The New York Times story was, Bill Minnix says, the best thing that ever happened to him.

On Sept. 10, the newspaper published Mary Calvert’s extraordinary photographs of men still recovering from sexual assault in the United States military.

Minnix, who lives in Bend, was one of six veterans who spoke of the enduring shame, anger and isolation. He was 18 when he was raped several times in 1973 by ranking officers at a private resort near Keesler Air Force Base in Mississippi. Seeing his abusers afterwards on the drill pad or at the chow hall, he twice went AWOL.

“I’ve essentially been running for most of my life since then,” Minnix told the Times.

Enough, he decided. His story was out. He no longer felt alone. He was confident the Times’ story would help other military sexual-assault victims.

So, yes, he was feeling upbeat after his Sept. 17 counseling session when an elderly gent approached him in a Bend parking lot. The guy was wearing a Band of Brothers’ hat with a WWII designation, and he didn’t introduce himself.

Instead, he said, “I just want you to know you’re a disgrace to all veterans and the Band of Brothers.”

Minnix stared at the guy, measuring the meanness in him, then climbed into the cab of his Ford F-150. “I wish you were in my shoes,” he said, slamming the truck door and driving away.

*

He was still discouraged when I called this past Monday. It was 90 minutes before the weekly Band of Brothers’ breakfast gathering at Jake’s Diner.

The Bend chapter of Band of Brothers meets for breakfast each Monday at Jake's Diner.

Minnix wasn’t going. He didn’t feel welcome or supported. He’d gotten texts that morning from several Bend chapter officers who knew about the parking-lot confrontation. They didn’t want him raising the issue at breakfast.

Minnix has been dealing with that stigma for 46 years. The Pentagon estimates more than 10,000 men are sexually assaulted in the American military each year. No one ever wants to talk about it.

He was so young when he arrived at radar-technician school in ’73. When the enlisted officers took Minnix and other recruits off-base, getting them drunk and raping them, the trauma was pervasive.

“The biggest thing that got hold of me was shame. Then guilt. Then fear. These were men higher ranked than me.” In that era, he reminds us, admitting to homosexual acts got you kicked out of the military.

When Minnix finally returned to the base, the Air Force tossed him in the brig, then moved to prosecute him unless he left the service with a less-than-honorable discharge.

That was just the first indignity he would endure over the next 40 years. The traumatic memories cost him jobs, relationships, sobriety. “My own sister, who is married to a retired colonel in the Air Force, still won’t have anything to do with me,” Minnix says. “They’re shamed that I was raped in the military. But they’re ashamed of me, not the Air Force.”

He successfully fought to get his discharge upgraded to “honorable,” making him eligible for health benefits. He realized that if he is willing to break the silence about military sexual trauma, it may ease the pain for other victims.

We talked for 20 minutes. I wanted to do some research, and we agreed I could call him back in an hour. Just before 10 a.m., Minnix sent me a text:

“I won’t be available until noon. Decided to go to breakfast with a forgiving heart.”

*

He’d called Mary Calvert and his wife, Georgie Holton-Minnix. They both wondered if he was reading too much into the awkward text conversations with the veterans’ group members.

“I overreacted when I felt the sense of shame again,” Minnix says. “I went into the survival mode I’ve endured for decades.”

He also recalled the advice of his counselor, Shannon Kearney. Minnix is a wildlife photographer. When he’s in the wild, he’s invariably armed with several lens: the 55-mm, the zoom, the wide-angle. “Quit zooming in on things,” Kearney tells him. “Use the wide-angle.” Wider perspective. Bigger picture.

As usual, Jake’s Diner was jammed. The owner, Lyle Hicks, swung by to shake his hand. Minnix found a seat next to a World War II veteran. As the morning wore on, he felt part of things … and saw no reason to confront the hater from the parking lot.

“I don’t want to judge anyone,” Minnix says. “Maybe they saw this going on in the military, and accepted it. Or maybe they were involved in it. Their immediate response is to defend it.”

“There are always going to be those people,” his wife, Georgie, reminds us. “It’s going to be a challenge for the rest of our lives. I’m a very private person, but I really respect that he wants to effect this change, and he isn’t afraid to put his story out there.”

That took courage, but it didn’t obliterate the past. The trauma still has its sting. The triggers haven’t lost their power. This won’t be the last time Bill Minnix will need to lean on that forgiving heart.

-- Steve Duin

stephen.b.duin@gmail.com