The acronym PTSD has become well-recognized in America. Since World War II our country has participated in a lot of wars and military actions, and military Post Traumatic Stress Disorder has become an all too familiar reaction among returning soldiers. Few books have attempted to explain to the American people why their loved ones, neighbors, and friends have come home from military service scarred, troubled, and sometimes physically ill. Now, at last, veteran S.Brian Willson has defined PTSD as simply a uniquely American form of conscience, and his evidence is utterly damning.
Willson grew up a mainstream American young man, a baseball player filled with an abundance of commitment, energy, and conservative patriotic purpose. He is college educated, and his story is exceptionally well-told, clear and accessible. I could not find a mis-spelled word throughout, nor any obscure or ethnic term that would cause me to put the book down and leave my chair in search of a dictionary. I appreciate that in a book! Quite the contrary. I sat comfortably enthralled as I saw Brian Willson's experiences, perceptions, and many of his conclusions mirror my own. I, too, was brought up a baseball fan in western New York. I marched in the parades, and I was proud of my country. Sadly, despite being visibly unfit to go, we both found ourselves in Vietnam. We were young, still learning and investigating our worlds, and what we saw in Vietnam tore at our individual consciences. We came home changed, severely troubled by America's cruel militarism. We were mostly quiet for a long while, struggling to raise families and live the American dream. We were disillusioned, haunted by memories, sickened by the horrors of war. We met in the early 80s, in Washington, D.C. as we stood on the steps of the Capitol building and spoke out against our country's militaristic policies toward Central America. It was all happening again, and we revolted!
I had a family, small children, and a career. Brian had shed most of that. He was a bit older, more educated, and he chose to go off to the trouble spots and witness the tragedies for himself. Appalled, driven by conscience, he chose to give his all to oppose any more bloodshed, suffering, or waste. Along with three other veterans he began a long water-only fast on the steps of the Capitol to protest America's policies toward Nicaragua and El Salvador. We lived in suburban Maryland then, and I went as often as I could to be a part of the protest, and to meet with the fasters and hear their testimonies because I was now a daddy and responsible for teaching my children, and also for shaping the world they would inherit. From our far different roles, Brian Willson and I became friends. I watched the fasters become weaker, literally defying death on a variety of levels. Congressmen and Senators sometimes came to talk, but did nothing. Then one afternoon the fast was over, the fasters were gone, and I haven't been in Brian Willson's company since. We have spoken on the phone, but from afar. I have enjoyed a very successful career in the automotive business, and raised a family that is contributing, socially-conscious, and politically aware.
Brian Willson has been an activist. His anti-war activism brought him to northern California one day in 1987. Feeling confident that America's military machine had agreed to honor his protest, he knelt on a railroad bed in the path of a trainload of munitions. The train speeded up and ran over him, costing Brian his legs and nearly his life. I liken that moment to the massacre at Kent State. I do not trust our government, nor its military. The America that was presented to Brian, myself, and our generation is long gone... sold to the highest bidders. Where our country once symbolized hope and caring to the world's oppressed, today we buoy up the oppressors and export only death and destruction. Brian has made it his business to see it all, to investigate it all with a lawyer's eye for detail and undercurrent. He has stood upon prosthetic legs and journeyed to the hotspots of the world, listening to the peasants, the tortured, the maimed survivors. His book tells their stories. He is uniquely one of them, and their spokesman.
But Brian Willson did not stop there. He continued to think, to examine life from a spiritual perspective. Today as I write this he is pedaling his arm-powered three-wheel cycle from Oregon to San Francisco, his "book tour". Brian avoids automobiles and airplanes, preferring to live simply and not contribute to our nation's bloodthirsty need for petroleum. He is a purist, a pilgrim, an honorable man doing honorable work. After years of encouragement from friends, he has written his memoirs. His tales are amazing, eye-opening, and gut-wrenching. His method of telling them is crisp and clear, enlightening, uplifting, and utterly enjoyable. I highly recommend that every American read Brian Willson's BLOOD ON THE TRACKS. I have met many authors, but none so important as S. Brian Willson. If our shared revulsion at America's militarism, greed, and cruelty are the results of PTSD, it is not a bad thing. As Brian Willson points out, to follow blindly is to defy one's humanity and good conscience. I wish him Godspeed on his journeys.
John Ketwig