Tom Glenn's Blog, page 145

Do What You Have to Do

Adelaide Books of New York will be publishing my novel, Secretocracy, and my short story collection, Coming to Terms, early next year. The publisher sent me a long complex form to fill out providing information that can be used to promote the new books. Among many other things, the form asked for memorable quotes from my published writing.

My favorite quote comes from Last of the Annamese. It appears at the beginning and the end of the novel and is a motto for the principal characters who serve their country:

“Do what you have to do, whatever it takes.”

Those words mean, among other things, putting one’s life on the line for the good of others. That’s what anyone in military service is committed to do. But it was also my guiding principle during my thirteen years on and off in Vietnam supporting both army and Marine units in combat. It was an honor to be on the battlefield with the troops, but it also meant that I had to be willing to give up my life if that’s what it took.

I’m justifiably proud of my service to my country. But I still grieve over the men killed at my side. They did what they had to do, and it cost them their lives.

Last night, I had the honor of delivering the keynote speech at the Maryland Honor Flight gathering. The celebration ended a day during which members of my American Legion post accompanied about forty veterans from World War II, Korea, and Vietnam to visit the memorials on the National Mall. While I didn’t use the words, “Do what you have to do, whatever it takes” during the speech, that’s what it was about. I’ll quote the speech here, starting tomorrow.

Honor Flights

American Legion Post 156, to which I belong, provides “guardians” to assist veterans being brought to the Washington area to visit our national monuments. We load the veterans on busses and transport them to D.C. We do this in cooperation with the Honor Flight Network. Here’s what the network says on its web site:

“Our Mission: To transport America’s Veterans to Washington, DC to visit those memorials dedicated to honor the service and sacrifices of themselves and their friends.

“Honor Flight Network is a non-profit organization created solely to honor America’s veterans for all their sacrifices. We transport our heroes to Washington, D.C. to visit and reflect at their memorials. Top priority is given to the senior veterans – World War II survivors, along with those other veterans who may be terminally ill.

“Of all of the wars in recent memory, it was World War II that truly threatened our very existence as a nation—and as a culturally diverse, free society. According to the Department of Veterans Affairs, an estimated 640 WWII veterans die each day. Our time to express our thanks to these brave men and women is running out.”

The Honor Flight Network operates 131 hubs in 45 states and has used 17,655 guardians—volunteers to accompany and help the veterans during the trips. It sponsored 20,327 visitors in 2017, the most recent year for which complete data is available. It is, in short, a very large undertaking.

My American Legion post is gathering veterans from Maryland and Delaware for the Honor Flight trip to view the monuments on 11 May. Upon return from the tour, the veterans will gather for a celebration at our post. I’m honored to be the keynote speaker at the event. It will be my privilege to thank and esteem the men who put their lives on the line for the good of the nation. I’m humbled by the honor.

My Deafness

I’m deaf. Even with hearing aids, I often misunderstand what is being said, especially in places with background noise. It’s a constant curse.

My hearing was damaged during the fall of Saigon. The North Vietnamese began their attack on city just before sunset on 28 April 1975 with a rocket attack followed by artillery shelling. I was holed up in the Defense Attaché Office (DAO) building at Tan Son Nhat on the northern edge of the city. The shelling went on throughout the night and much of the next day. I finally escaped by helicopter under fire after dark on 29 April.

During the shelling, I and the two communicators who had volunteered to stay with me to the end were in the communications center of our office suite. Exploding rocket and artillery shells hit close enough to us that the room lurched throwing us to the floor. The explosions were the loudest sounds I have ever heard.

At first, I didn’t realize that I’d suffered hearing damage. I had amoebic dysentery and pneumonia due to muscle fatigue, inadequate diet, and sleep deprivation. Worse, I had all the symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Injury (PTSI)—panic attacks, nightmares, flashbacks, and irrational rages. It wasn’t until I got back on my feet during the autumn of 1975 that I realized my hearing was defective.

Even then, I did nothing about it, dismissing it as trivial. But over time, it got worse. My wife finally insisted that I have my hearing checked. I was diagnosed with severe hearing loss in both ears, particularly in the upper frequencies. I got hearing aids.

With aging, my hearing loss has deteriorated further. I have learned to read lips, but if an interlocutor turns away from me, I lose comprehension. I don’t hear common sounds others are aware of—crickets, highway noises, sirens. Worse, I have trouble hearing music, and I’m a trained musician with a BA in Music from the University of California.

If I could find a way to correct my hearing, I’d certainly avail myself of it. But deafness is not without its side benefits. I sleep through noise that disturbs others. I’m rarely distracted by annoying buzzes, hums, and crackles. And I savor the quiet that allows me to write. That is my vocation. I’m grateful for the inner peace my deafness allows me.

Medical Staffs

I’ve had to cope with a number of diseases during my long life. In recent years, I’ve undergone knee replacement surgery and had the upper lobe of my right lung removed surgically. In the aftermath of the lung surgery, I’m regularly treated for Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD).

As a consequence, I frequently visit doctors’ offices and other medical establishments. On the whole, I’ve ended up respecting and admiring physicians and nurses. And I’m less and less patient with their staffs.

Repeatedly, I find staff members who treat patients with disrespect and even annoyance. I’m made to feel like I’m a nuisance. I’m forced to wait while they finish whatever task they’re engaged in, then rushed during our conversation. I occasionally overhear catty remarks about other patients and the problems they create. In short, I and other patients are belittled.

To be fair, I have to add that the staff of my current primary care physician consists of one person, his secretary. She goes out of her way to assist me, call in prescriptions for me, and to make my visits to the doctor comfortable and burden-free.

But she is the exception. Too often, in other doctors’ offices, I’m cast in the role of an annoyance to be tolerated with forced patience. I’m patronized for my age, shouted at for my deafness, ignored while staff members talk to one another.

I want to remind these office staffers that it is me and other patients who pay their salaries. The purpose of their jobs is to serve us. We are, in a very real sense, the reason for their existence.

We, the patients, deserve respect. Instead, we are treated with thinly veiled contempt. It’s long since time for that to change.

Guns in America (2)

An editorial in the Washington Post of May 2, 2019 (page A20) captured my thoughts and said it better than I could. It reads, in part, “So far this year — that’s some 120 days — there have been more than 100 mass shootings, more than 4,500 gun deaths (not counting suicides) and more than 8,500 gun injuries. . . . Americans make up about 4.4 percent of the global population but own 42 percent of the world’s guns.”

The parallel between the plethora of firearms in the U.S.—the number is greater than the population—and the unconscionable high in gun deaths makes plain the problem: until we reduce the number of guns in the hands of our population, many of us will continue to die tragic and horrible deaths.

Some argue that the second Amendment of the Constitution guarantees the right of gun ownership. That amendment reads, “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” My understanding of the amendment is that to assure the existence of a well-regulated militia, we shall not infringe upon the right to keep and bear arms. I see no justification for unbridled gun ownership in those words. Nonetheless, if reduction of gun deaths requires a constitutional amendment, let’s get to it now.

Others stress that the culture of the U.S. has always favored gun ownership, in part because our pioneer tradition and the need to hunt to feed our families. The time of pioneering at our new frontiers in the west ended well over a century ago. Hunting in modern times is a sport, not a necessity. And if guns are embedded in our culture, let’s change our culture.

The Washington Post had it right. It’s long since time for us Americans to greatly reduce the number of firearms available to the general population and stop killing of 30,000 of our people every year.

Guns in America

I’m too familiar with firearms and the unspeakable damage they can do to the human body. For the better part of thirteen years, I was in Vietnam during the war, much of that time spent on the battlefield. I saw closeup how the human body can be destroyed by gunfire.

In the U.S., we have a plurality of the guns in the world, and our deaths by gunfire is proportionally the highest among the advanced countries of the world.

According to Amnesty International, “A staggering number of people are killed with guns in the United States every year. More than 30,000 men, women, and children are killed with guns each year in the United States.

“Among high-income countries, the United States accounts for 80 percent of all gun deaths in the world, 86 percent of all women killed by guns, and 87 percent of all children younger than 14 who are killed by guns.

“Fueling this epidemic, laws on guns in the United States are inconsistent and weak – and federal, state, and local governments are not meeting their obligation under international law to protect people’s safety.”

What about gun ownership? According to Wikipdedia, “In 2018, Small Arms Survey reported that there are over one billion small arms distributed globally, of which 857 million (about 85 percent) are in civilian hands. U.S. civilians alone account for 393 million (about 46 percent) of the worldwide total of civilian held firearms. This amounts to ‘120.5 firearms for every 100 residents.’”

Americans, we have a gun problem. Some 30,000-plus of our people are killed every year by guns. Isn’t it time we did something about it?

More tomorrow.

Suicides by Veterans

According to the Military Times, September 2018, “In 2016, the most recent data available, the suicide rate for veterans was 1.5 times greater than for Americans who never served in the military. About 20 veterans a day across the country take their own lives, and veterans accounted for 14 percent of all adult suicide deaths in the U.S. in 2016, even though only 8 percent of the country’s population has served in the military.”

Why?

I have no data on why vets kill themselves, but in my soul I’m sure I know.

Veterans are men and women who have pledged to put their lives on the line for their country and their fellow citizens. They know they face death. Those who have served in combat have seen death up close. Death in combat is more hideous than the imagination can grasp.

Combat leaves behind the curse of post-traumatic stress. Once inflicted, the disease never weakens. The victim must have the sheer courage and stamina to resist the unspeakable memories and learn to manage them.

Sometimes, it’s too much. Sometimes, it feels like ceasing to live would be better than facing the memories. Sometimes death is better than going on living.

We veterans can help each other. Just finding out that I’m not alone in my torment makes a huge difference. All veterans are my brothers, and I reach out to them whenever I can. We don’t have to talk. We know by a look in the eyes, a touch of the hand on a shoulder, a quiet nod. We can say to one another without ever speaking a word: “I’m with you, brother. You’re not alone. I’ve been there, too. Let’s weather this together.”

Every time I hear of another suicide, I feel like I’ve failed. My brother is gone without ever knowing I was with him.

The Wall (2)

More about the wall from Norm Pierce:

The Marines of Morenci – They led some of the scrappiest high school football and basketball teams that the little Arizona copper town of Morenci (pop 5,058) had ever known and cheered. They enjoyed roaring beer busts. In quieter moments, they rode horses along the Coronado Trail, stalked deer in the Apache National Forest. And in the patriotic camaraderie typical of Morenci’s mining families, the nine graduates of Morenci High enlisted as a group in the Marine Corps. Their service began on Independence Day, 1966. Only 3 returned home.

The Buddies of Midvale – LeRoy Tafoya, Jimmy Martinez, Tom Gonzales were all boyhood friends and lived on three consecutive streets in Midvale, Utah on Fifth, Sixth and Seventh avenues. They lived only a few yards apart. They played ball at the adjacent sandlot ball field. And they all went to Vietnam. In a span of 16 dark days in late 1967, all three would be killed. LeRoy was killed on Wednesday, Nov. 22, the fourth anniversary of John F. Kennedy’s assassination. Jimmy died less than 24 hours later on Thanksgiving Day. Tom was shot dead assaulting the enemy on Dec. 7, Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day.

The most casualty deaths for a single day was on January 31, 1968 ~ 245 deaths.

The most casualty deaths for a single month was May 1968 – 2,415 casualties were incurred.

For most Americans who read this, they will only see the numbers that the Vietnam War created. To those who survived the war, and to the families of those who did not, we see the faces, we feel the pain that these numbers represent. We are, until we too pass away, haunted with these numbers, because they were our friends, fathers, husbands, wives, brothers, sons and daughters. There are no noble wars, just noble warriors.

The Wall

I’m indebted to Norm Pierce for the following, including numbers we should all know and revere:

A little history most people will never know. Interesting Veterans Statistics from the Vietnam Memorial Wall. There are 58,267 names now listed on that polished black wall, including those added in 2010.

The names are arranged in the order in which they were taken from us by date and within each date the names are alphabetized. It is hard to believe it is 63 years since the first casualty.

The first known casualty was Richard B. Fitzgibbon, of North Weymouth, Mass. Listed by the U.S. Department of Defense as having been killed on June 8, 1956. His name is listed on the Wall with that of his son, Marine Corps LCpl Richard B. Fitzgibbon III, who was killed on Sept. 7, 1965.

– There are three sets of fathers and sons on the Wall.

– 39,996 on the Wall were just 22 or younger.

– 8,283 were just 19 years old.

– The largest age group, 33,103 were 18 years old.

– 12 soldiers on the Wall were 17 years old.

– 5 soldiers on the Wall were 16 years old.

– One soldier, PFC Dan Bullock was 15 years old.

– 997 soldiers were killed on their first day in Vietnam.

– 1,448 soldiers were killed on their last day in Vietnam.

– 31 sets of brothers are on the Wall.

– 31 sets of parents lost two of their sons.

– 54 soldiers attended Thomas Edison High School in Philadelphia.

– 8 Women are on the Wall, Nursing the wounded.

– 244 soldiers were awarded the Medal of Honor during the Vietnam War; 153 of them are on the Wall

– Beallsville, Ohio with a population of 475 lost 6 of her sons.

– West Virginia had the highest casualty rate per capita in the nation. There are 711 West Virginians on the Wall.

More tomorrow.

Honorable Exit Published

Yesterday was the publication date for Thurston Clarke’s Honorable Exit (Doubleday, 2019). Some weeks ago, when I first learned that Thurston had a new book coming out, I contacted my editor and volunteered to review it. Since Thurston and I are friends, I was disqualified, but it was acceptable for me to interview him about the new book. The publisher sent me a copy of the book, and I settled in to read it.

I was shocked to discover my name in the text. The book is about the last days of Vietnam. The subtitle says it all: “How a few Americans risked all to save our Vietnamese allies at the end of the war.” Included are narratives about me—how I gave my American ID to my Vietnamese chauffer so he could drive his family onto the airbase in my sedan and escape the country; how I hid a Vietnamese family with no papers (passports, visas) in the sedan (in the trunk and on the floor of the backseat under a blanket) and drove them to a plane to flee to safety; and how a Vietnamese officer I knew failed to escape because the evacuation was declared too late.

The many stories of heroic Americans who risked their lives to save the Vietnamese moved me to the core. I came across the names of dozens of people I knew. The events Thurston describes were so familiar to me. It was like living through the fall of Saigon all over again. Many times I had to stop reading because my emotions overwhelmed me.

I’m profoundly grateful to Thurston for writing the book. During decades of being defamed for my participation in the “shameful” war, I never spoke of Vietnam. Now Americans are starting to honor those of us who fought for our country in Vietnam. I read every book on Vietnam that I can. Most, like Max Hastings’ Vietnam: An Epic Tragedy, 1945-1975 (HarperCollins, 2018), excoriate the Americans who fought and lost the war. But Thurston takes a different tack. He celebrates the bravery of those of us who, at the end, did everything we could to rescue our Vietnamese brothers.

Honorable Exit is the literary equivalent of those words I so yearned to hear and for decades never did: “Thank you for your service. And welcome home.”

You can read my interview with Thurston at http://www.washingtonindependentreviewofbooks.com/features/an-interview-with-thurston-clarke