One of the most decorated generals of WWII, George S. Patton’s legacy is rich in color and folklore. Killed only months after the end of the war, just before Christmas in 1945, Patton became an American legend, immortalized in the seven-time Academy Award winning film, “Patton,” starring George C. Scott.
But during a high point in his military career in the summer of 1943, Patton added two particularly charmless stories to his otherwise remarkable legacy.
In the first, he visited a hospital, where he encountered a young soldier named Charles Kuhl, who lacked a single visible battle scar.
Approaching the soldier, Patton reportedly asked him where he was injured. Kuhl claimed his nerves had gotten the best of him, causing Patton’s temper to flare. Calling Kuhl a “gutless bastard,” Patton ordered him immediately returned to the front.
Seven days later, while visiting another field hospital, Patton discovered a 21-year-old soldier named Paul Bennet shaking uncontrollably. The general similarly confronted Bennet, only this time Patton struck the private hard across his face, knocking him down.
The incidents led to a presidential reprimand and a demotion, not to mention a lot of bad press. However, PTSD, then called “battle fatigue,” was a relatively new construct that only had a rudimentary understanding among psychiatric professionals.
Two generations later, Gen. Patton’s grandson Benjamin is out to change that — starting a program, I WAS THERE, to help veterans struggling with PTSD.
Ben’s father, also named George Patton, was a national hero in his own right, a decorated Korean and Vietnam War general. Ben’s family was so steeped in Army tradition, it was inescapable.
In his 2012 book, “Growing Up Patton: Reflections on Heroes, History, and Family Wisdom,” Ben Patton points out that he never met his famous grandfather, and in fact his first memory of meeting his own father was when he was already 3 years old. “My mother recalls me tugging on her dress at the airport and asking, ‘What did you say his name was? Daddy?’ ” Ben writes.
It would have been a lot to live up to, but in the end, Ben decided not to join the Army, and instead achieved success working for the New York City PBS affiliate as a producer and development executive.
But his familial ties to the military were never far from his mind. Soon he was producing biographies for private clients, many of who were old Army buddies of his father and grandfather. These custom documentaries led to an idea: What if returning soldiers deal with their traumatic memories through film?
Ben went back to school, earning a degree in developmental psychology from Columbia. While there he started the program, a weekend filmmaking retreat for military veterans — 11% to 20% of whom suffer from PTSD.
Mike Rodgers was sent to one of the retreats by his therapist. A veteran of the war in Afghanistan, Rodgers’ eardrum was blown out in a mortar blast that killed civilians in front of him. That and other horrors haunted him after he returned home to Michigan, and he tried to commit suicide.
Rodgers was wary at first, but after hearing Ben speak, thought, “OK, this might not be too bad.’ ”
By the end of the weekend, all the veterans, working alone or in teams, produce a film they create with the help of experienced filmmakers. Rodgers calls his film “a suicide awareness video.” Titled “Is Anyone Listening,” the film opens on a soldier waking up in the hospital then recalling what put him there.
Today, Mike Rodgers runs a website called veterans4USA.com where he helps raise awareness for PTSD and suicide prevention.He also runs a Facebook page that has helped place over 8,000 veterans with jobs.
“I had always wanted to do something to help veterans, but I didn’t know how or what,” Rodgers said. “But the I WAS THERE program helped me see what I wanted to do.”
What would Ben’s father and grandfather think of his work?
Both Patton Sr. and Jr. had, according to Ben, “an aversion to cowardice and battle fatigue that hit them at a visceral level.” In the case of his grandfather, it led to the famous “slapping incidents” of soldiers in Sicily during World War II.
Neither man was particularly remorseful about their behavior, and neither is Ben. In his book, Ben writes, “Both men were products of their time, when PTSD wasn’t even in their vocabulary.” But he thinks if they knew what we know now, they would be more sympathetic. And Ben thinks that, through his work, he’s keeping the Patton legacy to the military alive.
“I’d like to think,” he said, “my father and grandfather would approve.”