Register-Guard columnist
Published: Jan 27, 2009 08:41AM
I have a reading
recommendation for the Pentagon folks who recently decided
against awarding
Purple Hearts to veterans and soldiers suffering from post-
traumatic stress
disorder: Norman Bussel’s “My Private War” (Pegasus
Books, 2008).
It’s long on
honesty, candor and humor, short on self-pity.
Bussel, 85, who will
sign and discuss the new release Wednesday at the
University of Oregon,
has written a rare book that gets beyond the battlefield
and into the wounded
hearts of soldiers — in this case, himself, after being
shot down near Berlin
on April 29, 1944.
Bussel, who parachuted
out of a B-17 with a handful of others from the 447th
Bomb Group, spent
a year as a prisoner of war — and has spent a lifetime
trying to recover
from it.
A divorce. Survivor’s
guilt. Claustrophobia. Near-suicide attempts. Sneaking
into the “Memphis
Belle” B-17 in the middle of the night to drink away the
memories of his four
buddies who never got their parachutes on — Bussel’s
war baggage has asked
a price.
Yet he strikes me
now as a together man with an important story to tell, one
that makes you wonder
why the emotionally wounded aren’t honored along
with the physically
wounded.
“I remember,
as a boy, dropping a baseball bat in the living room and my
father going bananas,”
says Bob Bussel, a son of Norman’s and director of
the UO’s Labor
Education and Research Center. “My mom would later say,
‘It’s
because of the war.’ ”
But like so many
others, Bob never knew what that meant. Later, as an adult
in the ’90s,
he read an account by his father of life in the camps. “I don’t cry
easily,” Bob
Bussel says, “but I broke into uncontrollable sobbing.”
Among Bussel’s
experiences: seeing a buddy shot because he tried to pick up
a sock “baseball”
that had gone just past a warning line; a daily diet that
consisted of little
more than half a slice of black bread; and POWs packed
into rail boxcars
when being moved.
“We had no
food or water for three days,” Bussel wrote. “Our toilet was a
water bucket from
a hook in the ceiling. The Germans would not permit us to
empty the bucket
until the train stopped.”
Amid such conditions,
however, came an occasional touch of inspiration:
Non-Jewish POWs showing
support for Jewish POWs, including Bussel, by
falling in line with
them; and a German camp guard who risked his life to help
the POWs. “I
loved that German guard like a father,” Bussel wrote.
The POWs in Bussel’s
camp ultimately were freed by U.S. soldiers in late
April 1945. But that
meant a different challenge — resuming life back home,
which, for Bussel,
meant Memphis.
“You come home
with so much emotional baggage,” he says.
To get mental health
support back then, Bussel says, he would have had to
spend 90 days in
an in-treatment program. “I had a family. I couldn’t afford
it.”
A journalist for
much of his life, Bussel said he finally began healing in 1980
when, on his own,
he quit drinking. Living in New York, where he still resides,
he found help at
a Veterans Affairs clinic. In 1984, he began meeting with
former POWs in support
groups, giving him a chance to vent for the first time.
“His greatest
strength,” Bob says, “has been his willingness to be candid about
his vulnerability.”
Ultimately, he and
his second wife, Melanie, were appointed as National
Service Officers
by the VA. They help POWs from all U.S.-fought wars file
claims.
“Most satisfying
work I’ve ever done,” Bussel says. “When we go
over their (war stories),
it’s like taking them back to the fires of hell. I’ve been
there. I can understand.
I keep a box of Kleenex on my desk. Sooner or later,
they’ll use
it. And maybe I will, too.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Things They Carry
An ex-POW remembers and searches for home
by Suzi Steffen
A fork drops to the floor, and a man panics in fear and anger.
The commuter train gets crowded as it approaches the city. Though it’s not
hot, a man on the train grows faint and unable to breathe.
A man can’t bear to drive from his house to the place
where he could get the help he needs in order to leave
his house.
These experiences, Norman Bussel says in his beautifully
constructed, emotionally devastating account of being a
prisoner of war in Germany during WWII, are
but the tip
of the massive, unbearable trauma that comes from
incarceration with inhumane jailers. Bussel’s is a tale too
rarely told, one whose import should have immediate and direct consequences
on current U.S. policy.
On April 29, 1944, the 20-year-old Bussel was serving
as a radio operator
and gunner, part of a B-17 crew flying out of England.
Like many other planes
on this particular bombing run over Berlin, Bussel’s
plane was hit hard. He
barely escaped before the plane blew up with four of the crew members still
inside. The wounded Bussel was almost lynched by angry German farmers but
ended up, after a dramatic motorcycle “rescue” by Nazi soldiers, a POW in
Stalag Luft IV.
Conditions in the POW camps were harsh, even for soldiers who didn’t have
to hide the fact that they were Jewish, as Bussel did. Food was short in
Germany, and German soldiers had no desire
to feed American prisoners
anything at all. Sawdust-stuffed bread, the occasional watery cabbage soup or
a potato — that’s what Bussel and his fellow POWs subsisted on for months
or sometimes years. And POWs were shot for seemingly random actions. The
fear and trauma of captivity intensified each day. “For weeks,” he writes, “I
played a mind game with myself. Each day I would think about what body part
I would sacrifice to be released from prison camp. I started out by giving up a
toe each day.”
A year to the day after his plane was shot down, the camp was liberated by
American troops. U.S. soldiers discovered
that Bussel had lost 40 percent of
his pre-POW body weight, but when they tried to feed him, he could barely
eat.
So, he was free — though as Bussel makes clear, no POW ever finds himself
(or, now, herself) completely free. Bussel married and had two kids, the
younger of whom is now the chair of the UO’s Labor Education and Research
Center. But his
life remained painfully constrained for years, especially when
his wife refused to grant him a divorce after he fell for a woman at work.
Because he and Melanie could be fired for their relationship, he writes, “My
paranoia was unbounded.”
That changed, but Bussel paints a clear picture of the suffering he felt during
ordinary life. Claustrophobia, frequent and vivid nightmares, flashbacks and
what he calls “a mental morass” haunted him until, 40 years after his time as a
POW, he finally begins to meet with other POWs to talk about his experience.
Most impressive is the generosity with which Bussel and his wife Melanie now
conduct their lives, helping POWs from every war find access to the
shamefully obfuscated and limited government services. And there’s this:
Bussel was proud that the U.S. government
treated German POWs better than
even the Geneva Conventions required, and he’s now horrifed about Abu
Ghraib and Guantanamo. “Every POW friend I spoke with about
this felt as
indignant and as ashamed as I did. What a shock to find out we are no better
than our enemies.”
Read this book. We have to know what has been done to our grandparents
and great-grandparents, our parents and siblings — and what we’ve done to
others. We have to remember those who have been traumatized. We have to
honor them. And we have to change.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PENTHOUSE MAGAZINE
Issue: December 2008
It's
become clichéd, thanks to the unpopularity of the War in
Iraq,
for many people to imagine that our last "good war," the
fight
against the Nazis and Japanese aggressors, was
brilliantly
executed by the heroes of America's "greatest
generation"
who returned to a grateful nation, showered with
confetti
in ticker-tape parades and ready to lead the country
into
an era of peace and prosperity. No one who reads Norman
Bussel's
powerful, shocking memoir will ever again harbor
such
naïve fantasies.
Bussel was
a 19-year-old radio operator when his B-17 was
shot
down over Berlin. Four of his crewmates died instantly
and,
after he parachuted to the ground, he only narrowly
escaped
being lynched by a mob of furious civilians (if the
Germans
had learned he was Jewish, he almost certainly
would
have been killed). For the next year, he was a prisoner
of
war, living a hellish existence where brutality and
starvation
were constant companions.
But
the real, unexpected horror begins after Bussel is liberated
and
back in the United States. He goes to work, gets married,
has
two great kids. But no matter how good things seem, what
he
calls the "vulture of depression" is always waiting to pounce.
We
know now about post-traumatic stress disorder. But for
the
greatest generation, if you weren't a pathetic "shell
shocked"
basket case, if you were outwardly healthy and had
a
happy family and held down a good job, you kept your
nightmares
secret—sometimes even from yourself. The only
"medicine"
you allowed yourself to take came from a bottle.
It
wasn't until the Vietnam War era that Bussel began to
understand
that his phobias and occasional brutality—and the
wreckage
of much of his family life—was a consequence of his
long-ago
wartime experiences. He volunteers with the
Veterans
Administration to help other vets navigate the
system.
And he learns that former POWs, even more than
other
combat veterans, are scared with "traumatic, incurable,
emotion
wounds…that will never cease to give pain…until we
go
to our graves."
As
our Warrior Wire column in October's issue showed, even
today,
even with our heroic troops in Iraq and Afghanistan,
the
issue of post traumatic stress is controversial and
misunderstood.
Bussel's heartbreaking personal story is,
therefore,
not just an eloquent historical memoir—it's vital
reading
for everyone who cares about our fighting men and
women
and the future of America's defenses.—Peter Bloch
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Washington Post
January 4,
2009
Privation and
mistreatment have often been the fate of U.S. troops
captured in
battle. In My
Private War, Norman Bussel chronicles his
struggle with post-traumatic
stress disorder after being shot down
over Berln as a 19-year-old radio operator/gunner and spending 366
days in the Luftwaffe's POW camps. Labeled a "Terrorflieger" (terror
flyer), he and his
fellow survivors endured malnutrition,
cold and, at
the start, daily interrogations. "A couple of times" he was slapped
around, but his courageous
stonewalling brought no other physical
consequences.
...his authentic voice
closes on a chilling note:
"When the atrocities
against Iraqi detainees by
our troops at Abu
Ghraib were discovered and the
interrogation methods
at Guantanamo exposed . . .
every POW friend
I spoke with about this felt as indignant
and as
ashamed as I did."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Library Journal.com
December 15, 2008
Bussel, Norman. My Private War: Liberated Body, Captive
Mind; A World War II POW's
Journey. Pegasus. 2008.
.320p. ISBN 978-1-60598-015-7. $24.95. AUTOBIOG
Bussel was an unsophisticated Memphis boy who got drafted
in 1943 and turned into a B-17 radioman. Military life was fine
until the night in 1944 when his plane was cut in half over
Berlin. He was 19 years old. Rescued from a German lynch
mob, he spent a year starving and freezing in a stalag before
being rescued by the Allied armies. Bussel returned to his life,
or tried to, but suffered from lingering psychological trauma.
Confused, claustrophobic, easily startled, short-tempered, and
angry, he muddled along for a while, married twice, and
eventually made a good career and life for himself. It was in his
eighties that he tried writing about his experiences and
produced this book, his first despite having been in publishing
most of his life. While his wartime experiences are interesting but not exceptional, his descriptions
of his struggles with post
-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and his work with other
afflicted veterans are both. This is a strong narrative of a man
who has been through much and has come through it not
stronger but with greater self-knowledge. Simply and directly
written; a fine candidate for any military collection.—
Edwin B. Burgess,
U.S. Army Combined Arms Research Lib.,
Fort Leavenworth, K
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BOOKLIST
Issue: November 1, 2008
My Private War: Liberated Body, Captive Mind;
A World War II POW's Journey.
Nov 2008. 320 p. Pegasus, hardcover, $24.95
(9781605980157). 940.54.
Bussel,
a B-17 crewman just turned 19, was shot down over
Germany in the spring of 1944. He spent the rest of the war as a
POW
and returned home suffering from what is now known as post-
traumatic
stress disorder (PTSD). In the cases of POWs, the major
cause
of TSD was the helplessness of their situation,
aggravated by
privation.
For Bussel, the costs of PTSD were
alcoholism, a broken
marriage,
claustrophobia, and a constant struggle
with
nightmares. He fought back by becoming involved in organizations
helping
PTSD sufferers, especially former
POWs, and eventually by
writing
this eloquent book that is full of
information and quite devoid
of
self-pity. It is hard to think of
a better recent book on the POW
experience
from the inside, and it is also a notable addition to the
PTSD
literature for lay readers and helping professionals.
— Roland Green
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
