The North Korean Punchbowl
I was 13 years old. My grandpa John, great-grandfather Jack and I were camping in our RV for our annual hunting trip in the mountains. Jack was a tall and ruggedly-stern man; the kind of person that, when he was joking around, you weren't totally sure if you're supposed to laugh. Still, Jack always tried to make people laugh, but this was a time when Jack got serious. He sat me down and stared, almost through me, his breathing sped up. John had seen him like this many times before-but it was my first time. A concerned look on John's face appeared and my curiosity grew as I sat in a bunk looking back at great-grandpa; Jack needed to tell war stories. I listened, enthralled in the moment, to what Jack might say.
“It was 1951,” Jack promptly noted. “I was shipped off to Korea with the US Army to fight the northern communists. Before I got there I was supposed to be an artillery mechanic, but when I stepped off that ship in Korea my Sergeants said to me, “forget everything you learned in school, you're an infantryman now”.” Jack fought along the 38th parallel in the Korean peninsula for roughly two years. During his first few months there he would experience something that changed his life forever. Jack fought through a shaking voice to tell me more, “I was heading back to our fort after a calm day of patrols in the surrounding hills. As my unit and I came to the slope just below the fort, artillery shells, bursting, and hot small arms fire reigned down on us and our friends in the fort.” He was sweating by now, his body was shaking, I could feel a thick tension in the air, John and I had our eyes on him. He solemnly continued, “Gleaming red explosions surrounded us and the fort was being destroyed. I could hear people screaming. Our fellow soldiers poured over the ridge on foot and in trucks. Running towards us they yelled out to turn around. The attackers took our position and advanced on us.” Jack stopped for a moment; John tried to help the old ox compose himself by placing an arm around him. Jack continued, “thousands of men died in those hills and I still haven’t forgotten them.” This was the first time in my life that I saw first-hand the effects of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Jack had PTSD, which wasn't even considered a mental illness until 1980 (Friedman 1). He was suffering from a re-imagining of the event, he felt like he was in Korea when we were camping that night. Later, I learned that Jack's story took place around some areas called the “Bloody Ridge” and the “Punchbowl”. Even though I saw the pain and loss in his eyes and shaking body that night, Jack still always tried to find something to laugh about. I knew that some of Jack's friends never came home from that war, and maybe even Jack himself is still in the “Punchbowl”. Before PTSD was diagnose-able, America didn't do much for our veterans who were struggling. Now, we need to ensure that all of our citizens, those at home, and those that are sent overseas to protect this nation's interests, receive the benefits and mental health help they need, to protect them after they have protected us.
To read about another, more personal, experience from the author about PTSD please click here.
“It was 1951,” Jack promptly noted. “I was shipped off to Korea with the US Army to fight the northern communists. Before I got there I was supposed to be an artillery mechanic, but when I stepped off that ship in Korea my Sergeants said to me, “forget everything you learned in school, you're an infantryman now”.” Jack fought along the 38th parallel in the Korean peninsula for roughly two years. During his first few months there he would experience something that changed his life forever. Jack fought through a shaking voice to tell me more, “I was heading back to our fort after a calm day of patrols in the surrounding hills. As my unit and I came to the slope just below the fort, artillery shells, bursting, and hot small arms fire reigned down on us and our friends in the fort.” He was sweating by now, his body was shaking, I could feel a thick tension in the air, John and I had our eyes on him. He solemnly continued, “Gleaming red explosions surrounded us and the fort was being destroyed. I could hear people screaming. Our fellow soldiers poured over the ridge on foot and in trucks. Running towards us they yelled out to turn around. The attackers took our position and advanced on us.” Jack stopped for a moment; John tried to help the old ox compose himself by placing an arm around him. Jack continued, “thousands of men died in those hills and I still haven’t forgotten them.” This was the first time in my life that I saw first-hand the effects of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Jack had PTSD, which wasn't even considered a mental illness until 1980 (Friedman 1). He was suffering from a re-imagining of the event, he felt like he was in Korea when we were camping that night. Later, I learned that Jack's story took place around some areas called the “Bloody Ridge” and the “Punchbowl”. Even though I saw the pain and loss in his eyes and shaking body that night, Jack still always tried to find something to laugh about. I knew that some of Jack's friends never came home from that war, and maybe even Jack himself is still in the “Punchbowl”. Before PTSD was diagnose-able, America didn't do much for our veterans who were struggling. Now, we need to ensure that all of our citizens, those at home, and those that are sent overseas to protect this nation's interests, receive the benefits and mental health help they need, to protect them after they have protected us.
To read about another, more personal, experience from the author about PTSD please click here.