HEROES

  Recently, like in the last two weeks, several things have happened that collectively make me feel small. Not that, ‘Small’ is bad so to say but it does give some perspective on the world, its turning and on the turning of a single, simple life. If you live long enough to try and to fail, to try and succeed, as you keep trying, it is too big to think about all at once. It’s like juggling; how many hoops can you keep in the air, searching for a common denominator? It doesn’t matter because they keep coming until you fail.

Thousands of Richard Nixon’s classified tapes and communications were recently declassified and made available to the public. Who in their right mind would want to dissect that can of worms? But writer, Don Fulsom did just that and wrote a book, ‘Nixon’s Darkest Secrets’. I listened to his interview. It seems Nixon was more than obsessed with winning the war in Viet Nam, so much so that he became paranoid, suspicious, even hostile with his own advisors and political supporters. He didn’t want a peaceful resolution, he wanted victory so much that he undermined the peace process going on in Paris. Thousands of American lives were spent in the last year of fighting as a result. Evil wears a white hat when it’s on your side. His accomplishments in China and legislation at home went contrary to his political ideals, smoke screens to put pressure on North Viet Nam and placate congressional oversight. In the end his skullduggery amounted to not only a cover up but covering up the cover up. He dug a hole so deep he couldn’t find his way out. By the end of his reign he had been reduced to an alcoholic insomniac, too incapacitated to attend his own security briefings. Power in the wrong hands. . .

Not long after listing to that program I drove to Baton Rouge. A friend gave me an audio book to listen to on the way; ‘Citizen Soldiers’ by Stephen Ambrose. It chronicled WW2 from D-Day to the end. In 1985, Studs Terkel wrote ‘The Good War’, a compilation of interviews with WW2 veterans and relatives of soldiers killed in the war. Ambrose’s narrative followed the same format only he included data from daily reports and records. Terkel stopped the war momentarily to emphasize the personal experience. Ambrose tied it all together chronologically in a sweeping, unfolding of events with the same personal feel. Not that one battle was more futile than another or that the brass was more out of touch with the front more than in other commands. The fighting in Germany after the Battle of the Bulge was so persistent, so grim, so grizzly, so pointless you question the idea of intelligence. Everybody knew the war was in its last days but as long as Hitler said, “Fight” the unwilling obeyed. GI’s became seriously aware that someone would be the last GI to die in this war and nobody wanted to be that guy. From D-Day on, the odds were stacked against anyone below the rank of Major, surviving the war all the way to Berlin. Companies, Regiments were decimated. In March of ’45 the average length of time in front line units was measured in weeks. Nobody thought they would live through it but then all at once, they were all afraid they would be the last man to die. 

A few days ago I went to the National Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola, Florida. Overhead, the Blue Angels demonstration team was rehearsing for a big show on the weekend. Young, modern day warriors were putting their F-18 Hornets through intricate, close formation maneuvers above a crowd that had come to watch them practice. With a deafening roar, high speed, low down passes shook the ground with smoke trails and steep vertical climb outs. It was awesome. Inside the museum, airplanes and models of aircraft carriers were everywhere. You can walk the floor, touch the planes and see up close, authentic memorabilia from past wars, the machinery for making war. Inconspicuous in the crowd were a dozen or more distinguished, elder gentlemen in blue blazers. They were volunteer docents, retired Naval Aviators who engaged visitors with detailed information on the aircraft, naval history and their experiences. From the Korean and Viet Nam era, they provided the personal, human element. So many years after the fact it was easy being drawn into their realm, their sense of urgency and purpose. They knew first hand the adrenaline rush of knowing thousands of bullets were coming at them and that the nature of the business required an undivided attention. They, our docents, were the real deal. They didn’t learn it from a book or a three day seminar. 

         The darling of the museum is an unpretentious, Navy gray, WW2 SBD Dauntless Dive Bomber. It looks like just another period air craft, displayed without fanfare but it is an unparalleled treasure. It is the only surviving air craft to have flown and fought in the Battle of Midway, our first major naval victory of the war. June 4, 1942, I was 2, going on 3. Both the pilot and the gunner were seriously wounded and the plane returned with heavy damage, over 200 bullet holes. After repairs the plane was recycled back to the States where it was reassigned to the Great Lakes Training Center to be used for training in carrier operations. In 1945 the plane’s engine failed and it ditched in Lake Michigan where it remained for fifty years. After it’s recovery and over 70,000 man-hours of restoration, it was reassigned to the Naval Air Museum in Pensacola; and I walked up to it, touched aluminum patches that had been riveted over Japanese bullet holes. All you need is one, even a thin one, a link to history and you realize that we all live on borrowed time, breathe borrowed air, burn borrowed energy and accept our lot that life is short and, “War is hell”. Union General William Tecumseh Sherman realized that as he plundered Georgia, burned Atlanta and marched through the Carolinas. “I am tired and sick of war. It’s glory is all moonshine.” Glory and victory come in the same wrapper but it’s no more than a drunken stupor. Evil done in a righteous cause is still evil. Yet our warriors are our greatest heroes and that dichotomy is more than I can resolve.  

That night I happened to catch a rerun of Ken Burns special, ‘The Roosevelts,’ episode 6. It dealt with FDR’s 3rd term, the lead up and early years of war. As you watch politicians maneuver and the public react, it begs the question, do men make history or does history make men? After the fact, winners profit and take credit while losers are lucky to make it home, disgraced and empty handed. As I listened to an old Navy pilot sharing his knowledge of engaging the enemy I wondered about brave, patriotic pilots who fought on the losing side. Their great mistake was being born to the wrong circumstance. After the Battle of Britain, Winston Churchill said, “Never was so much owed by so many to so few. . .”  referring to how the Royal Air Force held off an impending, German invasion. That quote carries a lot of weight but so does General Sherman when he equated the glory of victory to a numbing hangover. In reflection, I feel small, like the soldiers who didn't want to be the last casualty of the war, like a leaf in the wind. I have no passion for blood and thunder but I understand that powerful people can not leave it alone.