Sonny’s Healing Journey Began with Music

By Carole Gariepy

If you’ve stopped at Punalu‘u Bakery in Nā‘ālehu on a Thursday or Saturday, you’ve likely had the pleasure of enjoying the mellow music of Sonny Ramos. His Hawaiian and American melodies fill the air and provide an ambiance of relaxation and love. It’s music that compliments the beautiful environment the island offers.

It’s not only residents and visitors who benefit from Sonny’s music—it benefits him also, and he is grateful to Connie Koi at the bakery for inviting him to play there for the last five years. Music gives Sonny peace, a feeling many war veterans need, especially those who went to Vietnam.

Sonny’s Story

Sonny was one of 13 children. They lived in the Maula Camp on the hillside above Pāhala, which was for Filipino families. C. Brewer & Company had brought his father and many other young Filipino men to Ka‘ū to work on the sugarcane plantations.

When Sonny was 11, he moved to O‘ahu to live with his brother and attend Leilehua High School in Honolulu. It was there that his musical life began. Receiving his first ‘ukulele at 14, he taught himself how to play, and his natural musical ability blossomed. His playing has always been “by ear.” He reminisces, “I listened to music on the radio and record player, and if I liked a song, I learned to play it.” He sang in the school choir and was selected to join the Leilehua Magical Singers, an elite group of the top sixteen singers from the choir that performed on all the islands.

O‘ahu was (and still is) surrounded by military. ROTC was a requirement in grades 10–12 for every boy and optional for girls. Sonny was a master sergeant which entitled him to be a squad leader when he enlisted in the Army, two days after his high school graduation, in 1967. He and more than 300 other graduates from the islands enlisted. They all felt good about doing their patriotic duty.

Sonny’s first military assignment sent him to Maryland for 13 weeks of training to be an optical repairman. He learned to clean and repair binoculars, telescopes, and range finders. He also learned to calibrate the telescopes on big guns. When his training was completed, he was sent to Vietnam. The only thing he brought from home was his ‘ukulele.

Right away he was dispatched to a Marine artillery unit at the demilitarized zone (DMZ). It was North Vietnam’s door to South Vietnam, the front line where the worst fighting was taking place. What a shock for a young high school graduate from Hawai‘i!

Sonny worked in an air conditioned dust-free section of a van, an environment that was necessary for his optical work. The van was located in a trench along with the temporary housing shacks that were constructed with wood from ammunition boxes. They had to change locations often—the bulldozer would dig out another trench for them to set up new quarters.

Sonny was in Vietnam for a terrifying year. He liked his work, but every day was filled with shooting, seeing people wounded, seeing people killed, mortar attacks, hearing machine guns—all day long and intermittently at night. Sonny wasn’t trained as a fighting soldier, but if a red alert was sounded, which meant the enemy was near, everyone had to drop whatever they were doing, put on a flack vest and helmet, grab their weapons and defend their position. It was close-up fighting. Sonny said, “Sometimes I was so scared, my whole body would shake.”

His ‘ukulele was his source of stress relief. In the evenings he went outside to play the ‘uke and sing his soothing Hawaiian music. Some of his busddies would sit around and listen. He said, “You’re free when you’re singing. There’s nothing else in your mind.” Another great comfort came from radio station KGMB on O‘ahu. Disc jockey Aku Head Pupuli had a music broadcast for GIs every Sunday. It meant so much to have that Hawaiian program to look forward to.

Sonny remembers some Marines had guitars and played country music. He didn’t like that music because the songs were sad but he watched them play and taught himself. Now the guitar is his main instrument.

Seeing comrades being wounded and killed, hearing artillery fire, and living in a life-threatening place for a year took a toll on the strongest of people. The war left lasting effects on Sonny, as it did on many war veterans. He developed the condition called PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder.

Sonny said he had flashbacks of being back in Vietnam. He’d feel shaky, scared, would cry like a baby, be hostile to people, and would swear at them. He explained that an episode could be triggered by sounds, the smell of diesel fuel, shadows, bad dreams, “Every month for 12 years I’d end up in the ER from war-related problems.”

The trauma from the war wasn’t the only thing causing Sonny’s problems. The war trauma was magnified when he came back home. Like most Vietnam veterans, he wasn’t welcomed home as a hero, as he and all veterans should be. Vietnam had become an unpopular war, and the innocent soldiers returning home were blamed for it. War protestors met him at the airport with threatening signs and words, people threw stones at the house where he lived, they called him names, the worst was being called “baby killer.” Instead of being able to hold his head high and feel proud for serving his country, he felt ashamed, rejected, and depressed. He kept very much to himself.

Healing Journey

Three things helped Sonny survive—his wife, the Veterans Administration (VA), and music.

Life changed when he moved back to Hawai‘i Island and met Getta. She was not prejudiced against Vietnam veterans. They fell in love and married. It wasn’t until they had their first baby, a son, Robert, that she witnessed the toll the war had taken on him. When the baby woke up in the nighttime crying to be fed, the sound jolted Sonny awake and he was back in Vietnam ready to fight. Getta didn’t know about PTSD. His actions were frightening and after he got over an episode, he’d be quiet, take his ‘ukulele and go off by himself. She called the VA and pleaded with them to help him but they were not very responsive in those early years. No therapy was offered. Getta told herself, “I need to watch and learn what causes his episodes.” Without any professional help, she began to understand that all he was going through was not his fault. She said, “I saw his heart. He is a really good person. He will be the best husband. He will be the best father.” Their daughter, Nani, was born, a welcome additon to the family. Getta learned how to avoid situations that triggered an episode and the children learned, too. She said, “There were days when we all had to walk on pins and needles, but my goal was that we would be one.” Getta did not want a divided family, and after Vietnam veterans got the acknowledgment and therapy they needed, she could proudly say, “Sonny became the man I always thought he would be. He treats me like a queen. My judgment of Sonny was right.”

In 1992, an Army unit commanding officer made a difference in the lives of Hawai‘i’s Vietnam veterans. When the officer received an invitation from the Hyatt Regency at Waikoloa Resort (now Hilton Waikoloa Village) for a lu‘au to honor the military people who served in Kuwait, the officer responded—they would come if Hawai‘i’s Vietnam veterans could come, too. That officer realized how unjustly those veterans had been treated and should at long last be honored. The hotel welcomed the idea. It was an occasion that made a difference. Sonny said, “We were treated like kings.” Their service to the country was acknowledged. They finally felt the pride they should have felt many years earlier.

VA counselors came from Kona to Nā‘ālehu every week for 12 years to hold meetings with veterans. Sonny said, “There were lots of us who needed help. The group meetings helped a lot.”

“Music helped me to stop thinking negative thoughts,” Sonny said. “At first I played for my own pleasure and then I started to get asked to play for restaurants, wedding receptions, and parties. I play peaceful quiet music and I only play for small groups. I still can’t handle big crowds and confusion.”

Most days, Sonny wears his Vietnam hat. Many people thank him for his service. One person gave him a medallion with “Thank you for your service” on one side, and “Your nation proudly salutes you” on the other. The hat also attracts veterans, some who are still suffering from that war. He offers them support and tells them, “Go to the VA and get help. It’s there.”

He said, “People see me as happy-go-lucky. They wouldn’t know what I’ve been through. I’ll never forget the war, but I’ve learned how to deal with the effects from it.”

Music played a big part in his recovery. As Sonny said, “Music makes the mind relax,” something a veteran needs to be able to do.

Whether you have the opportunity to greet Sonny at the bakery or you see another veteran in your travels, remember the commitment they made to their country and what they may have been through. Say, “Thank you for your service.” It will mean a lot. ❖

---

All photos courtesy of Sonny and Getta Ramos