SUNDAY, JULY 18, 2010
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A7 COMBAT GENERATION HONORING FALLEN SOLDIERS Dying in war, by their own hand He went straight from basic by Greg Jaffe T WHITNEY SHEFTE/THE WASHINGTON POST The blast in Iraq damaged Ownbey’s pituitary gland. At first, he seemed fine. In time, he suffered panic attacks, memory loss and blood clots.
sister to thank her for her love and support. Then he turned off his phone. Hackett’s sister raced to his house, picked up Danelle and be- gan searching for Hackett. The retired Marine returned to the American Legion Hall and continued to drink. After about an hour, he pulled out a gun and shot himself. In the front seat of his Chrysler truck, his wife and sister found an envelope on which he had scrib- bled “I deserve Hell.” In an interview, Danelle said she was angry at the Marine Corps for doing too little to educate her about PTSD. “The Marines want to brush all of this under the car- pet,” she said.
Amos called to offer his condo- lences on July 4. She told him about her 18-year-old son, who is headed to boot camp later this year. “He has his dad’s integrity,” she said. “He’s going to make a hell of a Marine.”
FAMILY PHOTO
Among family photos on the refrigerator is Ownbey and his wife, Sandy, at a Marine Corps Ball in 2004. wounds from A6
Amos disagreed with Chiarelli on the Purple Heart. “We need to keep that award as pure as we possibly can,” he said. The Marine general was never
particularly captivated by the sci- ence of PTSD or traumatic brain injury. But Amos was convinced by Ownbey’s suffering. The two generals worked with the civilian doctors from the meeting they had organized in Washington to develop new pro- cedures for treating mental wounds. To prevent traumatic brain injury, the doctors recom- mended new rules requiring troops who experienced a concus- sion to rest until a doctor cleared them for duty. After three concus- sions troops are no longer al- lowed to return to combat for the rest of the tour. “We’ve taken away the opportunity for Marines to say they are good to go after a concussion,” Amos said, “because every Marine is going to say he is fine.” To treat PTSD, the doctors rec- ommended therapy be delivered as soon after the triggering in- cident as possible. Amos and Chiarelli instituted programs to train front-line medics to spot the signs of PTSD and provide imme- diate psychological first aid. They instructed therapists to use video conferencing to screen troops who might otherwise not get help. The generals’ goal was to fix the
flawed system that Ownbey and his men confronted in Iraq and when they returned home to Camp Lejeune. Gunnery Sgt. Christopher Well- man, who was sitting behind Ownbey when their truck was launched 30 feet in the air, esti- mated last month that he suffered four or five concussions during his final tour in Iraq. But he never sought medical care or skipped a patrol to rest and heal. “People were dying,” he said. He returned home and began
experiencing memory problems, dizziness, nightmares and mi- graines. Wellman spent a year on limited duty before he made it back to his engineer unit, where he lasted three months before a routine explosion at a firing range caused him to relapse. He was medically retired from the Ma-
Invisible wounds More U.S. soldiers are suffering from Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) as a result of repeated tours of duty and increased exposure to improvised explosive devices. Both conditions are treatable but can be difficult to overcome.
TBI and PTSD
The best way to prevent TBI is to allow the brain to rest after a concussion. PTSD can be treated with therapy. The number of soldiers being treated for TBI and PTSD has increased in recent years.
Total soldiers in Army Wounded Warrior program*
5,200 3,800 52% 38% 58%
Percentage diagnosed with TBI or PTSD
Fall 2008 Fall 2009 Spring 2010
*Set up to assist soldiers who became severely injured or ill during service in overseas contingency operations since Sept. 11, 2001.
CRISTINA RIVERO/THE WASHINGTON POST
rine Corps this summer and be- gan work with the Defense De- partment in Arlington County. He stopped receiving treatment when he left Camp Lejeune. Staff Sgt. Curtis Long, who was driving the truck, came home from Iraq angry and emotionally distant. “He told me that he had to force himself to feel something for me and our kids,” said his wife, Virginia. “He just feels numb.” She urged to him get treatment for PTSD, but he stopped after five sessions. Last summer, Long began to
suffer migraines, hand tremors and a nervous eye twitch. Long’s platoon sergeant pressed him to seek help from a neurologist, who said his symptoms were caused by stress. Months passed before the doctor was able to squeeze him in for a second exam. The 25-year-old Marine sat for 45 minutes in the waiting room, then screamed at the receptionist and stormed out of the office. “I just went off on her,” Long said.
6,500
His wife begged him to return, but he refused. In February Ownbey recom- mended his former neurologist at Camp Lejeune. More than two years after the blast, the doctor di- agnosed traumatic brain injury and put Long on a weekly regimen of four therapy sessions to help him compensate for memory and balance problems. ANavy medic who was a part of
Ownbey’s crew said he has suf- fered no long-term effects from the explosion. Ownbey’s health — though still
fragile — has slowly improved. In 2009 the general had ordered Ownbey to stay in the service so that Navy doctors could figure out what was wrong with him. He re- cently asked Amos for permission to leave the Marine Corps later this summer. “I can’t get to a point where I
can go back to combat,” Ownbey said. “But I can apply myself to my family. I can get to a better way of living.”
O
wnbey’s good friend and company com- mander, Jeff Hackett, retired as a major from the Marine Corps after
26 years of service. “He looked like he was really go- ing to miss it,” Ownbey recalled. Ownbey hugged him, and for the first time in their three years to- gether called him “Jeff” instead of “sir.” Hackett and his wife bought a house and 40 acres of land about an hour outside of Cheyenne, Wyo. His family said he often seemed distant. When Ownbey had reenlisted in August 2007, he suggested that Hackett don his blast-resistant suit for the ceremony, which took place outside in 120-degree heat. Hackett did it. By 2010 Hackett’s goofy sense of humor was gone. He could not stop blaming himself for the deaths of the Marines his com- pany lost in Iraq. “I killed eight of my men,” he told his sister. On June 5, Hackett called his wife, Danelle, from the parking lot of the American Legion Hall in Cheyenne. “I just want to let you know how sorry I am and that I love you,” he said. He called his
Danelle was two months be- hind on her house and car pay- ments. Because her husband had killed himself, their mortgage in- surance did not apply. Amos alert- ed a Marine Corps charity, which sent a check to help her get through the summer. “I don’t want others to suffer
what my sons and I have gone through,” Danelle told the general. “I want to be an advocate.” Amos promised her he would
stay in touch.
jaffeg@washpost.com
Staff researcher Julie Tate contributed to this report.
here was only the sub- tlest hint that this me- morial service was dif- ferent. The Baker Company
first sergeant called his men to at- tention in front of a ragged rock wall, built to shield troops from incoming mortar fire. A chaplain read an invocation, followed by a brief recitation of Staff Sgt. Thad- deus S. Montgomery Jr.’s biogra- phy. He had spent three years in combat in Iraq and Afghanistan as a Humvee gunner, a sniper and infantry squad leader. He loved reggae music, camping and fish- ing and wore his hair in dread- locks before enlisting. “Monty was someone I could talk to when things got tough,” said one of his men, according to a video of the ceremony, which was held early this year in eastern Afghanistan. “He brought laugh- ter to the squad and a bright out- look on life.” He was a “fearless leader,” his company commander said. “I’ll never know why Monty did
what he did on the 20th of Janu- ary,” said his best friend in the platoon. On that day Montgomery, 29, aimed his gun at himself and pulled the trigger, Army officials said. The Pentagon doesn’t tell units how to mourn soldiers who com- mit suicide in combat, but it makes distinctions between sui- cides and other war deaths. The families of those who die of com- bat wounds or in noncombat acci- dents receive condolence letters from the president. The families of suicide victims do not. Some Army and Marine Corps brigades inscribe the names of suicide victims on unit war me- morials. Many units choose not to include them. It fell to Col. Randy George, who commands Montgomery’s brigade, to decide how the soldier would be remembered. George weighed Montgomery’s history with the Army and the unit. “This was his third deployment,” the colonel said. “He was an incred- ible squad leader and soldier. He was well-liked.” Montgomery’s death was a combat fatality, he decided. Gen. Peter Chiarelli, the Army’s vice chief of staff, recently told commanders to conduct the same memorial services for battlefield suicides as they would for other deaths. The order provoked con- troversy among some command- ers, who argued that suicide was dishonorable, an aide to Chiarelli said. In Kentucky, Debra Hays,
Montgomery’s mother, has spent the past six months trying to fig- ure out what happened to her son.
training in 2002 to South Korea and then to Iraq. The narrative from his 2005 Army Commenda- tion Medal says that Montgomery fought through five complex en- emy ambushes, three roadside bomb attacks, and a handful of sniper and mortar assaults. “He displayed great courage, honor and discipline in all of these en- gagements,” according to the award. It is all she knows of his first combat deployment. He returned to Iraq in 2007 and was promoted to staff sergeant in 2009, when he and his eight-man infantry squad were sent to Af- ghanistan. “He seemed like he grew up overnight,” Hays said. Since her son’s death, Hays has reread his e-mails home from Af- ghanistan. They offer no hint of his suffering. She met with Lt. Col. Brian Pearl, Montgomery’s battalion commander, following the unit’s return to Fort Carson, Colo., last month. On Jan. 16 Montgomery came back from a harrowing patrol in which his fighting position col- lapsed on him, Pearl told her. A few hours later his company suf- fered its first fatality when Spec. Robert Donevski was killed in an ambush. After the patrol Montgomery withdrew from his friends and said he could no longer fight. Because Montgomery insisted he was not suicidal, he wasn’t im- mediately evacuated from the base. When his condition didn’t improve, his company command- er arranged for him to fly out on a Jan. 20 re-supply helicopter. Montgomery killed himself that morning. Hays faults the Army for not doing more to educate officers about post-traumatic stress dis- order and mental illness. “I am trying not be angry,” she said. “The Army didn’t just fail Thad. It failed the soldiers who were there with him. They are dealing with Thad’s death, too.” In Afghanistan, Montgomery’s memorial service ended with the final roll. “Sergeant Mendez,” the Baker Company first sergeant called out.
“Here, First Sergeant,” Mendez
replied. “Staff Sergeant Montgomery.” The soldiers of Baker Company stood somberly in formation, framed by the snow-capped Hin- du Kush mountains. “Staff Sergeant Thaddeus
Montgomery,” the first sergeant yelled, his voice louder and tinged with grief. “Staff Sergeant Thaddeus Scott
Montgomery.” A bugler played taps. The
troops filed past Montgomery’s ri- fle, dog tags, helmet and boots, each pausing briefly to mumble a prayer or say goodbye.
jaffeg@washpost.com
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