A peaceful place

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While being interviewed upstairs at The MV Times office in Vineyard Haven, retired U.S. Air Force Chaplain David Berube noted that he could sit with his back to the doorway. It’s not something worth pointing out for most people, but to some veterans, it’s a testament to years-long endeavors to overcome symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, commonly called PTSD.

For a number of veterans on the Vineyard, a crucial asset for overcoming the effects of PTSD was the Readjustment Counseling for War Veterans program offered by Martha’s Vineyard Community Services. But the U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs decided in March that it wouldn’t continue a decades-long contract for the program at the end of June, saying that they could provide the service themselves and save money. Islanders and veterans from other parts of the country rallied to keep the local program funded — raising more than $40,000 in the process. 

A feature of the program is weekly groups with virtual and in-person options, where roughly 30 veterans — primarily consisting of those who have been to war — offer one another camaraderie, guidance, and a supportive space.

“That’s what we’re trying to stop, guys killing themselves,” said Woodrow (“Woody”) Williams, a U.S. Marine veteran who served in the Vietnam War. He was one of the founders of the original combat veterans group in the 1980s, which grew with Community Services.

Vineyard veterans joined the program for various reasons, but it stemmed from a search for others who would understand what they experienced.

Berube said that it was difficult to receive help at first. After all, he had been a care provider to others for more than two decades in the U.S. Air Force, a role he would continue to play in the Massachusetts Air National Guard and as a former pastor at the Federated Church of Martha’s Vineyard. But there was a “crisis point” that pushed Berube to reach out to Tom Bennett, the U.S. Air Force veteran running the counseling program. Clasping his hands together, Berube recalled what he could of the morning of Dec. 15, 2015. He was sitting in his church office, but at some point, he couldn’t remember what he had done or was supposed to do next. 

“I just had this incredible, heavy feeling of impending doom,” he said. 

Although not a combatant, Berube had been haunted by symptoms of PTSD after he left the military. While there may be other contributors, Berube pinpointed his time at Dover Air Force Base in Delaware, where the U.S. Air Force Mortuary Affairs Operations was located. This was during the surge in troop deployments to Afghanistan under former President Barack Obama between 2009 and 2010, and Berube was stationed at the base to help process service members killed in action and console their family members. In four months, Berube dealt with the deaths of 205 service members and the grief of around 600 family members. Under an intensive schedule, he didn’t notice the stress he was going through. 

“I dealt with the trauma of the people killed in combat and the trauma of being with their families within 48 hours of when they found out,” he said. 

While Berube said his trauma would be classified as “secondary PTSD,” he still experienced PTSD symptoms like those that manifest in veterans who’ve been deployed to combat zones, such as hypervigilance of their surroundings and frequent nightmares.

“The monsters in my closet not only kicked out the door, but ripped up the walls,” Berube said. 

When Williams approached Bennett about starting the program in the 1980s, it was because he wanted to help veterans on the Island he grew up on, but also because he didn’t receive the help he needed when he returned from Vietnam. 

At his home in Vineyard Haven, Williams said, he experienced trauma in two places: in the fraught wartime conditions of muggy Vietnamese jungles, and when he came home to see veterans spat on, the target of vitriolic hostility spurred by the antiwar movement at the time. He even concealed his military affiliation. 

Williams returned to the U.S. in 1970 because he was “sick as a dog” and injured. This was a decade before PTSD would even be officially recognized by the American Psychiatric Association as a medical condition. Williams said he couldn’t turn to clinics, and received no debriefing of his war experience. He said for returning Vietnam veterans, PTSD symptoms were chalked up as “battle fatigue” or “shell shock.” Instead, he traveled west to the mountains of Oregon to refresh himself, which he said was something a number of Vietnam veterans did at the time. Oregon was where Williams would learn about potential group therapy methods that he would bring to Bennett — his former Little League coach and mentor — on the Vineyard, initially starting with three other veterans. 

“I tried to help myself,” Williams says. “I knew I was messed up. I didn’t know what was wrong with me.”

Williams said there were a myriad of issues he needed to work out through treatments and family therapy. Nightmares, flashbacks, a paranoia of hidden enemy snipers, and even resentment toward his fellow Americans. Following the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. during the civil rights movement, some Black service members put insect repellent into cuts in their feet so they wouldn’t have to fight, according to Williams. He said that he felt betrayed by this, and developed a resentment toward Black people that he had to remedy once he returned to the U.S.

“I didn’t come from a racist place, Martha’s Vineyard. I had more Black friends than white friends, and I’ve got Black blood in me,” Williams said. 

Williams said that the combat veterans group was “his life,” but it also branched from his deep-seated desire to help other veterans. He’s helped numerous veterans receive federal claims owed to them, and was one of the leaders of a class-action lawsuit against Dow Chemical and Monsanto for the damages done to Vietnam veterans by Agent Orange, the toxic herbicide used by the U.S. military to destroy plant cover and enemy crops. 

The counseling group participants said that a major benefit was that all of them had Vineyard ties. That helped forge a unique bond that extended beyond the group sessions or the counseling they received, Berube said, and it wouldn’t be the same without the group dynamic that had been forged over the years.

“I didn’t walk into a room of strangers,” he recounted. “I knew the people in the room because I know the veterans community on the Island, and they knew me.”

The inaugural mental health clinic on Martha’s Vineyard began under Milton Mazer, who moved to the Island in 1961 and was the first psychiatrist to practice on-Island. This ultimately led to many of the services offered at Martha’s Vineyard Community Services. He ardently pushed against the Vietnam War, as shown in the book “David’s Slingshot,” compiling his letters to government officials between 1965 and 1971. Prior to this, he had enlisted in the Army Air Corps in 1943, serving in England during World War II. 

While the Department of Veterans Affairs has stated that it can continue to provide the same services virtually, Bennett said it wouldn’t have the same relationship already established at Community Services, including having a counselor who understood the “ravages of war” and the “language of the military,” on top of understanding the Vineyard’s culture — key attributes in developing trust. 

“The Island ‘Veterans Group’ is uniquely designed to have older veterans mixed with younger veterans, thereby providing the very important aspect of our services of having ‘veterans helping veterans’ and valuable mentoring situations,” Bennett said. “Knowing the culture of the Island and the intricate Island resources that are available to veterans and their families is another help.” 

Veterans attested that the intergenerational factor strengthened the group and services provided. 

Flanked by memorabilia of the units he was a part of at his Aquinnah Wampanoag Tribe councilman office, U.S. Army veteran Kevin Devine said he got active with the group around eight years ago. He said the group “literally saves people’s lives,” as a younger generation of veterans could tap into the experiences of older veterans. Devine, who enlisted in 1992, was one of the beneficiaries of older veterans’ wisdom.

“The Vietnam vets are just a huge wealth of information and knowledge for these younger folks, because they’ve gone through everything that I’ve gone through,” he said.

Devine said everyone who experiences PTSD feels it and handles it in different ways. An absence of busy military duties gave him more time to think after retirement, and PTSD hit him hard. “It was like I hit a wall,” he said. 

Devine also noted that nightmares or flashbacks can be triggered in service members who encounter something that reminds them of their deployments. He recalled there was a moment when a smoke detector’s blinking light reminded him of the flashing lights used by Afghan fighters signaling their troops to prepare a strike against U.S. soldiers. 

“I remember waking up looking at the lights and I was like, ‘We’re about to be attacked!’, and my wife was like, ‘What are you talking about?’” Devine recalled.

Devine underscored that what service members experience in combat zones, even if they work desk jobs, is not normal. He typically only spoke of his experiences with those who were there with him. Sometimes, the bits of information that he mentions take his family by surprise; this happened recently while watching the 2019 film “The Outpost,” which depicted the Battle of Kamdesh in Afghanistan. While not in the initial battle, Devine’s platoon was tasked with reinforcing troops at Command Outpost Keating who were “overwhelmed with a superior enemy force.” The battle had occurred on his grandson’s birthday, and Devine mentioned this while they were watching the film together.

“This base was overrun … and it was crazy,” Devine said. “I was telling my buddies, ‘Hey, if I die today … lie and say I died tomorrow.’ Because I didn’t want to die on any of my kids’ birthdays or my grandkid’s birthdays. Those are the crazy things I used to think about.”

The experiences of war and other trauma from military service don’t just impact service members, but family members as well.

Ellen Berube said the counseling programs offered at Community Services showed her and her husband David that they didn’t have to face the challenges of trauma alone. 

“Because he has those supports, our marriage is better,” she said. She hopes other veteran families who need help also reach out to the counseling program: “It just spreads out wider than the actual Tuesday nights or counseling.” 

Phyllis and Vanessa Williams, wife and daughter of Woody Williams, spoke of the great effort put up by the whole family to deal with his issues.

“He would drink, to try to get rid of the nightmares,” Phyllis said. “But it had a different reaction. It gave you flashbacks. He’d get out, walk around the yard, and think the enemy was after him.” 

Vanessa says growing up watching her father’s PTSD may have led to some of the behaviors she exhibits, which are similar to symptoms developed by veterans — like refusing to sit with her back to a door. Seeing the lack of support some veterans received for their symptoms also led Vanessa to have “pacificist” views and be against war. 

She credited her father’s willingness to try different treatment methods to improve his PTSD symptoms. Woody recalled seeing “broken families” of combat veterans in the late 1980s at a Northampton treatment facility was a wake-up call for him, and he loved his wife and daughter too much to subject them to the same fate. 

“They weren’t in the war,” Woody said. “The war came home in a major way.” 

While the Vietnam War concluded decades ago, Woody said some people who were, or were raised by, antiwar protesters react negatively when they find out he’s a Vietnam veteran. Still, he stands straight when he wears his Marines dress uniform at events commemorating veterans, and at their funerals. Williams also walks with a cane, gifted to him by veteran Jamie Willis, who runs Canes for Veterans Central Texas. Carved from a donated Christmas tree, the cane is embedded with a .45-caliber bullet, and displays where Woody served in the Marines: First Division, Kilo Company, Third Battalion, Fifth Marines. It also displays the infantry battalion’s call sign, “Dark Horse.” 

Clutching his custom cane, Woody showed us one of his hobbies: his backyard bamboo garden with a small trail snaking through the plants. Once plants he used to live by in “life-and-death” situations in Vietnam, the efforts made toward dealing with his PTSD now allow him to lie in a hammock and watch the tops of the bamboo meld with the Vineyard sky without fear of hidden snipers taking aim between the foliage. 

“I made it a peaceful place,” he said.