a while at first but the way she remembered such odd details about what I had began telling her showed me this was someone who cared-for real cared!

 

All of that has been broken somehow-as if it is a must in the usual way my life goes. An odd thing is as is all of the ways the road turns is-while visiting my Navy son in Pearl Harbor I learned of a woman who was doing an article for National Geographic. Her topic was ‘military sexual trauma’ and how it effected woman veterans who have been traumatized. I telephoned her and asked “why just woman”?

 

Unfortunantly…the artcle went along the wayside because the magazine lost interest-but the journalist did not. She and her photographer friend have continued the project out of pocket…and out of pocket they traveled here to Florida and now I must say how proud I am to know these two ladies.

 

They came here and listened. They came here because they know wrong is being done and silence is there because so many are afraid to come forward.

 

I was raped in a detention barracks-and no one cared. I lived for 30 some odd years before anyone did. Feeling good about this person believing me I followed the suggestion that I deserve veterans disability for PTSD due to MST (military sexual trauma). Reporting the circumstances to the DVA (Division of Veterans Affairs) officer in my home county I was responded to with comments of bigotry and ignorance. I felt violated again-and by now knowing I am not the only veteran this has happened to…I began writing about my life as a veteran who has felt no honor and about the life I have had. Good or bad. It has not been all that good,but there are places!

 

I also began writing to anyone who could help make a change. I cannot tell you the feeling the body and soul of a rape survivor has-the shame and guilt that should not even be there-but is. And the filth…it is always there in memory. I wrote Congressman and woman-and Senators. To the best of my ability to find contact information. Some responded-Congresswoman Ginnie Brown-Waite was going to meet me and talk about changes for veterans rights…veterans of MST. She does not have a seat on the veterans committee any more-as it was conveyed by her office to me. Veterans civil rights are being covered up and a US Congresswoman says it is no longer her job?

 

I wrote Senator Bill Nelson from Florida. His Chief of Staff contacted me-we exchanged telephone calls a few times and a few emails…and then a few emails he had not responded to. And…no more contact with Senator Bill Nelson.

 

Two woman hear a persons story one day. That persons story was about MST and that persons account of how life living with the troubles PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) that make the lives of us survivors miserable. I am in awe as to how that has become a personal project of these two-to me they are heros. Our Congress are elected to serve us. Our Senate is elected to serve us. MST survivors are not a ‘big interest’. We offer no cash return. We are not deserving of a parade or any recoginition…in fact-I think they’d rather us go away-we are not the returning troops they want to laude and salute. We are wounded-but expected to stay silent. We have not had service from these elected Congress persons and Senators like the service we VOLUNTEERED to do!…and to do for our country.

 

I ramble when I am tired. I am tired today-but this wave of fatigue is so worth it. The story of MILITARY SEXUAL TRAUMA must be told-the problems that come with it must be exposed…and all of it must be changed. It is wrong for a young man to grow up in a foreign country and all of his life to desire to be an American…he grows up and enlists in the US Marines-there the prejudice of others led to the attacks that changed his life. A young man giving of himself for countryman of a country not yet his because he hopes to earn his citizenship in exchange for volunteering to defend the country he wants so much to be a citizen of. And this is what he earns? I weep thinking of this mans story-it breaks my heart so.

 

I too wanted to serve. My draft card was returned the day I volunteered to enter the United States Navy…I wanted to do my duty and once in the Navy-I wanted to be there forever. Another form of prejudice ended that…a form of jealousy-perhaps it could be called brotherly hate. I never will be sure. Months after my enlistment I was discharged with an ‘honorable discharge’…except I’ve never felt any honor.

 

I am very thankful for these two ladies…Lynn and Ann. They weren’t elected-no one hired them….they just heard one story of MST and from that one story came a seed-and that seed is growing into a vine that is soon going to grow into a tree-a solid solid hunk of timber,un-moveable-unable to ignore. The wind going through the leaves of this tree will be the voices of survivors and they will not be unheard-I know this.

 

I just have one last thing to say-I want to remember the lost on the USS IOWA and how the US Navy tried to cover up and twist truth to blame one man-one sailor who loved the Navy and was dishonored by them(the Navy claimed falsely that the sailor was ‘homosexual’ and detonated a bomb to seek revenge for a jilted love-ALL FALSE)…. 47 men died at the fault of poorly maintained equipment.If they can try to cover up this…you know they will do it elsewhere!

The Navy acknowledged the explosion was an accident due to faulty equipment-but they NEVER apologized for falsely accussing the young sailor-he died in the explosion too.

 

 

looking into the face of God

looking into the face of God

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

…oh God…how much longer is the wait?

Catfish Hotel

catfish hotel-St.Johns River,Florida

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

Along the St.Johns River (Florida) there are small camps various distances apart-long distances! This place in the photo-known as Catfish Hotel-is so away from anything,anywhere,and is only accessable by boat. The river banks at this point are approximately 8 miles apart-the nearest highway overpass about 4-but it is guaranteed,you are not walking out of here.

It is fair to say the Catfish Hotel is a sanctuary for escape from thunderstorms-which Florida is famous for. It was built by airboaters (oddly,out of steel) to escape storms-yet,it has been used as a camp for many years and it comes complete with a cook out grill for a kitchen.

You could drop me off to live there-the isolation is so welcome (however-gallons  of mosquito repellant will be required)…and yet-isolation is so uncanny for what I have in my heart.

I spent yesterday visiting a friend who vacations at Siesta Key-a posh resort town next to Sarasota,an island,but not quite like the island our Catfish Hotel has been built.

Siesta Key runs with the Gulf of Mexico to the west. I remember when I first drove Midnight Pass Road which runs parallel to the beach-this was in 1970…you could see the waters for as long as Midnight Pass lasted. Not today. It is nothing but condominium after condominium. It gives me a sad feeling to remember 1970.

I have dealing with depression again-usually it becomes compounded with the hints of the crixmix season (christmas-for those who do not know). 1970 pry’s at my mind most all of the time but it becomes more pronounced as this time of years comes close-my rape happened in this season.

I’ve been asked a certain question about myself-twice in the past few years. I about to be interviewed in regards to ‘military sexual trauma’ and that I am a male survivor…the journalist asked it exactly the same way as my attorney once asked…”what is your sexual preference”?

“I don’t know”! This is my answer. I never had the chance to find out.

Shocking to some – dumbfounding  to them too. According to the Bible-it is only supposed to be one way. Oddly,I have no comprehension…how could I?

I am a father. I always say my sons and I grew up together-that because it is so. To be a father I had to be with a woman…and may I say-I am sure to be a father of children that I do not know. No matter what the mental capacity of a man or a woman-as long as they get together in some form of sexual moment a child is likely to come of it.

I am attracted to woman-that is why Siesta Key had an impact on me yesterday. European tourists seem to flock there. European people seem to be less inhibited by their bodies than Americans-they dress more freely closer to nude,at least at Siesta Key. I do admit-my eyes tried to drink in as much as they could,the closest I had been to a naked woman (or,nearly naked) in years and years.

My drive home is 3 hours long. I thought about the day as I drove along…more honestly,I thought about the young woman my eyes were longing for. Not  longing for them sensually….longing for the experience I had missed as a teenager-and as an adult,never having the fun and laughs these young people were having. I had never had a date (my first date ever was disturbed by my brother being killed) except some ordeal my parents arranged to help out a cousin of ours. My wives were not products of courting and dates and normal engagements. My first marriage was a true shotgun wedding (less violent then it sounds) and my second was two six packs too many and a blindness only a fool can have…but no dates.

More so-I drove along and thought a lot about what is wrong with me. I am broken because of what happened to me in barracks D.

The insanity of the sickness of what happened there is something I have never been able to walk away from. Some years ago I would do something that I have always known in myself as ‘damage control’ , which is my way of being like a battered wife who keeps returning to her battering husband. I tried to control it but it controled me-I needed to return to what it was that was given to me. The abuse became the only form of touch I could have-because the gentil touch of I love you was not something I could understand…it never was mine.

Through the years I have had many encounters with woman. Beautiful woman…and sometimes not so beautiful. I tried to find someone I could love and accept love from…but the results of the punished life I received at barracks D always stood steadfast in the very moments a moment of intimacy were to begin. I became so afraid-the discoveries…the need to explain-the wish none of it ever existed,but now seems to have existed forever.

Am I attracted to men? Am I a ‘homosexual’ as many have asked? I really and honestly have no idea…I do not know what is normal or is not,I had no other choice but to learn it that way-what was given to me at barracks D. Drunk I could be blasted enough to fall for a woman like my last wife-long gone 12 years now and the last time I was sexually active with someone-ANYONE!. Like a deer with its eyes in the headlights I would have to re-do the marriage I had with my first wife…I only did it because I was scared to death of her dad.

I hated ‘damage control’ too. I did it to abuse myself…plain and simple-my body wants to vomit from the memory of it, but like the Bible says-”a dog returns to its vomit”. Sometimes the urge to return is so over powering, I wish to be dead to be free of it.

The choices would be easier if one could dwell in a place like Catfish Hotel.

The incredible thing about yesterday at Siesta Key…I wanted to be with someone-I wanted to hold a hand and feel loving breath on my neck. I wanted to be 18 to find out what it really was supposed to be…not like it ended up-and what it is. I missed something.

the gift….(part two)

up the Econ River-Florida

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I want to finish what I began telling yesterday-I was interrupted and after that I could not focus.

I am a grown man-nearly 59. The previous days I had spent in Pearl Harbor found me exploring the USS Missouri and if ones eyes could focus on me in a way peculiar enough to see…they would have seen me as a kid-in parts of the ship my mind was at play like a 10 year old kid,in other parts of the ship-those that brought back memories of my time on the USS Vulcan-I was myself at age 18.

The asian girls that approached me in the Maui airport reminded me of an experience I had in Norfolk one night…all of the trip to the Hawaiian islands was sending me back to before the time got bad. The way being swooned into a jewelry store brought back my crying with the jewelry salesman that sold my ‘mothers pin’.

The sales girls told me how unusual it was to find a black pearl-and it came to me that this was the gift I was trying to find.

As it happened-in connection with the promotion of selecting a colorful slip of paper printed with discounted-or even free-pearls,there was a pendant the clerks showed me (saying it was the most popular in the islands) a small sterling silver whales tail. The pendant had a small post attached and it was meant to hold a pearl. Along with the pendant came a gift card. The card explain the spiritual meaning of the symbol of a whales tail. Strength.

The black pearl fit to make a wonderful combination. This was the gift for Charlotte.

I’m not a gift giver. It’s myriad reasons-but mostly because I’m afraid of giving the wrong impression of the gesture. But for this occasion and for these four friends it was as if like all things-spiritually guided. That day-it was not what was on my mind,but yet-the gifts came on their own. One,for my artist friend Bill-a statuette of a praying Chinese man,was as if it was carved for him specially. My friends had all given me gifts-gifts that can only come from within…not available for purchase or expecting exchange. I know trinkets are not expected-but from my heart I wanted to give something.

It was one year ago exactly that I received the paperwork from the VA signed by their judge stating “no wrongdoing”….in relation to my time spent in barracks D. They admitted there was no reason for my being there-and agreed that I had been permanently hurt. I can’t yet explain what that feels like. After 35 plus years of this and how many more yet to come?

I havent seen Charlotte since this time last year. I took my papers to her new office and we read them in awe of what had just happened…the truth was told.

My gift was given through a friend who gave it to a friend who gave it to Charlotte for me. I wasn’t certain if  gifts could be accepted and wanted it to be somewhat legitimate…after all,a client didn’t give it-did they?

Last week I had a routine look see by the physician I am assigned to at the VA. I am a reluctant sceptic returning to VA care because my new status as a ’service connected’ disabled veteran say I deserve it…I still can’t see how,but now my health is troubled-I guess so.

As the doctor was putting everything into the computer I saw a pendant hanging on her neck…a wooden hand carved whales tail.

I could not help commenting-she responded back that a patient had made it for her…a symbol of strength.

I miss Charlotte. It is hard to walk away from seeing her again.  These days I could use her power of listening and the comfort of knowing she cared.

It has been a full year. It has been a year that has spoken loudly to me-the VA disability is still swirling inside of me. I cannot comprehend it how it has all come to be. Pearl Harbor? The visit was one of great emotional strains-seeing my son in his Navy uniform,to walk the base every morning and look out at the ships in rows,to be able to visit a variety of ships. All pulled at my heart. I am in awe of the majesty of it-how huge this really is. And-how sad it still makes me.

Forty years ago during this season my life was still innocent. I was in the Navy and had just a month before joined the crew of the USS Vulcan. The education officer on board ship had remarked that I had potential-my test scores showed I did too…my thrill of the news that I could exchange some of my life to give to the Navy as an officer was busted by my brother. Little did I know that my time in the US Navy was coming to a close and the rest of my life would be spent remembering how.

Just like there is no way I can ever regain what was taken away from me 40 years ago there is no way I can ever explain to my four friends who I found gifts for how much they mean to me and that the gifts would be for them to remember me as I will always remember them-and nothing else.

the gift…

sunset at Possum Bluff,located on the St.Johns River,Florida

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

The last time I wrote I mentioned how depression starts bothering me around this time of year. My body and life has moved into an older man but my feet are stuck where I was at age 18.

It was this season in 1969 that I became a member of the crew of the USS Vulcan ( AR-5) .

Like I said-I was 18,and like many young military man at that time,it was my first time away from my family.

The division I worked in-the galley-allowed me everynight off and every other weekend. I took advantage of my new found freedom-no mom and dad to apply a curfue-I’d take the liberty bus into Norfolk and walk Granby Street.

Granby Street was lined with shops to attract the sailor. There where ‘champaign lounges’ where the sailor might go and be conned to buy champaign for the ladies who blew in your ear and whispered nothings. Six dollars a glass made my visit to a champaign lounge really short-we were only paid 79 dollars a month.

There was another shop on Granby that sold jewelry.

It was once upon a time that shops had hawkers-salesmen that stood on the street in front of the shop and would begin the sales process the moment you walked by. One of those hawkers caught me and talked me right in to the counter to show me a pendant. It was called the ‘mothers pendant’…it was designed for all the mothers of sons who were serving,especially the sons in Viet Nam.

He called it the ‘mothers pin’. He had me so convinced to buy this we both were shedding tears-true,he was that convincing. Besides-I was offered credit and UPS shipping…I could’nt have felt more mature.

My brother Frank (we were stationed together) gave me the biggest ration of hell when I told him what I had done. He told me it was the biggest con (and I learned he was right) and demanded I go home to our family home and retrieve the gift. That I wish I had never done….it was’nt that big of a con.

Early this year I managed to travel to Pearl Harbor. My son is stationed there in the US Navy and the timing of his invitation was especially important because my name had been cleared by the Navy and I was awarded disability benefits because of the PTSD from the rapes in barracks D.

The trip to what has to be one the biggest historic Navy event-the attack on Pearl Harbor had so much meaning to me. It was as if evetryday was meant to offer me some strange form of healing to be in the midst of all of this history-and all of the ships.

On the flight over I met an artist-actually,a jeweler. He bopped on to his home island and invited me to take a weekend of my visit to experience his islands attractions,and I accepted.

The flights from island to island are quick-about enough time to drink a beer,but just barely enough. My host met me and we took in some sights and I was able to buy some gifts for a few friends back in Florida-for some very select special friends I was able to find soome very unique and special things. I missed one person-the most important of these friends,Charlotte (my former therapist at the VA). Mostly because there was nothing that fit the special this person was to me.

I mentioned my new friend being a jeweler. I thought of him-maybe I could buy something from him?  His response was such…”you can’t afford what I make”, and once seeing his work , I understood his honesty.

The mystery of things always gives me a sense of of the angels the Bible says encamp around us to protect and guide.

Among all the shops in the airport there was one place where there was a very beautiful young oriental girl standing with a goldfish bowl filled with colored papers…”take and you get great discounts on real pearls right from the oyster”,and along side of her was a huge aquarium filled with water and live oysters.

It reminded me of Granby Street.

“Take a paper and unfold to see your discount” she tells me….”no obligation” she says.

So-I get a free pearl! I’m believing then this is a gimmick,but I took the wand and chose an oyster (or is it a clam?) and it was holding the most beautiful black pearl. All of the clerks were amazed and told me how rare that black pearl was.

TO BE FINISHED LATER!

 

 

 

sometimes that is the way life is

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Originally uploaded by jayfherron

About the only thing the guy in this photo has going for him is his dog. Among us all-the dog is the only one not laughing in sarcasm as to how off track can you get?

Yes…this is a boat-known as an air boat. They are powerful what with the airplane engines that thrust them. The power is so strong you can ‘boat’ through the water or through the marshes and even on solid ground…but getting it to go through two trees is not in the book.

This fellow is lucky. Fortune has graced him with others…no one can create an embarrassing moment like this and not have spectators-so we all helped rock the boat free.

Why this man is lucky is because the spot we are standing in is miles from anywhere. The only transportation out of this spot is by boat or an eleven mile hike to highway 50 through muck and marsh and most likely thousands of mosquitoes.

It has to be a sinking feeling to have a 20k dollar boat like this wedged up as it is. On a bluff so remote and in a situation that AAA cannot resolve. I could see the look in the owners eyes of panic and despair.

It is always interesting when the crowd grows-the suggestions (many daft) begin…you know-the  ”if it was me”  kind of tone.

I can relate to the muddled sounds he must be hearing. His body is present but his mind is stuck between those trees with his boat.

It’s kind of like one of those ruts in the road we seem to go through. The kind where the problem seems so deep there is no way to turn it around. Every thing was moving smoothly – every one was smiling and having a good time, life was good. Then came the part where the two trees got involved.

Maybe it’s because it is too much like the feelings of depression. You can be up on life’s high and then suddenly be slammed-right between two trees. That’s how it feels-and that there is no way out. Everyone is making suggestions….many daft! Those like “have a beer and cheer up” or “if it was me” or “it can’t be that bad”. None of them work because most of them are spoken by someone who has no idea what it feels like.

My feelings are of panic and despair-they usually grow stronger for me around this time of year. My dreams even become more intense. Yesterday my son and I went to Lowe’s. The moment we entered the store we were smacked in the face with crixmix decorations. I think it gets worse every time…seeing that stuff. It seems the duration of seeing the ’seasons’ get longer every year.

It was 41 years ago this month that I first boarded the USS Vulcan. I can close my eyes and still see the morning I first saw her. It was still dark and the lights   seemed to be illuminating every inch of this giant vessel which I was soon to be a part of.

 A life I will never forget.

This past Friday in our local area there was a festival exclusive for veterans. I was at a meeting where the topic came up-several of the people in our meeting were being hosts at one of the booths. They talked of what the event was and how it was to support veterans. I heard the words about the homeless vet’s and felt the pangs of guilt that I had it so well and they do not. My guilt also includes not serving my country as many other had.

We passed by the parade of crixmix trees on display at the home improvement store-they were surrounded by other gee gaw that has connections to the crixmix story of fantasy and make believe…but serve as symbols of terror to me in the way that they remind me of the things that happened in the short time I ’served’.

The people at the meeting who were hosting the booth at the veterans festival were inviting me to join in the festivities…they do not realize the grief it is to me to have to yet hide my military service,to keep inside the life I still continue to live…with shame,and the guilt knowing I really did not get to serve and I really am not a veteran.

Things are going great…then,all of a sudden….there’s two trees!