Mr. Sam Rhodes' warm personality captivates audiences as he speaks on coping with Suicide and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He inspires others by teaching how to build Psychological Resilience. He speaks on regular occasions to military units across the Country Fort Jackson, Fort Leavenworth, Fort Benning, Fort Gordon , Fort Polk as well as National Guard Organizations in Massachutes, Rhode Island and Kentucky, etc . . . His efforts doesn't stop with Active Duty and National Guard he also is scheduled to speaks to reserve Organizations such as Fort Hamilton New York, He also has travel to Boston Veterans Administration Hospital and spoke to numerous groups of Home-less Veterans. He has spoken at many more events- including the Department of Defense Suicide Prevention Conference at the Hyatt Regency in San Antonio, TX in Jan 2009 and to many other Organizations. He has voluntarily worked with numerous organizations focused on "Changing the Army's Culture of Silence" when dealing with mental health Issues. His unique background includes over 29 years service in the Army, were he held numerous enlisted leadership positions culminating in his Assignment as a Brigade Command Sergeant Major. He has served in Operation Iraqi Freedom I, II, and III with a total of 30 months Combat experience from April of 2003 to November of 2005.His unique approaches, style and personal courage have been featured on NBC 38 "Unity with Pam", in the Fort Benning Bayonet, Fort Gordon Signal, and Fort Jackson Leader newspapers and the Benning TV. He has received praise from the Chief of Staff of the Army, General George W. Casey; Sergeant Major of the Army, Kenneth O. Preston; the Defense Center of Excellence for Mental Health General Laurie Sutton; and LTG Whitcomb. Rosemarie Annese, Vice President & Blue to Gold Liaison, Blue Star Mothers, MA Chapter 1

Changing the Military Culture of Silence

By Samuel M. Rhodes

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Samuel M. Rhodes
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-4273-8

Contents

Introduction.........................................................................ixChapter 1 Biography of Samuel M. Rhodes, Sr..........................................1Chapter 2 Headed to the Army.........................................................5Chapter 3 Road to War................................................................9Chapter 4 Feeling the Loss One by One................................................23Chapter 5 Coming Home with a Lifetime of Memories....................................29Chapter 6 The Death of a Best Friend's Son...........................................35Chapter 7 Veterans Day...............................................................41Chapter 8 First Responder............................................................45Chapter 9 Breaking the Silence of PTSD Struggles.....................................53Chapter 10 Stigma....................................................................59Chapter 11 Battle with PTSD and Suicidal Thoughts....................................67Chapter 12 Second Generations of his family suffering with PTSD!.....................73Chapter 13 Reconnecting and Moving Forward...........................................79Final Thoughts.......................................................................87

Chapter One

Biography of Samuel M. Rhodes, Sr.

On January 29, 1961, I was born in Ringgold, Georgia, to Martha McClure Rhodes and Willie Burl Rhodes, as life would have it. Let's begin by talking about my hero father, Willie B. Rhodes, and his twin brother Earl Rhodes, born on Independence Day, July 4, 1920. They decided to join the war at a young age. Burl and Earl left to go to war by way of Camp Stewart. Burl decided to become a medic in the Army, not knowing what the future held, just wanting to defend his country and do his part. As it turns out, he may have done just that without a lot of effort. During the Battle of New Guinea, Rhodes was put to the test. A fellow Soldier, his Commander, Marvin Griffin, was seriously injured. Without hesitation, Rhodes made a decision that would impact his life forever. Griffin was bleeding from his wounds; Burl's natural instinct of caring kicked in; he maneuver through fire, though seriously injured himself, to Griffin's side. He stabilized him enough to prepare him to move back toward a safe area for evacuation. Rhodes carried Marvin Griffin to safety, and he fully recovered. Rhodes did not know the impact of what he had done; he received numerous Presidential Citations for bravery and was awarded the Silver Star for his actions that day as well as many other military medals. Burl liked to talk about democracy and the home of the brave, but he rarely spoke of his own unique courage in World War II and his individual suffering from nightmares and symptoms of PTSD in the late seventies until his death on May 19, 1984.

Marvin Griffin later became Georgia's Lieutenant Governor and was seen as the successor to Governor Herman Tallmadge; Griffin won the governorship in 1954. Governor Marvin Griffin would not forget his friend. When the Governor was sworn in, Willie B. Rhodes was standing on the podium beside him. In 1955 and each following year, Marvin Griffin travelled to Burl's hometown to ride in the Independence Day parade with Burl Rhodes. A self-educated man, much like his fellow hero Alvin York, the Medal of Honor winner from Jamestown, Tennessee, Burl was proud to have served his country in its time of need. Like his son, he still had nightmares about his fiercest battles in war, but it didn't deter his love for his country and his fellow man. Willie B. Rhodes was flag-waving American for sure.

At the age of six years old, I started receiving contact with Mr. Marvin Griffin's wife. "How are you doing?" she asked. "I am Mrs. Griffin, Marvin's wife. He wants me to see how you're doing and send you something. What do you need?"

I remember those words like it was yesterday. I was born to a poor family, and my mom and dad separated when I was five years old, in 1966, so I found myself amazed by her words. I didn't know what to say; I remember asking my mom to talk. The next thing I remember, about two weeks later, I received a package of clothes. I was surprised; it wasn't my birthday or Christmas. My other brother and sisters looked at me and asked, "Why is Marvin getting something?" Yes, my father named me after the Governor, so I had big shoes to fill from the start. I would receive calls, letters, and packages, mostly from Mrs. Griffin, for the next decade until she passed away in 1978. The entire time I was growing up, I was mentored by Mr. Griffin as well as both of his wives. They encouraged me toward being a successful individual in life. My values were born of great mentorship from the Governor and his wife and my own parents. Governor Griffin offered to pay for my college; however, he developed cancer soon after his first wife's death in 1978. He later died in 1982 after a long battle with cancer.

Truly a different life for a poor country boy from north Georgia. I grew up knowing what was right and wrong. I also realized that a lot of kids around us had more than we could dream of. My mom decided not to get divorced from my father for thirteen years. Right before I graduated from high school in 1979, she got divorced from him. Prior to graduation, I only made one call to Mr. Griffin. I wasn't a genius in high school, so science and English always got the best of me. As I inched closer to getting out of school, it became tougher. At the age of sixteen, I moved out of my home and into a studio apartment in Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia. I worked for both the Red Food grocery store as well as a local bowling alley. I found myself in a tight dilemma: I had to pass an English class to graduate my senior year. The teacher, Mrs. Marsh, gave me an assignment to write something about my life and how it helped me get to where I was today. I contacted my father and asked him if he thought it would be okay to write about him and Mr. Griffin. He said yes.

I wrote about the Battle of New Guinea and explained how my father had saved the future Governor's life in that battle. The teacher read my paper in front of the entire class, and then she began to question whether it was fiction or fact. In the end, she gave me a low grade, which kept me from passing. I contacted my father and asked his advice; he said, "Let me make a call." The next day, Mrs. Griffin contacted me and asked for the school's number and the name of my teacher.

Little did I realize what would happen next. I was sitting in class when an announcement came over: "Mrs. Marsh, you have an important call in the office."

I thought to myself, "Could it be?"

A short time passed and she returned to the class; she sat down for a minute and then stood up. "Class," she said, "the other day I read Marvin's paper to all of you, and I gave him a low grade because I did not realize that it could be true. I have now talked to the former Governor personally and know it's very true." She apologized to me and changed my grade so I could pass. I have never forgotten that experience.

I graduated high school in June 1979 and continued to work as a night stock manager at the Red Food store.

Chapter Two

Headed to the Army

An Army Recruiter in the local area contacted me over and over again. Finally he convinced me that the Army was the way to go, since I had no idea what the road ahead was. I entered active duty from Flintstone, Georgia, in April 1980. By midsummer I was in the heat of Fort Benning, Georgia, training to be an infantryman. I had an open contract, so I envisioned going to Airborne School and Ranger School fresh out of training, like many of my friends. Unfortunately, fate had a different idea.

I was extremely motivated to succeed, so I pushed myself each and every time to finish ahead of the pack. I remember the day so well when I was climbing down a rope at Fort Benning. The Drill Sergeant screamed, "Get down the damn rope!" For some reason, I did just that; unfortunately, it was the wrong way. I released my hands and fell to the ground, not realizing what had happened, and the adrenalin was flowing. I jumped up and ran over to my rucksack. Within several minutes, we were on the road headed back; as we began walking, I remember being tired; my ankles and feet were hurting more than usual for that period of training.

I don't recall much after that, except that I woke up in Martin Army Community Hospital with two broken ankles. I was hurting but was also worried that I would be recycled and not graduate. I had already been there more than enough for my liking. Drill Sergeant Walls came to visit me; he was a very good Drill Sergeant. He asked, "How are you doing, Private?"

I explained, "Well, I just want to get back to training."

He said, "Take your time and get better. I will take care of you." The next day, I had crutches and was off to my unit; they put me on quarters so I still missed training. Fortunately for me, I was an 11H Anti-Armor Crewman, and the training was for 11B Infantrymen, so I didn't miss anything.

The time for the final Army Physical Fitness Test (APFT) came quicker than I could get healed. The Drill Sergeant said, "Rhodes, you can't take the Army Physical Fitness Test."

I replied, "Drill Sergeant, I can pass it, I am sure."

Drill Sergeant Walls said, "Okay, I will let you take it, but don't hurt yourself."

The next day, I woke up, tightened up my ankle supports, and got fired up. I breezed through the events and then the final challenge: the two-mile run in boots. Drill Sergeant Walls came up to me and said, "Rhodes, you amaze me. Just go out there and do your best. Don't hurt yourself."

The first lap, I found myself in the top ten, running like the wind. Drill Sergeant Walls was smiling and screaming, "Go, Rhodes, go!"

I finished with the third fastest time of the day. Drill Sergeant Walls used me as an example to other platoons, saying, "Even my broke private can run faster than you 'Joes'" (a term of endearment to us privates).

My career took shape from that point, and before I realized it, I was headed to Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Within nine months, I became the Battalion and Brigade Soldiers of the Quarter: the top Soldier for that period. I was the runner-up for the Fort Campbell Installation.

In 1982, I departed Fort Campbell and went to Friedberg, Germany. I had never been far from home, so I was enchanted when I arrived at my barracks by the twenty-foot ceilings from the old war caserns and the fact that no Soldiers were there. They had been alerted that morning to go to the border.

My career went by so fast from that point that I continued to excel and received numerous awards and decorations. None meant more than the day in 2002 when I had to choose. The Army selected me to attend the U.S. Army Sergeant Majors Academy. I had been a committed Soldier all those years, so I realized that in the coming months, something was going to occur, and I wanted to be a part of it. I informed the Department of the Army that my preference was to go to a unit that would deploy instead of to the academy. The Army enrolled me in distance learning so I could be reassigned. In November 2002, that wish came sooner than I expected. I was promoted to Sergeant Major (SGM) and reported to Fort Polk, Louisiana. Upon arrival, I was assigned to Third Squadron, Second Armored Cavalry Regiment (ACR); two months later, I was notified of my selection to CSM. That would take a while to reach.

Chapter Three

Road to War

I was selected to be the advance party Regimental Operations SGM; we departed in April and headed to Kuwait. I felt right at home; I had been to Kuwait before and knew well the surroundings. It made it simple to adjust.

My first priority was ensuring that I had a place where all our Soldiers could rest and prepare to cross the Line of Departure into Iraq. I was, of course, anxious. I remembered all too well those stories from my father and the former Governor about the loss of their friends and the impact that it made on them. I started writing more and more every day, thinking that it was a good possibility that I would become a casualty based on the estimated loss of life from the initial surge into Iraq. The main body arrived, and we were preparing to unload the ship that brought all our vehicles and equipment when we received a call from a Soldier who we left at the camp: "Sir, the tents are on fire. We're trying to put the fire out but the ammunition is going off."

Yes, we made some dumb decisions, placing ammunition in living areas with weapons. By the time we returned, about six tents had been destroyed and 250 Soldiers had lost all or part of their gear, including the Command Group, Squadron Commander, Command Sergeant Major, and critical staff.

I had been trained throughout my career to just get things done, so I immediately visited the local Army exchange that was on the camp. I talked to the manager and told them what had occurred. The idea was to make each Soldier comfortable with a blanket, pillow, and personal hygiene items for the night. I did just that. The next morning, I received a call to come to the Regimental Tactical Operations Center (TOC). "SGM, did you authorize the purchase of $20,000-plus of gear for Soldiers?"

I was shocked and asked myself, "Why am I being asked this question?"

I replied, "Roger that, Sir." A few more words passed and I continued the mission at hand. I figured a smart person would figure it all out. It was never mentioned to me again.

We crossed the border headed to Iraq; I was the advance party again. How sweet is that? At least there won't be any surprises. We crossed the border and knew that some poor hungry locals might try to take our gear. We tied everything down, and rehearsed by using sticks instead of bullets to warn them off.

We arrived in Iraq; it was a normal setting, which I had become accustomed to rather easily. I was amazed by the children and saddened by the way they had to live. As we got closer to Baghdad, I could see that "the rich got richer" mentality certainly worked well here.

On May 23, 2003, I had a life-altering encounter: an attack on our base camp. Someone screamed out as the power went off. The rooftop guard had been injured; a fellow Soldier and I rushed to the roof. Everyone was so worried about second and third attacks that it took a moment to assess the area before getting to the wounded Soldier. He was shot through one side and out the other. We stabilized him and carried him down.

This was just the beginning for me. I was traumatized, not knowing what to think, and instinctively I started barking out orders, giving directions to secure the camp. We had only been there for a day, so we had not done a complete assessment to ensure the security was tight.

I had to make a decision at that point: be scared, be afraid, show weakness, or just harden up and accomplish the mission. I showed no remorse, no concern for the wounded Soldier, I just echoed, "See what I have told you? Stay situationally aware all the time." Who is our enemy? Everyone is. I repeated that same thing over and over again until I felt they understood it. Over the next fifteen months of OIF 1 and 2, we would encounter the enemy at every angle. Mortar attacks, rocket attacks, small arms fire, and IEDs. I had just been promoted to Regimental Operations SGM when I wrote several letters to the families of the twenty-three Soldiers with me. I then decided that some of these Soldiers were way too experienced to be there and needed to be down at the squadron level. That decision almost cost a Soldier his life. I told SPC Green, "You're going to a squadron; pack your bags." Yes, I told him why: "Career enhancement, you're senior," all the standard stuff.

Two days later on a patrol, his vehicle was hit with an IED. He was not seriously wounded but I left the Forward Operating Base (FOB) immediately to go to the Combat Support Hospital. When I arrived, I found him in good spirits; I looked at him as I held his hand and thought, "Did I cause this?"

He looked as if he knew what I was thinking. He said, "SGM, it's not your fault. I volunteered for this patrol. You were right, all these guys are too new to be down here."

I felt relieved. I left the room and walked around and talked to numerous Soldiers, one Soldier worried about his buddy, another Soldier just happy to be alive. That was the norm throughout the hospital. I was extremely blessed. The sights and sounds of this hospital left me challenged at night. I found myself unable to sleep. When I did sleep, I would sleepwalk and wake up wondering how I got to where I was. One day, we heard explosions so we climbed to the roof of our sleeping quarters to see how far away it was. It was several miles away but so huge that we thought it was right outside the FOB.

That night turned out to be a turning point for me. I didn't realize that the malaria pills I had been taking could cause side effects, one of which was a mode-altering disorder that could lead to sleepwalking. I relived the day's events and sleepwalked to the top of the building. I awoke to my displeasure on the top of that building; I was scared and wondered how I had gotten there.

The next morning, I went to see the physician's assistant and told him what had occurred. He diagnosed that the medicine probably had caused it and I should stop taking it; this had not been my first encounter with sleepwalking. I immediately began tying my leg to the cot that I slept on. I also put stuff up against the door to keep me from exiting during the nights in which I didn't tie myself up.

(Continues...)

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