"The listener: Another casualty of the war within."
By John McGondel. 2002

   In 1973 I was "rooming" in a barracks at Fort Devens, which is an army base located in Ayer/Shirley, Massachusetts. The war was winding down, most of the murdered soldiers' bodies were returning home.

   Many of my friends, that is to say those whom were not quite dead, were being debriefed by the battalion psychiatrist Dr. Levine. Dr. Levine's specialties were military-intelligence and psychoanalysis, and he was well respected in both fields. Though not a traditional "Freudian" he still did nevertheless use a couch. Actually his "clients" used the couch, from which they would talk and he would listen.

   In all of the conversations to which I and my acquaintances had with him, not once was he ever judgmental or placating, instead he was warmly attentive and keenly observant. I have often felt that he must have been sorely tempted upon many occasions to either wander off in thought or exhibit revulsion, disgust, and contempt, for he must have listened to thousands of stories, some with common themes and others of a more horrid and inhuman nature.

   But no matter what the subject matter was that his "clients" might be happening to be divulging to him he always remained cool and genteel. He always appeared to be genuinely interested yet never pushed anyone to speak when they preferred not to.

   Dr. Levine spoke seldom and when he did, it was almost always to ask a very poignant question, which tended to assure people that he was giving his complete and undivided attention to their every word. Words that were each one a precious pearl of wisdom, and with which he parted only sparingly. And like anything precious, those words, scarce few that they were, were prized and highly valued by all whom were privileged enough to have had them bestowed upon them.

   He was a truly wise man, and I miss him too often. Especially when I find myself in need of someone to listen to and hear me. In looking back, I now realize that he must have borne an unbearable amount of emotional suffering from having to listen so very well to so very many soldiers for so very long.

   Dr. Levine took his own life in 1979, at the age of forty-one.

   I have wondered on countless occasions since then, that perhaps if he had had a good listener, one whom was as talented and compassionate as he himself was, he may have been more able to bear his intolerably painful burdens...