The Legend of GM2C David A. Purcell and His Purple Heart

A Sad Yet Still Heartwarming Story From World War II

By JIM PURCELL

I call this the 'legend' of my uncle, David A. Purcell (1925-1944), because it has only been a story handed down to me, since I was born in 1966 and never met him. But, I thought it was a tale worth writing down someplace that would be around for a long time, and this website will be around for a very long time.

According to my mother, the late Ruth Purcell, she attended a memorial service for my Uncle David that was held in early 1945, in Newark, New Jersey. It commemorated the brief life of her fiancee's brother. Of course, my Mom's fiancee was my father, James, Sr., who was still fighting the war in Europe at the time in the United States Army.

My mother attended the memorial service with my father's Mom, Grace Purcell, who was the widowed mother of the Purcell family, in Newark, which included my Dad, my Uncle Charles, Uncle David, Aunt Marie (Rizzolo) and Aunt Susan (DiEdwardo). My Uncle David was the youngest of the family and was, according to both his sisters and my mother, the life of the party. He was a frequent joke-teller who, according to my favorite aunt, Aunt Susan, worked very hard "...at trying to get every girl in Newark to fall in love with him and not being serious about anything."

U.S. Navy landing craft bringing troops ashore during Anzio

According to my aunts, one thing that everyone in their family had was love of the country that accepted them. My family were Irish immigrants, and they came to this country with an open heart. This was true of all of the Purcell children. "This was our country, and we loved it. We respected our Irish roots, but were always American first and damn proud of that," my Aunt Marie once said.

I once had a photo of my uncle, sadly that photo was the one printed in the Newark Star-Ledger reporting that he was listed as missing following the Battle of Anzio (January 22, 1944). Somewhere along the way in the past 30 or so years since I received it, I lost the press clipping. It was a black and white picture of David, who was a handsome youth in his blue Navy uniform. He was fit and had my father's look to him and, according to everyone who knew him, he had black hair and blue eyes (much like my own brother, also named David).

At the time of the memorial, David had previously been listed as missing in action for a year. Following that year, at that time, service members were assumed killed in action if that absence occurred during a battle, particularly one at sea. So, the family paid what respects it could to a child and sibling who did not have a body sent home.

Why had David joined the Navy in the first place? He was young enough to wait to get drafted. He didn't have to volunteer, my mother once said. But, my Aunt Susan informed her one year, during Thanksgiving 1973: "Because he had to do something to defend his country and he couldn't stay at home... was the way he saw it...and he loved the sea." People from Newark don't mince words, not now and maybe not ever. Mom got that, a tear in her eye, and nodded.

David was a gunner's mate second class, according to U.S. Navy records. The American Battle Monuments Commission reports his name and rank, the date he went missing, and the cemetery in Italy where he is buried only. The rest of the story will be filled in from conversations I have heard and was a part of about David. However, I am re-telling the story as I remember it. And, this is one story that I have not forgotten over the years.

So, my Mom is standing next to my grandmother at the church (I think she said it was St. Rose), and my grandmother was finally letting the tears come. My grandmother was a big woman, who worked very hard to stay off welfare mopping floors and cleaning offices after my grandfather, David, died in the late 1920s-early 1930s. She kept her family together through the Great Depression and each of her children worked at small jobs to help the family as well, no matter how little money they brought home. They did after-school or before-school work, but everyone worked. It was "family first." And, it was an achievement for a household that size to stay together during the Depression, but the Purcells had and were darn proud of it.

David's friends were at the memorial, accompanied by their girlfriends. So were some of my uncle's teachers from high school, where he was a member of the track team (like my Dad had been before he transferred to St. Benedict's as a sophomore). My grandmother and mother were in the back of the church. Mom said it was a beautiful day, and the light coming through one of the windows of the sanctuary shone on David's picture and gave it a very nice look.

As my grandmother was in her grief, my mother noticed as a few young ladies, unaccompanied, were in the pews crying nearly as hard as my grandmother. Then, one or two more such young ladies came in, and finally one or two more. My grandmother started to notice as one or two more young, grieving ladies came into the sanctuary. My mother said my Gram stopped crying and offered a wide smile before the first fight broke out closer to the front of the sanctuary.

Two of the young ladies began to scuffle not far from my uncle's picture, followed by some more, who become incensed and began to argue. My mother had no idea what was happening. She stayed at my Gram's side, but there was a change in my father's mother. With her eyes wet with tears she was smiling broadly...and began to laugh.

There was no attempt by my Gram to break up the fight, which mystified my mother. Apparently, my uncle, before he had shipped out, had promised to marry several young ladies in Newark before he went off to serve in the Navy. Accordingly, several young ladies began to argue with each other at his memorial. Mom said my Gram told her, wiping her eyes, "If David hadn't have been killed in Italy, he might damn well have been killed here by jealous boyfriends and angry fathers." The two laughed a little. My grandmother lingered on the large photo of her fallen son, and quietly left the sanctuary.

According to both my aunts Sue and Marie, it was not enough for anyone in the family that the U.S. Navy sent a Purple Heart and no body home. So, my aunts traveled, after the war, to Italy and Anzio. They discovered every fact they could find about my uncle's passing, and at one point were given names of U.S. Navy officers that served with my uncle at the time of his death (no letter from the chain of command ever, reportedly, was received by any member of my family). So, after going to Italy and finding out there was no body for their brother anywhere, they proceeded to find the officers, whose names they were made aware of by the Navy.

According to my aunts, my Uncle David was killed while he was ferrying U.S. Army soldiers from ship to shore aboard a landing craft. My aunts said my uncle's chain-of-command informed them that they were, for whatever reasons, running short on personnel to guide landing crafts from ship to shore. So, David had to make multiple trips. According to my aunts, this was not a common thing for sailors. But, it was what it was. So, on his second trip ashore, while approaching the beach, David's landing craft was struck by enemy indirect fire. He delivered his charges ashore and was heading back to his ship (which ship it was I have found no records of) and his landing craft was struck again, creating a fireball and sinking the landing craft.

My father and his family were never the same. According to my Aunt Sue, "He was our light. And, when he died, that light went out." Still, despite creating some mess at his memorial service, David at least left my grandmother with a smile to remember him by that day.

UPDATE: After further research, I discovered that Uncle David served on LCI 32. He was killed in action during World War II along with fellow shipmates: George L. Marsh, Dilbert B. Mallams, Earl W. Rubens, Olindo P. Martelle, Jack Elkins, Thomas J. Brown, Paul L. Nardilla, William L. Nisbit, Charles W. Seavey, John F. Guethloin, Robert H. Jackson, Warren B. Johnson, Eugene L. Sales, Herbert Starke, George A. Cabana, John W. Finch, Charles J. Gilbride, Ralph Harding, John E. Campbell, Lawrence M. Kennedy, Hamp L. Richardson and Ralph DiMeola. For the historical registry, please click HERE and go to PAGE 25 of The 1091 Flagship of the USS LCI National Association, Issue #62, dated January, 2008.

Further Update: Gunner's Mate Second Class David Purcell is listed among the dead and missing from LCI 32, which was sunk of Anzio, Italy on January 26, 1944 by a mine in ELSIEITEM. For more information, CLICK HERE.

Stuck in time or walking down Memory Lane: TJK Stadium, Keansburg, New Jersey

By JIM PURCELL

I have lived an unsettled life, and this has contributed to me being one of these aging guys who has been a lot of places and done a lot of things. I've been about every place in the world and country I have wanted to go, and I have worked at everything from laborer to top executive of a company, from artist and writer to ditch digger and soldier. I have been everything from a responsible family man with a pretty young wife to a barfly on the prowl for any kind of wizened hag that passes my way after last call.

One of the lives I lived was as a bartender in Keansburg, New Jersey. This was a rough patch, to be sure. I was coming off of some devastating professional and personal losses and was fresh off actual homelessness, living in the woods outside of Lincoln, Nebraska (which was a whole other story). At the time, I was in the last chapter of a bad relationship with a girlfriend 20 years my junior and it was fresh after Hurricane Sandy, the worst howl I have ever been in. My apartment in a run-down flop house in Keansburg was destroyed by Sandy, which is to say my belongings were destroyed along with the thriving bedbug population of the Capuccio Hotel there.

Before Sandy (October 22, 2012), I was tending bar for an old friend, Tommy Keelen, at TJK. Actually, TJK was named for Tommy's initials. I do not know if Tommy is alive or dead anymore, which is a shame because he is or was a nice guy and a stand-up friend. Nevertheless, this is a story about what was, and not what is.

I thought about this after I came upon some old articles about how, four years after I left the bar, there was some big drug bust that involved his place and another bar down the road, Applejacks II, on Carr Avenue.

I remember that bar being so wild. It was a hangout for local townspeople but it got its fair share of bikers from around the state. I wouldn't have called it a biker bar -- but a sports bar where bikers came around a lot. Never have I been in an American bar so much like the Irish pubs I saw in Western Ireland when I visited there as a kid. It was more than a place for some food and drink: It was one of the hearts of the town's community. TJK actually tended to people who might otherwise have no place to go, while at the same time entertaining the younger people, the working people, the upright and downright respectable. But, TJK was this place of non-judgement, where simple kindness could be found by populations of people who could not expect understanding or kindness anywhere else. Maybe it was Tommy who once told me that Keansburg, as a community, was like a carnival troupe. I do not think that would be a bad comparison. Well, if that were true then Tommy was the caretaker of those who would have their tents far away from the Big Top. His place was a godsend to many.

Tommy Keelen and a lady friend (circa 2012)

I did not get the nitty gritty about whatever drug bust happened years ago. Without knowing a thing, I could say the least likely person I would ever know to sanction such a thing would be Tom. He was not that kind of guy. No way. Rather, I would say what I remember about Tom. He was a business man, yes. But, he cared for people who were broken. He gave jobs to people who would otherwise be unemployable -- me for a time among them. I do not want to make this all about Tommy, though it could easily be. The man deserves a book. He was and maybe still is a gentle soul in the world, good at heart -- but with a hard right hook if you want any of that. He was extraordinary, cultured beyond what most people thought in his humble little burg. And, he had a joy in him that was sometimes the best and worst parts of being a kid. In fact, the one and only time I have ever seen a motorcycle driven through a bar, it just so happened that Tommy was riding it. No more about Tommy, but what a splendid fellow.

TJK  served good food, had great characters who went there, and absolutely thumbed its nose at proper society, the likes of which could be found in nearby Middletown or Rumson. The bands were loud and the dance floors were filled with all forms of humanity on Friday and Saturday nights. The last time I danced so hard I was dripping with sweat and dog tired was there (of note, it was my night off). The food was good at TJK. Some of it, like the seafood, was amazing. Everyone knew how to cook and cook well -- Tommy taught everyone. Meanwhile, the beer was freezing and there were a lot of choices for a fair amount of money. No doubt, if I were to be fortunate enough to be granted entrance to heaven at the end of my days, heaven would not generally be TJK. However, TJK would certainly be somewhere over the wrong side of the heavenly tracks.

Could someone find a fight at TJK if they were looking for it? Yes. Maybe even if they weren't looking for it at the wrong place and time. But, the bar was not someplace where lawyers and accounts went. TJK was a place for honest, simple people who were not afraid of the world around them. It was not fancy. No one was talking about the next big business merger there. It was easy enough there -- you drank, you danced, played pool, watched a ball game, bitched about your boss or your wife, maybe you fell in love on the most perfect night of your life. Maybe you broke up with your girl there.

Tommy driving his Harley out of the bar at TJK in 2012

TJK was the best bar I have come across on three continents and several counties. And, along Memory Lane, it is a nice place to stop. Of course, this is the only place it resides now, as it is permanently closed. Well, the only constant is that things change. Yet, it is also said that nothing good lasts forever. I will leave it there.

JOHN HICKMAN: A LIFE LIVED

John Hickman (2014)

By JIM PURCELL

John Hickman passed from the world on January 14, 2017. He was 54 years old. He was a friend of mine, but without me remembering his life -- no one else is going to do it. And, he deserves being remembered.

John was originally from Brick, New Jersey. He attended Brick High School. After he graduated, he joined the United States Navy. He worked on aircraft in the service and was assigned to the USS Enterprise in the early 1980s. He earned the rank of Petty Officer 3rd Class. He did a Med cruise with the Enterprise, and he was aboard her when she performed duty in the Pacific also. He loved the Navy. He was proud to be a sailor.  He wished he stayed in.

But, after his tour, he came back to New Jersey. For a while, he worked as a mechanic for the New Jersey State Police. He liked that well enough but moved on from that after a few years.

Afterward, John held so many jobs -- from courier to sales associate at chain stores to taxi driver and more. John was never really close enough to a lady to get married. But, he searched for the right one throughout his life.

John's beloved USS Enterprise

John did wrestle with sobriety, more accurately the lack of it. He drank and he used drugs. In the end, he overdosed and died. At the time, he was living in Asbury Park, New Jersey: Not a nice place despite its ongoing renewal. It is not the Asbury Park of the 'bad old days' of the 1980s but it is still a haven for drug dealers and the like.

I met John before he moved to Asbury Park, in 2013 when we were both living at the Veterans Haven North, in Glen Gardner. It is a program offered by the New Jersey Dept. of Military and Veterans Affairs. The goal of the place is to act as a rehab for the first 90 days and, thereafter, as a transitional housing facility for homeless vets for up to two years.

John stayed there and worked at the VA New Jersey Health Care System, Lyons Campus, for about a year as a maintenance man. Then, he received his housing subsidy and went to Asbury. Fortunately, he found three sisters who were lost to him. He was adopted. However, a few years ago he reunited with his siblings and their children. He connected with them. Even though it was sometimes stormy, he had family relations. The world was not as alone as it had been. I know he appreciated it.
John loved music, playing his guitar and listening to bands like The Who, Led Zeppelin and Aeorsmith, to name a few. He especially liked that kind of music turned up as loud as it possibly could. John hated disco and could not dance. He was a devotee of The Walking Dead AMC television show. It's how we met at Vet Haven. We were among a small, determined band of loyal viewers who would try and secure a television on Sunday night, which was hard during football season. It was some nice times, though.

Fellow vet Richie Toth and John Hickman jam to Led Zeppelin

We celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas together two years ago. It was great. We made food, ate and sang some songs after dinner. It is among my most favorite times.

In the end, John could not stay sober for even a morning. He drank throughout the day. He smoked and he treated every night as a party, even when there was no more joy in it for him. He was loud and very grumpy. He didn't care for life that much and he saw no future. He was secure in the feeling he could never -- would never -- quit his addictions. Sadly, this was the end he chose for himself and he would say it often.

John saw many of his friends die from addiction. With each new death he saw it not as a wake up call, but as a premonition of his own. There was no changing his mind and no talking him out of it. I wish it were another way, because he had so much potential -- so much good in him: so much humanity.

John achieved things in his life, though, which were remarkable. He recalled to me once the rolling action of the Enterprise's deck in bad weather. He recalled the hectic flight deck and the camaraderie of the crew he served on. And, he could play his beloved guitar. Anyone who can love music the way he did has not lead a wasted life.

The Who was always on John's playlist

John's addiction pushed people away, though. He pushed people away. This was the fact. No one could have saved him. He was not having it. I remember him because no one else is going to do it. They saw his illness -- and it is an illness -- not the man. Most people could not get through the constant drinking and regular drugging; his dark moods and angry words. It is a shame, there was a lot more than that to him.

As a fellow veteran, John was my brother. I miss him, and miss what he could have been as well. John did not believe in God as much as Fate. I respectfully disagree with him, because I certainly hope he has found the joy and peace he so richly deserves in heaven. He would hate me talking about God and him but it is my hope and prayer.

John's life has ended. I do hope, though, that his story is a cautionary one for people suffering from addiction. I also hope people remember John and his contributions to the world.

Misdirected Help?

We often offer Help To and For people in need, 

but what we should do is to offer help With those in need.

This approach works especially well with addicts and others whose goal is to build self-esteem and self-worth

By David H. Kerr               

Many people and agencies have been providing services to and for addicts, inmates and/or those with mental health issues, and this includes those with all of these issues combined.  In fact, when an issue is found, a label will be pronounced and this is in line with the psychoanalytic approach and a way to secure funding to help “a client.”  In my experience, this is exactly the wrong approach for many, but especially for addicts who must learn to take charge of their life, their families and their recovery.  They need to be encouraged to know their own strengths, even their greatness as well as the contribution that they can and will make not only to themselves but to others, i.e. their family and the community.  You might call this inspirational help and coaching.

In my experience, it is better to learn how to offer help with those in need than to those in need.  It is simple if you can truly care for the person whom we inappropriately call “client[1].”  This doesn’t mean babbling sympathy but some empathy, concern and understanding is critical.  Also, our present approach is often to fire many questions at a person coming for help, so that we can put together an appropriate (fundable) state &/or insurance approved "Initial Assessment," complete with an approved label - i.e. "emotionally disturbed" or "addicted with co-occurring issues," etc., etc.  Also, be very aware of the temptation to prescribe help via drugs.  I recommend working for six months with a person with addiction before offering a prescription even for drugs like suboxone.  In many cases, this dulls the interest by the person with addiction in making any substantive personal change, and with those addicted, a substantial personal change is usually essential.

We shouldn’t be throwing help at a client.  Rather we should be drawing strengths and direction from the person asking for help.  We should be creating an equal or one to one relationship with a person so that information is shared with, not dumped on the person in need of help, guidance and direction.  All of this information must come from the person with addiction.  We help a person by developing a relationship; by demonstrating caring; by coaching and by encouraging and promoting what he/she has that is positive.  Self-esteem and self-worth should be the goal.  The “what can you do and what have you done to help yourself” approach is most effective with addictsand also with the co-occurring recovering people with whom I have worked.  No inflicted labels but rather a caring, guided and sometimes necessarily confrontive[2] approach that puts you in the role of friend and coach rather than counselor.  More importantly, it allows them to better understand the role they must take in their own self-improvement.  Remember that addicts are not helpless or stupid.  In fact national tests show them to have above average intelligence[3].

Work together with the person with addiction showing empathy, not sympathy.  Promote truth in your relationship, and encourage self-learning and self-worth.  Recovery is a long road, and treatment, engagement and coaching will help the person with addiction learn to climb and feel more secure, especially during the first five years of lifestyle change.

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[1] I do not like the names (labels) we call people with addiction.  Use their first names instead.  Talk to the person with addiction as a friend/colleague and reason with him/her in normal conversation.  You’re not there to do for him what he must do for himself.

[2] People with the disease of addiction have often had to learn to “stretch the truth” or to flat out lie to receive your money for their drugs.  Criminal addicts have perfected “the language of the lie,” often to the point of believing their lies as truth.

[3] {http://www.cnsproductions.com/drugeducationblog/dr-darryl-inaba/1198}

INTELLIGENCE AND ITS RELATION TO ADDICTION

Posted on November 28, 2011

“A new longitudinal study into the relationship between measured levels of intelligence, and addiction shows a marked tendency toward more addiction behavior among those with higher IQs -- twice as much for men, and a three times greater likelihood among women. Also a look at new research on brain physiology and its relation to pain.”

Call Us: (800) 888-0617  CNS Productions inc a leader in drug education since 1980.   Paul J. Steinbroner was born March 18, 1949 in Los Angeles. In 1983, he founded CNS Productions, a publishing and distribution company specializing in topics related to addiction, neuropharmacology, and brain chemistry. He is the publisher of Uppers, Downers, All Arounders, a textbook on theneurochemistry and neuropharmacology of psychoactive drugs. Paul Steinbroner has also produced over fifty films and videos on this subject.

The Challenge of Addiction Treatment Today

 What help really works for hard core drug abusers? 

By DAVID KERR

Maia Szalavitz[1] is a thoughtful, respected and long-time writer in the field of addiction and I support most of her 8 points as listed below and seen in her article in the Huffington Post; “The Rehab Industry Needs to Clean Up Its Act. Here's How.” Here’s the link:
CLICK HERE. 

Though I disagree (in blue below) with some of her points, she presents a concise summary of what she sees needing to change in our field and she knows from her own personal history using heroin and cocaine.  Here is part of what she has to say:

“I have covered addiction as a journalist for nearly three decades, and also have my own history of heroin and cocaine addiction, and of receiving treatment. With the input of longtime leaders in and critics of the field, here are my views on what needs to change.

1. Remove 12-step-related content from treatment — or at least, stop charging for it

2. Ensure access to maintenance treatment for opioid addiction

3. Fight corruption and unethical practices

4. End the reliance on criminal justice system referrals

5. End humiliation and confrontation

6. De-emphasize residential treatment

7. Create truly independent accrediting bodies that are consumer-friendly—and national standards of care

8. Expand harm reduction”

I have a problem with three of her eight points but she missed a major point as described below.  Also I would add to her eighth point: “Expand all treatment.”

I disagree with her points #1, #4 and #6.

 #1.  The AA 12 step approach is a marvelous group process where recovering substance abusers are accepted by their peers, finding a mentor and/or coach who guides the new candidate for years through the process of recovery.  Why would we want to end a process that has clearly helped many addicts for years and years?

#4.  I don’t think that treatment programs in New Jersey, for example, rely on criminal justice referrals.  Rather they see the desperate need of those addicts caught in the criminal justice system who need treatment rather than incarceration.  According to the Human Rights Watchreport, 10-17-16, “ every 25 seconds someone in America is arrested for possessing drugs for personal use.”

To make matters worse, many of those failing to meet bail requirements are incarcerated since treatment beds are usually full with a waiting list.

What’s the alternative?  Recovery help and treatment must be available to all people in all cultures.  Should we just bypass the treatment of addicts whose disease causes illegal drug use and associated crime?  In New Jersey, residential treatment programs have contracts with Corrections and Parole and they are showing positive results over years with the legally supervised treatment and follow up support of hard core criminal addicts.  Many studies have shown that this treatment enhances the likelihood of continued recovery with fewer relapses over time.  It makes no sense to arrest and incarcerate but provide no treatment to some addicts just because of their background and previous record while offering treatment for the same crime to others with little or no criminal record.  Many of these “others” are those who are part of the growing heroin epidemic in the suburbs.  Punish some and help others based on their skin color, criminal background and/or lack of bail money?  Not the right direction.

#6. Residential treatment is part of the continuum of help for many if not most hard core addicts.  Very, few of the thousands of addicts I’ve known could ever begin to put their life back together without removing themselves from the temptations of “the streets” and their neighborhood i.e. “the hood”. 

Here is an alternative model for Treatment and Recovery, call it the

Long Term Continuing Care Recovery Model

Help and caring for hardcore long-term addicts must be long-term (years.)  Also, the life supporting connections between treatment and the community neighborhoods to which recovering addicts re-enter after treatment, must be strengthened. 

The full recovery model of help for hard core criminal addicts often looks like this:  The detoxification phase followed by the residential phase followed by the reentry phase {followed sometimes by the out-patient phase} and then the most critical, the follow up coaching phase.  These are all part of the essential many year recovery continuum of care for hard core addicts.  I emphasize the word “caring” in this continuum. 

One of the most effective ways to measure quality in a program is to notice the level of concern and caring shown by all staff, not just counselors.  Assuring a caring staff must be the first step to assuring a quality staff and a quality program.  The best measure of a caring staff often comes from comments by the residents.[2]

The reentry phase of this continuum can be very challenging and it is not always the recovering person’s fault.  If we think of the cause of addiction as much from an addiction seeking culture as from a disease, we can begin to understand how difficult it can be to help people who must return after treatment to their home environment that is loaded with temptation.  Yes I know and believe the studies supported by Nora Volkow, NIDA, demonstrating that addiction is a brain disease.[3]  However, I attribute the present day growing problem of heroin addiction in the suburbs more from copy-cat and cultural behavior rather than so many people suddenly developing a “disease.”  AA talks about changing “people, places and things,” to stay clean and sober but this is often not possible in a drug seeking culture and as a result, addiction spreads.  Today, if you want to help and coach an addict towards recovery sometimes your most formidable enemy is our present day growing feeling that “heroin is ok.”  Some are saying under their breath; “yeah right, now that white people are using heroin, it’s ok;” and this has a ring of truth to it.

Peer support is often critical for hardcore criminal addict recovery

I founded a TC in Newark in 1968 called Integrity House. I retired from this work in March, 2012.  The TC concept has come a long way since the early 1960's.  We recognize the impact of the recovering peer, clean and sober for years, as a role model for change in our residential and out-patient programs.  We recognize the need for changing our system of care from long-term residential help to long-term support and coaching so that self-realization and the new drug free lifestyle has a chance to become internalized and practiced over years.  I have not found much long-term recovery success for hard core criminal "lifestyle addicts" without years of interaction with positive peers, and without support and coaching[4].

That said, most hardcore criminal addicts that I have worked with need to start and become part of a culture of safe, clean and sober living in a residential setting.  Each participant has a role in helping him/herself and others while learning, practicing and finally internalizing a new positive and ethical lifestyle. In my experience, the Therapeutic Community is the most effective tool, demonstrating a positive culture of right living for many months in treatment and for years thereafter following the long-term recovery continuum model.  

I have found that they must give help to others to get the full measure of help for themselves. 

A properly functioning TC must be sensitive to others needs and wants and what will help and what will hurt.  I've found that those addicts I have worked with over the years need a combination of understanding, love and straight honest talk and finally the role modeling of others like them, clean and sober for many years.  What I didn't expect to find, as I began to know them in the mid-1960’s, was a deep understanding of their own motives and behavior to help themselves as well as their strong need for help and guidance from others in long-term recovery. Finally I have found that they must give help to others to get the full measure of help for themselves.  Addicts in recovery for years make some of the best counselors I’ve ever met and this is with or without a degree! 

Let’s not mandate a degree since the bi-product may be to eliminate the recovering peer from our system of treatment.[5]

My experience supports the idea that a durable recovery is best insured by a counselor and/or peer who can feel a deep understanding and sincere sense of love and caring for others.  I have seen that recovering addicts who attain a degree are seen as role models to others in recovery!  On the other hand, I have found that the most effective people to inspire change are often former addict role models with a strong history of recovery, with or without a degree.

Growing addiction in the mainstream society is setting a bad example for our children

It is difficult today to help someone in a residential or outpatient treatment program to pursue a lasting recovery, when they leave treatment to return to our present drug consuming culture.  Addiction today is part of our culture whether it be from middle class in more affluent suburbs or ghetto pockets in the inner-city. If we want to make a serious impact on this personal and cultural malaise, we have to look at our own addictive behaviors and negative role modeling!  It's what we as parents do that is having a noticeable impact on the behavior of our children.  Growing addiction in mainstream society is setting a bad example for our children.  As a result, many have fallen into the deep hole that takes “adolescent recreational use and abuse” down the path of lifetime addiction.

Let's work together and with the media to develop more effective prevention plans that will be part of our culture and that will help our children grow up healthy.  These plans must start with changing our own habits and negative role modeling and personal substance abuse that will be mimicked by our children!

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 [1] Maia Szalavitz is a columnist for The Influence. She has written for Time, The New York Times, Scientific American Mind, the Washington Post and many other publications.

[2] Be careful though not to base staff evaluations on resident comments!

[3]  http://www.memoirsofanaddictedbrain.com/connect/nora-volkow-the-disease-model-and-moi/

 [4] While I never used drugs, I lived with active addicts in Newark while starting Integrity House and learned much from what they said and how they lived.

[5] Most addicts in recovery owe fines and are just beginning a stable life in the workforce.  They will not be able to afford to pay for a degree for years if not decades!

Won 2nd Place Honors in VA Competition

Today, I received a letter from the 2015 National Veterans Creative Arts Festival -- New Jersey Committee that my story "On the Road to Yesterday" won second-place honors in this year's competition. The awards ceremony will take place on Thursday, May 28th. I am really grateful for showing in this competition. As a journalist, I had won several awards, but had not as a fiction writer before now. Every journey begins with the smallest step.

There are a lot of people who really root for me, and I want to say thank you very much. It does mean a great deal to me. There are really no words adequate for those who showed me support through this. 

Inspirational Essay Submission

On the Road to Yesterday

By JAMES J. PURCELL

There are moments in time that can echo forever, telling new generations about the greatness or the lack of it in the abilities of men and women. This is a true story about a generation’s greatness.

I was a 21-year-old Corporal in 1987, when REFORGER ‘87 was taking place. I was an Intelligence Analyst serving with the S-2, 4th Battalion, 41st Infantry Regiment, which belonged to the 2nd Armored Division (Forward). My unit was based at Lucius D. Clay Kaserne in Garlstedt, Federal Republic of Germany (when that still existed).

My battalion had been deployed for a few months point when the heart of the story happened. I occasionally joked with my friends then that we weren’t deployed as much as we were homeless now. The joke even brought out a laugh now and again.

During the deployment, the battalion traveled to unfamiliar ground for us. Normally, we were located in Northern Germany and only came south of Hanover to perform gunnery qualification with the M2 and M3 Bradley Fighting Vehicles. When the unit traveled south, it usually went to the gunnery range at Grafenwohr, in Eastern Bavaria, and then, afterward, went on to be evaluated at nearby Hohenfels, which was a training area used by Allies from the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. At Hohenfels, the unit would usually go through an Army Training and Evaluation Program to be judged about its efficiency. It was hard soldiering, but the “Iron Deuce” was a great old unit and drew some pretty staunch soldiers.

This REFORGER was different for a lot of us younger soldiers. We traveled through towns and saw the faces of ordinary Germans we were protecting. It was the Cold War in those days, and so many of us soldiers believed it might become a shooting war while we were there. Still, as we passed through several towns, driving down German highways and byways in our armored personnel carriers, trucks and Bradley Fighting Vehicles, it sunk in about what our job really meant. It made it real to me.

What truly brought that sentiment home to me, though, occurred in Drensteinfurt, in the Northern Rhine-Westphalia region of the country. As normal, the unit pulled in and, in my case, soldiers from the S-2 (the Intelligence and Security Section), parked our M577 Command Post Carrier right next to the S-3 (Operations) M577 and we went about the business of unrolling large, bulky canvasses and making our Tactical Operations Center, which a Fire Support Team from the Field Artillery, as well as an Air Liaison Team from the U.S. Air Force, hooked into with their vehicles.  This is where we our Commander, at the time Lieutenant-Colonel John Voessler, and his primary staff officers communicated with and controlled the 700-soldier (or so) task force that was 4/41 Infantry.

Well, it was hot and sweaty work in the middle of August, and everyone who took part in making the TOC, as it was called, was dirty, tired and thirsty. However, the one good thing about operating in towns is that soldiers were occasionally allowed to patronize little cafes in the immediate area, if everything was on schedule, as it was this bright and sunny day.

My good friend, Private Bruce Fogle, and I received permission to go grab ‘some local chow’ and return. Fogle and I were wearing camouflage face paint and I was carrying my M-16 and he the bulky M60 machinegun he was assigned. Our helmets were on and chinstraps firmly in place and our uniforms looked like they were supposed to in the field or when deployed.

This was a natural thing for us. But, as he and I passed German civilians, I became aware these accessories might very well be disturbing. I put myself in their place. So, I tried to do some smiling as we passed people, and Fogle did the same. I couldn’t imagine how it would have felt seeing foreign soldiers strolling down my hometown street in Howell Township, New Jersey.

Well, this older woman, perhaps in her late 70s or so, was accompanied by her Granddaughter (as I came to find out later) down the little cobblestone street where the cafe was located. Upon us approaching, she became visibly shaken and muttered something emotionally to the granddaughter. I thought we must have upset her and tried my broken German to explain we were only having a wargame here and that my unit would leave soon.

Yet, her Granddaughter explained her Grandmother’s reaction: “No sir, that patch you and the other man are wearing is the same as the patch of the men that freed my Grandmother from the Nazis in 1945. She wants to thank you soldiers still.” Then, the old lady reached out and took Fogle’s dirty, gloved hand and placed it up to her face and said in heavily accented English, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Tears immediately rose to my eyes, which I thought was very ‘un-NCO-like’ of me, but Fogle had the waterworks going too.

My Dad was a soldier back then, in World War II. He fought in the Rhine. He could have easily been one of the soldiers that helped her back then. It all came around for me -- why we were there, what we were supposed to be about and the very big shoes we filled.

I asked her Granddaughter to translate, because I didn’t want to screw it up. Then, I said that ‘there are always going to be evil people in the world. It was a privilege to be associated with the men she knew, if only by our patches. Both my friend and I, and the rest of us, would try and make sure neither she nor her family ever had to go through anything like the Nazis again.’

This moved me and still does. The old lady had tears in her eyes and looked up at me with real gratitude. Right then, I figured out what it was to be an American soldier.