GROWING UP IN Detroit under a rough, gruff, blue-collar, beat-cop, short-fused, heel-clack, ramrod-straight code, Ryan Lennon knew his marching orders. Feeling sad? Swallow it. Angry? Channel it. Johnny took your G. I. Joe? Get it back. Leave the couch-moaning, kumbaya, touchy-feely crap to the civilian suckers willing to pay $200 an hour.
So what does Lennon do? He becomes the “psych boss” for the U. S. Navy—a shrink, a therapist. “I know,” Lennon says, chuckling. Okay, he took on the psych-boss role after a few years as a combat engineer; after he made a name for himself playing rugby, turned his carved arms into tattoo sleeves, and, most recently, landed an assignment at Camp Pendleton near San Diego, overseeing the mental health of the legendary 1st Marine Division.
Still. How…
