I had the pleasure of meeting former Alaska governor Sarah Palin and her husband, Todd, when I visited veterans at Operation Heal Our Patriots, a ministry of Samaritan’s Purse.
After living nearly seven decades on earth, I know one thing for certain: there’s nothing like having peace of mind when you lay your head on a pillow every night. It’s a rare commodity.
Hey, I like to nap as much as anyone. In fact, some days I’ll nap six or seven times. But I have to admit that sometimes at night I lie in bed with so much garbage in my mind it’s like there’s a runaway train inside my head. When this happens, I can’t stop it. On those nights, I know sleep will never come—this was especially true in Vietnam.
My son, Scott, was deployed three times to Iraq while serving in the United States Army. I can’t imagine what he went through or what pain those events cause him even now. He spent three years of his life away from his family. Some servicemen and servicewomen are being deployed to the Middle East for seven years to help us fight the global war on terror. Depending on what these men and women endured during the war, what they had to do and what they saw, they’re going to struggle to have peace of mind. They spent many years of their lives in war, Jack!
I can’t imagine the junk that would be in my head if I spent my days dodging roadside bombs, suicide bombers, and mortar shells. Hey, when you’re over there, you never know who is going to try to ambush you. Maybe it’s a young boy with grenades in his hands. Maybe it’s a woman with a bomb under her dress. You never know where the next attack is going to come from. It’s a tough circumstance to live with any way you slice it.
If you read my first book, Si-cology 1: Tales and Wisdom from Duck Dynasty’s Favorite Uncle, you might remember the story about Scott’s early life. He was born at a military hospital at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas, on December 18, 1977. Scott was born seven weeks premature because Christine suffered hemorrhaging and doctors couldn’t stop her bleeding. The births of both of my children were miracles. Doctors told Christine that she’d never have children because of a serious medical condition. That’s the reason she rejected my proposal for marriage so many times—until my charm and good looks finally won her over.
When Scott was born, doctors weren’t even sure he would survive more than a few weeks. Fortunately, Scott weighed five pounds, thirteen ounces at birth, so he was bigger than most premature babies. When Scott was three days old, doctors operated on him because his liver wasn’t functioning properly. The operation and a blood transfusion saved his life. There’s no doubt in my mind that the Almighty was watching over him and us. I didn’t know it then, but as Scott got a little older, we were going to need His strength and peace to guide us through the storm.
Years later, we learned that Scott’s early health problems had damaged his brain. He was suicidal from the time he was about five years old. His behavior was erratic and often violent. He lashed out at his mother and me, and damaged anything he could get his hands on when he was angry. When Scott was eleven years old, Christine stopped him from jumping out of a second-story window in our apartment. I’m not sure if the fall would have killed him, but it was clear that our son needed serious medical help.
The next day, we took Scott to see an army psychiatrist, who diagnosed him with attention disorder, behavioral disorder, and hyperactivity. The doctor prescribed Scott new medication, and his behavior changed almost immediately. He became a sweet, loving boy and was a joy to be around. We later learned that Scott was actually suffering from Asperger’s syndrome, which is a form of autism.
Scott graduated from Paint Rock Valley High School in Princeton, Alabama, in 1996. We were living there after I retired from the military. That summer, while Scott was visiting his sister, Trasa, in Texas, he enlisted in the army without our blessing. His mother and I weren’t especially thrilled with what he’d done, but we were going to support him as he started a military career.
Scott wanted to be a soldier from the time he was a kid. For whatever reason, he wanted to be like his dad. Christine and I tried to talk him into pursuing another occupation, but it’s the only thing he ever wanted to do. To be honest, we hoped his medical history would prevent him from enlisting.
Scott joined the army and went to basic training at Fort Jackson in Columbia, South Carolina, in November 1997. He completed advanced individual training at Fort Eustis in Virginia. Scott and Marsha now have four boys—Ethan, twins Connor and Logan, and Wyatt. Ethan was Marsha’s son from her first marriage, and Scott adopted him. The boys had to live without their father while he was away, which was a huge sacrifice for them and their mother.
Scott’s first deployment to Iraq was from April 1, 2003, to March 1, 2004. The year 2004 was very difficult for Scott. His grandfather died that year, and I came close to dying with my heart attack. And the most difficult of all was the death of his first wife. Without any counseling for his previous deployment or for his family losses, Scott was deployed to the Middle East on December 1, 2005, and didn’t come back until November 17, 2006. He went back again on June 14, 2008, and finally came home for good on June 4, 2009.
Every day Scott was gone, Christine and I prayed to the Lord to bring our son home safe. Talk about not having peace of mind. There’s nothing worse than worrying about your child every minute of every day, Jack! It was the worst three years of my life. I didn’t know if I was going to get a knock at the door from two men in uniform who were there to tell us that our son had been killed in action. It’s an awful experience too many families have endured.
After Scott’s last deployment, he left active combat and became an army recruiter. He and his family moved next door to us in West Monroe in May 2014. After Scott was so far away from us for so long, it’s good to have him and his family close to us now. His kids are such a joy to be around.
I rarely talked to Scott about what he did or what he saw while he was serving in Iraq. I can only imagine what happened to him over there. Among other things, he served as a crew chief on helicopters. His unit transported injured soldiers and prisoners of war, as well as conducting air assaults and numerous other types of missions. It was very dangerous work, but the Good Lord made sure he was safe.
From what I could tell, Scott was adjusting fine to civilian life after he moved to West Monroe. He is a great dad to his four sons and is very active in their lives. He is a wonderful husband and loves his wife dearly. He seemed to be enjoying his new career as an army recruiter. I couldn’t be prouder of the man he has become.
But in August 2015, his PTSD manifested itself in a significant way. One afternoon, Scott stopped to help a homeless man on the side of the road. After taking the man to breakfast, Scott dropped him off where he had found him. Then Scott went home and got his family for a meal at the local Olive Garden restaurant. On the way home, Scott began driving erratically, missing familiar turns and being very distracted. Marsha kept asking Scott if he was okay, and he would tell her yes. She finally told him that one of the boys needed a bathroom break, and after the stop, she convinced him to let her drive. As Marsha drove into their driveway, Scott collapsed like a puppet without strings.
I hadn’t realized before that day how much the PTSD was affecting Scott and what it was putting Marsha through. Marsha called me after they got home, and I went to their house and helped Marsha get Scott out of the car. It was as if he wasn’t even there. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I couldn’t tell if Scott was even hearing what I was saying to him. I stayed with him for about forty-five minutes and he finally came around. “Dad,” he told me, “I was deployed for thirty-six months and don’t remember anything at all about that time.”
The next day, Marsha took Scott to see an army psychiatrist. The doctor asked Scott about seeing the homeless man on the street. Scott said the man reminded him of some of the prisoners he encountered in Iraq. The man’s face was dirty, his clothes were tattered, and he was malnourished. He looked like many of the handcuffed prisoners who were in Scott’s helicopters.
The episode that day triggered Scott’s PTSD and took him back to Iraq. Scott had been seen by army doctors since 2010, but the only diagnosis he had been given was the catch-all diagnosis of “anxiety disorder, otherwise unspecified.” Fortunately, after this panic attack, Scott was finally diagnosed with PTSD and is now getting the medical care he needs. Scott still suffers from anxiety, and I’m sure he has endured many sleepless nights. But he’s getting better with the help of his doctors and his family.
It really angers me that we don’t do more for our veterans, who are America’s real heroes. I didn’t actually see any combat in Vietnam, but I was over there and was at risk too. Anyone who has worn the uniform and was in a foreign country at a time of war was in danger. We lost more than 58,000 service men during the Vietnam War. Unfortunately, we have lost additional men to suicide after they came home from Vietnam. It’s one of our country’s greatest embarrassments. To be honest, it’s really shameful that we don’t do more. For the life of me, I can’t understand why our government will do more for people who don’t want to help themselves than for the people who are putting themselves in danger every day to protect our country.
Post-traumatic stress disorder wasn’t even recognized until after the Vietnam War, and so, many veterans didn’t get the mental health care they needed when they came home. Our government didn’t do enough to help them cope with the horrors they witnessed during a truly awful struggle.
In 2012 alone, the Department of Veterans Affairs reported that it treated 476,515 veterans for PTSD—most of them veterans of the Vietnam War almost fifty years ago. Tragically, those women and men didn’t have access to the kind of mental health services they needed when they returned home. They’ve been suffering from the effects of war for more than a half century. Imagine having to live with those memories each and every day.
Unfortunately, we’re going through the same tragic situation now. More than 2.4 million Americans have served in Afghanistan, Iraq, and other parts of the world during the global war on terror since the September 11, 2001, attacks on America. More than 600,000 of them are struggling with PTSD and major depression. The VA has formally diagnosed more than 200,000 Iraq and Afghanistan veterans with having PTSD. Another 400,000 service members have been diagnosed with a traumatic brain injury they received in combat.
Tragically, even more women and men are suffering from those conditions who haven’t yet been properly diagnosed. They’re continuing to live with the horrors of being shot at, seeing dead bodies, being attacked and ambushed, and taking mortar fire. Some are suffering from survivor guilt after seeing their buddies wounded or killed. Hey, we have to get them the help they desperately need, regardless of the financial costs. It’s the least we can do for the men and women fighting for our freedom every day. During the last few years, helping the men and women who fought for our country has become one of my greatest causes. There’s no question the Good Lord has blessed my family mightily. Because of the popularity of Duck Dynasty, we now have the financial means and public spotlight to make a difference in important causes. Helping wounded veterans and their families is a cause that is very important to me.
In 2014, I was asked to appear in the movie Faith of Our Fathers, a faith-based film that sought not only to honor Vietnam veterans but also to help them and their families heal from the wounds of being forgotten. The film was produced by Pure Flix, which has also released faith-based movies like God’s Not Dead and Do You Believe? Hey, if you haven’t noticed, there aren’t a lot of good messages coming out of Hollywood these days. I was honored to be a part of a film that shared the Gospel and honored men and women who truly deserve it.
Faith of Our Fathers is the story of two strangers whose fathers were killed in Vietnam. One of the men is a man of great faith, while the other is a doubtful cynic because of his father’s premature death. Together, they use their fathers’ handwritten letters from the battlefield to search for clues about how they died. Their journey eventually takes them to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. I played the role of a gas station clerk in the film. Actors Candace Cameron Bure and Stephen Baldwin also were in the movie.
Faith of Our Fathers was released in July 2015, which commemorated the fiftieth anniversary of the Vietnam War. I appeared at advance screenings around the country and had the pleasure of meeting thousands of Vietnam veterans. They’re my brothers-in-arms, Jack. I know what they went through over there and what they’re going through now. On the last advanced screening in West Monroe, I was presented with a fiftieth anniversary flag from the US Department of Defense. It was a great honor, and I accepted the flag on behalf of Vietnam veterans everywhere, including the thousands of men who died over there.
So many young men went to Vietnam and didn’t come home. There are a lot of sons and daughters who never really got to know their dads and moms, which is truly tragic. It happens in all wars. Hopefully, in a small way, Faith of Our Fathers helped bring some peace to people who are still hurting from that awful war.
In December 2015, I was honored to join my brother Phil, his wife, Kay, and their sons, Alan and Jep, at Operation Heal Our Patriots in Port Alsworth, Alaska. Samaritan’s Purse, a Christian-based ministry founded by Bob Pierce in 1970, invites one hundred and fifty couples to their retreat center every year. The lodge is located on the shores of Hardenburg Bay in the southwestern portion of Lake Clark National Park and Preserve. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen, and it’s only accessible by small plane.
Former Alaska governor Sarah Palin and her husband, Todd, were also there to help us greet the ten service members and spouses who were attending the retreat that week. Together, we stood on the runway waving American flags when the service members arrived. It was very special for me to be there because these veterans never received a proper homecoming. They were injured in combat and were transported back to military hospitals in the US. Nobody threw them a ticker-tape parade or properly thanked them for their service when they came home, which they certainly deserved. Hey, we send them over there to fight. The least we can do is show our appreciation when they come home.
I had the pleasure of meeting former Alaska governor Sarah Palin and her husband, Todd, when I visited veterans at Operation Heal Our Patriots, a ministry of Samaritan’s Purse.
I can’t thank Samaritan’s Purse enough for the good work it is doing for our military members. The wounded veterans who are invited to Operation Heal Our Patriots spend one week attending faith-based seminars to strengthen their relationships with God and their marriages. During the week I went to the Samaritan Lodge in 2015, five people were baptized and six couples rededicated their marriages. Now, that’s the Good Lord at work, Jack!
Samaritan’s Purse is one of my favorite ministries. Franklin Graham, the son of spiritual leader Billy Graham, has served as president and chief executive officer of Samaritan’s Purse since 1979. The ministry meets the needs of the poor, sick, and suffering people in more than one hundred countries around the world. I’ve teamed up with Samaritan’s Purse in other projects, including Operation Christmas Child, which collects shoe boxes filled with Christmas gifts and necessities for needy children. Samaritan’s Purse is a great organization and is very visible evidence of the Almighty’s extraordinary work.
Being a veteran myself, I was happy to be welcoming veterans home. I never had a homecoming when I came back from Vietnam. It was a controversial war, and most Americans didn’t think we should be fighting someone else’s war in a faraway land. Hey, I didn’t have a choice in whether or not I went to Vietnam. Uncle Sam drafted me, and I spent one year in Southeast Asia, whether I wanted to be there or not, Jack! Fortunately, I wasn’t abused when I came home, like other Vietnam veterans.
It really sickens me when I see how some veterans are treated in this country, even today. Members of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, protest at servicemembers’ funerals around the country. That isn’t a church; it’s a hate organization. Men and women are coming home in coffins, and they decide to picket at their funerals, where people are burying their sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, husbands, and wives. Hey, Jack, they were overseas fighting for your freedom of speech, whether you’re wrong or right. He or she died for the right for you to run your mouth. It’s disrespectful to the fallen soldiers and our country!
I know one thing: I’ll continue to honor our servicemen and servicewomen until the day they put me six feet under the ground. Every time I see a soldier in an airport or at one of my charity events, I make sure to stop and shake his or her hand and thank them for their service. Hey, it’s the least I can do for what they and their families have sacrificed for you and me. I can’t thank them enough for putting their lives on the line to protect America. Some gave all. All gave some. We should never forget that, Jack!