Tom Glenn's Blog, page 158

High School Interview

Last week, high school students who are interested in knowing more about veterans interviewed me. They were curious about my experiences in the military and during the Vietnam war. I told them about my thirteen years in and out of Vietnam and my time on the battlefield.

What impressed them most was the 1967 battle of Dak To and what happened during the fall of Saigon. They watched me, eyes wide, in dead silence, as I described the virtual destruction of one U.S. battalion because the commander of the U.S. 4th Infantry Division, during the battle of Dak To, didn’t believe my warning, from signals intelligence, that the North Vietnamese were hiding in the hills, waiting to attack us.

The students listened breathless as I related the events during the fall of Saigon—the failure of the U.S. ambassador to believe my forewarning that the North Vietnamese were preparing to attack Saigon, my successful attempts to get all 43 of my men and their families out of the city before the offensive was launched, and my escape under fire when the North Vietnamese were already in the streets of the city.

They asked what lessons I had learned from my experience. I told them about how military training had transformed me from a boy to a man and had taught me about the reserves of courage and resilience I had. I stressed that we as a nation must learn how to withdraw from a war without abandoning those of other nations who fought by our side, as we did in Vietnam and again in Iraq and Afghanistan. I ended by stressing what I had learned on the battlefield, that the most important and rewarding things we can do in life are what we do for others, not for ourselves.

The students were grateful to me for my time and the hard truths I related to them. But I was more thankful that they were willing to listen and learn. God bless them.

Women

Early in this log, I wrote about being a man and how different women were. Among other things, I said “when I prepare for sleep at night, I take off my clothes and go to bed. That takes something under five minutes. Women take much longer. I don’t know why. I can’t figure out why they spend as long s twenty minutes in the bathroom. What do they do in there that only women have to do before they sleep?”

In another blog, I noted that women find us men awfully noisy. Women seem to go out of their way to avoid noise. I have no idea why.

And women choose and wear clothes in a way very different from men. A female friend of mine maintains separate wardrobes for each season. At the end of spring, she packs away her spring clothes and gets out her summer things. She does the same thing at the end of summer, fall, and winter. I don’t understand what the differences are. I have suits I wear for business occasions. The rest of the time, I wear sport shirts and black jeans. None of that changes throughout the year. Granted, during the cold months, I put on a car coat or overcoat when I go out, but the clothes beneath are the same for all seasons.

Why have different clothes for different seasons? Why work so hard to avoid noise? Why spend hours in the bathroom? I haven’t a clue.

My Blog

I have now been posting to this blog at least six days a week for more than two years. I have posted 444 pages of text, some 206,400 words. I started the blog to promote my books, especially Last of the Annamese, and much of the writing here has dealt with my thirteen years in and out of Vietnam and my survival of the fall of Saigon—the subject of Annamese.

One of the mysteries I haven’t solved is why the number of readers varies so much from day to day. I’ve had no days with no viewers at all, a few with only one view, and even fewer with over a hundred. I’m at a loss to discover why some blog posts attract many readers and others only a few.

Early on I pursued the original purpose of the blog and wrote extensively about my four novels and seventeen short stories. Then I branched out into other subjects, everything from my fascination with languages, music, and writing to meditations on how women behave and the meaning of death.

My faithful readers only occasionally comment. Only once or twice have I received criticism, but praise has been frequent. I’m encouraged to find that what I have to say here is of value.

As with all my writing, I work hard to assure that what I post here is as well written as possible. Most of my time spent on the blog is in revising and improving rather than on first drafts. And I follow a practice I learned early in my writing career of reading aloud each text before I post it.

Writers first and foremost want readers. I’m grateful to all my readers who regularly look at what I have written. I hadn’t intended to continue the blog this long, but the response of readers made me feel that I had an obligation.

I’ll be moving to a new house soon, and during the move I won’t be able to post regularly here. I apologize in advance for the inconvenience. And once I’m settled in my new home, I’ll be devoted to getting on with the two novels I’ve started. That may mean less time to spend on the blog. If that happens, I’ll warn you in advance.

No Television

Several years ago, when I was recovering from knee replacement surgery, a friend, who was among those stopping by to look after me, was shocked to discover that I have no television set. He couldn’t imagine modern life without watching television.

For many years, I haven’t had a television. I had discovered long ago that I didn’t have time to watch it. I got my news from the internet, newspapers, and NPR. And my free time was taken up with reading—so many books waiting for me to devour them. My work time was writing, an occupation that must be pursued alone in the quiet of my office.

If there’s something I really want to see—like the recent exchange among the president, Pelosi, and Schumer—I can access it on the internet. I find that the times I need to do that are rare.

One of the elements in my choice not to own a television set is that seeing is less important to me than hearing. Music is a passion with me. I hold a BA in music, and I nearly always have classical music playing on one of my three excellent stereos. I find that as I grow older, though, I want silence while I’m reading or writing. I want nothing to distract me from the words.

I’m preparing to move to a new house. When I’m settled, I’ll probably have a large screen on the wall of whatever room I choose to relax in, primarily so that I can watch DVDs of movies or operas I want to view. So I’ll probably have a television as part of it. I don’t expect that I’ll watch it very often.

Thoughts about Death (3)

I am at peace with death’s inevitability. I know that I have far less time in my future than I have had in my past. But I’m comforted with knowing that I have lived a fulfilled life. My children are thriving. My writing is accepted and admired. I have made a real contribution to the understanding of what happened during the Vietnam war, especially at the end with the fall of Saigon in 1975.

It hasn’t been a perfect or very virtuous life. I’ve faced my share of losses and sorrow, and I’ve done things I regret. But I’ve also had great joys, and I worked hard to make life better for others. On the whole, I’m satisfied with the gifts life has given me and with what I have done with those gifts.

At the moment, I’m confident that I can face the dying process bravely and peacefully. I am determined to make it as easy as I can for others, particularly my children. I long ago discovered that what I do for others constitutes the greatest gift I can give to myself. Compassion heals and brings peace.

And I am relatively satisfied that I’ve accomplished my mission on earth. I’ve done good work that will survive my death.

I see no signs that death is close by. I’m remarkably healthy for a man my age. I have been a runner and weight lifter all my life, and I’m careful about my diet. But one never knows what the future holds.

That said, I’m not ready to die right now. I have too much work to do. I’m hawking a new book for publication and writing two others. I have blogs to write, presentations to give, people to help.

In short, I accept the inevitability of death and I’m at least somewhat prepared to go through the process of dying in a way that will cause the least discomfort for those around me. But not yet. I need more time because I still have important work to do.

Thoughts about Death (2)

American cultural avoidance of the subject of death notwithstanding, I need to contemplate my own ending. The preparatory stuff is already done. That’s not the issue. It’s to come to terms with my own ending.

I wish that I were religious and could look forward to life after death. I was raised as a Christian, and I very much want to believe in God and a church. And I do my best to persuade myself. I pray every night before I sleep in hopes that there is a deity up there who’s hearing me. It’s not working.

At bottom, I conclude that when I die, I cease to exist. That’s hard to accept. I comfort myself by saying that I’ll live on in my books. I remind myself that my children are a part of me that will go on living after me. I focus on the good I have done during my life, the people I’ve helped, the things I have changed for the better. Somehow, none of that is very comforting.

Every culture, from the beginning of time until today, has believed that the soul survives the death of the body. We have created endless religions that emphasize life after death. Despite all that, I am compelled to recognize that my existence will end. Tom Glenn will cease to be. I’m working to accept that.

So what’s left is to come to terms with two aspects of death: its inevitability and going through the process of dying. Am I strong enough, calm enough, wise enough to do that?

More tomorrow.

Thoughts about Death

As I move through the last quadrant of my life, I am forced to think about death. It’s not so far away any more.

I’ve long since finished my will and final instructions. I’m in the midst of downsizing from a huge house to a modest townhouse (to save my children from having to go through all the travail of getting my house ready for sale after my death). In the process, I’ve thrown away or given away all manner of possessions that I no longer need, everything from furniture to clothing to books. I will have finished the preparations long before moving day arrives.

I’m sobered by recognizing that at two points on my life, I faced death head-on—first during my years in Vietnam when I regularly went into combat, later when I volunteered to work with AIDS patients, even though I knew I might contract the disease. At both times, I knew full well that I might die. I accepted that.

Now I’m faced with death for a third time. I’m determined to accept the challenge bravely.

All that has got me to thinking about how we, as a society, contemplate death. I conclude that we don’t. We treat death like we treat bodily functions—we pretend they don’t exist. Discussion of the way we relieve ourselves or propagate is vulgar. Mentioning any of their aspects is in poor taste.

And so it is with death. In newspapers I read and programs I listen to, death is never discussed. We avoid the word. We speak vaguely about how someone has “passed.” It is as though we Americans have banned death. We refuse to admit its place in our lives. It is downright improper of me even to mention it.

In other cultures I’ve lived in, both bodily functions and the end of life are normal topics of discussion. In Vietnam, for example, people talked about them casually, as facts of life. The same was true among the French. Nor was death dreaded. It was considered a natural part of daily living. What a contrast to us Americans.

As far as I can tell, only the Americans and the British are skittish about these subjects.

More tomorrow.

Self-Interest Versus Service to Others

In the 14 December 2018 Washington Post, Michael Gerson published a column called “Secularism without Humanism.” The point I focused on was that in modern times, self-interest has become the driving force for most Americans.

As noted in recent posts here, I learned very young that helping others was more important than anything I could do for myself. Immediately after graduation from college, I enlisted in the army. Military service taught me that teamwork was far more effective than individual effort. Most important, I learned that putting my life on the line for the good of others offered rewards greater than anything I did for myself. Service to others is the ultimate fulfillment.

My thirteen years on and off in Vietnam made me understand that the greatest good I could do was to help the men fighting by my side. Each of us was willing to sacrifice our life to save the man next to us. I saw men die, but I also was able to save lives. That experience transformed me.

In the years after Vietnam, I became a volunteer. I worked with the homeless, served the dying in a hospice, and cared for AIDS patients. I got into volunteer work to help me cope with my own Post-Traumatic Stress Injury, the consequence of my time on the battlefield and living through the fall of Saigon. I learned that compassion heals.

I still take care of others. I’ve become a pen-pal to another Vietnam vet who is in prison. I exchange several times a day brief notes with a mentally disabled man in Wales. I look after a woman who just turned ninety. The gift of being able to help others is the greatest gift I have been given.

I am blessed to have learned early in life, thanks to my military service and time in Vietnam, that giving to others is what we are put on earth for. My fulfillment is complete.

Self-Interest Versus Service Others

In the 14 December 2018 Washington Post, Michael Gerson published a column called “Secularism without Humanism.” The point I focused on was that in modern times, self-interest has become the driving force for most Americans.

As noted in recent posts here, I learned very young that helping others was more important than anything I could do for myself. Immediately after graduation from college, I enlisted in the army. Military service taught me that teamwork was far effective than individual effort. Most important, I learned that putting my life on the line for the good of others offered rewards greater than anything I did for myself. Service to others is the ultimate fulfillment.

My thirteen years on and off in Vietnam made me understand that the greatest good I could do was to help the men fighting by my side. Each of us was willing to sacrifice our life to save the man next to us. I saw men die, but I also was able to save lives. That experience transformed me.

In the years after Vietnam, I became a volunteer. I worked with the homeless, served the dying in a hospice, and cared for AIDS patients. I got into volunteer work to help me cope with my own Post-Traumatic Stress Injury, the consequence of my time on the battlefield and living through the fall of Saigon. I learned that compassion heals.

I still take care of others. I’ve become a pen-pal to another Vietnam vet who is in prison. I exchange several times a day brief notes with a mentally disabled man in Wales. I look after a woman who just turned ninety. The gift of being able to help others is the greatest gift I have been given.

I am blessed to have learned early in life, thanks to my military service and time in Vietnam, that giving to others is what we are put on earth for. My fulfillment is complete.

About Veterans

A recent conversation with another Vietnam veteran made me realize that veterans, as a proportion of the U.S population, is rapidly diminishing. In 2016, 7 percent of U.S. adults were veterans, down from 18 percent in 1980, according to the Census Bureau. Expressed differently, almost half of the Americans 75 or older are veterans; only 3.48 percent of those between 35 and 44 are. We are close to becoming a dying breed.

Our numbers began to decline with the end of the military draft in 1973, coincident with the withdrawal of U.S. military forces from Vietnam. All of us of military age before that were, with few exceptions, subject to being called. Many, like me, enlisted voluntarily. I can’t think of a single man of my generation who isn’t a veteran. We all did military service. Although I know a fair number of men and women currently serving in the military—I spend a fair amount of time with armed service members—I can’t think of a single non-military man or woman I know in their twenties and thirties who is a veteran.

The implications of the decline of the veteran population are urgent. My experience in the army, especially basic training and combat preparations, changed me from a boy to a man. I learned what I was capable of; the physical, mental, emotional, and psychological strength I had; the wells of courage I could draw on; and the pride I could justifiably take in defending my country.

I find myself in sympathy with those who call for restoration of the draft. I think we owe it to our young people to help them become all they can be. I believe that all of them can benefit from some kind of service—if not in the military then as members of the Peace Corps or AmeriCorps or other organizations whose mission is to help others.

I learned as a young man—a boy, really—that service to others is the finest service possible. And that by serving others, I transform myself.