Tom Glenn's Blog, page 9

No-Accounts Origin

Someone recently asked me how it came to pass that I wrote No-Accounts, my novel not about war or Vietnam but about a straight man taking care of a gay man dying of AIDS. Here’s how it happened.

Between 1960 and 1975, I spent more time in Vietnam than I did in the U.S. My job for the most part was providing signals intelligence support to troops on the battlefield. As a result of so much time spent in combat, I developed a severe case of Post-Traumatic Stress Injury (PTSI). Meanwhile, in the early 1980s, I read numerous press reports of men dying alone on the streets from AIDS because everyone was afraid to touch them—back then we didn’t know how the disease was transmitted from person to person. I couldn’t tolerate the very idea of abandoning people to die alone on the street, so I told my wife I wanted to volunteer to take care of these dying men. I told her that there was some chance I’d be infected; if I was, she would be, too; and AIDS was fatal. She told me to go ahead.

Over a period of five years, I cared for seven men—all gay, all died. I loved every one of them and grieved at their loss. Then science found a way to prevent AIDS from killing its victims, and we learned that men were infected with AIDS by the transmission of bodily fluids. I was endangered only once when I accidently stabbed myself with a needle I had just used to inject a patient, but, as luck would have it, I wasn’t infected. During those years, my suffering from PTSI all but disappeared because I was so focused on my patients.

The experience of helping men die with dignity and respect so moved me that I wrote a novel about the experience. I named it No-Accounts because neither of the principal characters was a respected member of society.

The book allowed me to vent my grief at the loss of my seven patients. It is and remains a story of sorrow.

The Death Penalty

These days, as multiple by deaths by shooting become more and more frequent, I hear more and more calls to resort to the death penalty to stop mass shootings. The reasons to oppose putting people to death remain persuasive to me.

First of all, executions are irreversible. If we err in convicting a person—which we often do—we can’t bring them back to life if we have punished them by taking their life.

Second, there is plenty of evidence that executions are often used in a disproportional manner against the poor, minorities, and members of racial, ethnic, political and religious groups. And again, once inflicted, the death penalty can’t be withdrawn.

Third, it doesn’t deter killers. The General Assembly of the United Nations put it succinctly: “There is no conclusive evidence of the deterrent value of the death penalty” (UNGA Resolution 65/206).

Fourth, the death penalty is incompatible with human rights and human dignity. It violates the right to life which us the most basic of all human rights.

I note that non-firearm weapons are used for only one-quarter of all homicides in the United States. Three-quarters of all homicides use guns. So a more effective measure to reduce homicides would be to reduce the number of guns in the hands of American citizens. As the National Library of Medicine, puts it, “We observed a robust correlation between higher levels of gun ownership and higher firearm homicide rates. Although we could not determine causation, we found that states with higher rates of gun ownership had disproportionately large numbers of deaths from firearm-related homicides.” The Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health says “a broad array of evidence indicates that gun availability is a risk factor for homicide, both in the United States and across high-income countries . . . Where there are more guns there is more homicide.”

So the way to reduce killings is not to impose the death penalty but to reduce the number of guns in the hands of the population. We do that by abolishing the Second Amendment to the Constitution (which we interpret to mean that there will be no limits on gun ownership), outlawing firearm ownership (with exceptions), and buying back the weapons people now have.

It’s long since time to move forward.

Review of No-Accounts

My novel, No-Accounts, the story of a straight man caring for a gay man dying of AIDS, has a new review. You can read it at https://forums.onlinebookclub.org/viewtopic.php?f=2&t=285263 

If you read it, let me know what you think.

Bitter Memories: Again

Late last month, I offered my presentation with slides titled “Bitter Memories: The Fall of Saigon” at the Elkridge 50+ Center. I had a full house and very responsive audience.

The presentation is always very emotional for me, even after having given it more times than I can count. Every time I do it, I choke up when I talk about the South Vietnamese officer who didn’t escape at the end and had told me that he would shoot his family and himself rather than live under the communists. I get tears in my eyes when I relate how two brave men, Bob Hartley and Gary Hickman, agreed to stay with me to the end and risk their lives to help me after everybody else was evacuated. And I still get breathless when I describe their evacuation and my escape under fire.

My two most precious possessions, even today, are my Civilian Meritorious Medal, given to me to recognize the lives I saved during the debacle, and a plaque from my guys. Something like a year after the fall of Saigon and our escape, my guys got together for dinner in Washington, D.C. and invited me to join them. At the completion of the meal, they presented me with a plaque in effect thanking me for saving their lives.

The background is that the U.S. Ambassador, Graham Martin, refused to allow me to evacuate my people. He didn’t believe that the North Vietnamese would attack Saigon, despite the overwhelming evidence I gave him from intercepted North Vietnamese radio communications. So I lied and cheated and stole to get all my guys out safely. At the end, when our travel funds ran out, I used my own money to buy an airplane ticket for the last of my guys and got him out on the last Pan Am flight out of the country. My guys were reading the messages I was sending to my boss, the Director of the National Security Agency (NSA), and knew what was going on. They recognized that I saved their lives by risking my own to stay in Saigon until the very end when the North Vietnamese were in the streets of the city.

Words, Words, Words (3)

More words:

Glum: Merriam-Webster says the word means broodingly morose. The word derives from Middle English gloumen, to become dark. Obviously related to the expression “in the gloaming,” meaning the time of day when it is becoming dark but is not yet fully dark.

Thrum: According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word is a verb meaning to play a stringed instrument. It’s first observed appearance was in the 1590s. It’s of imitative origin.

Shellac: Sometimes spelled “shellack,” the word as a verb has two distinct meanings: to coat or otherwise treat with shellac or a shellac varnish, and to defeat decisively. As a noun it means a resin secreted by the female lac bug on trees in the forests of India and Thailand. It translates French laque en écailles, “lac in thin plates.” “Lac” is a resinous substance secreted by an insect called a lac.

Mettle: According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word originated in the 1580s. It’s a variant spelling of “metal.” Both forms of the word were used interchangeably by Shakespeare and others in the literal sense and in the figurative one of “stuff of which a person is made, (a person’s) physical or moral constitution” (1550s), hence “natural temperament,” specifically “ardent masculine temperament, spirit, courage” (1590s). The word “metal,” from which “mettle” is derived, is ultimately (after transition through Latin and French) from Greek metallon, “metal, ore.”

Nerd: The Online Etymology Dictionary says that the word first appeared in 1951 as U.S. student slang, probably an alteration of 1940s slang nert meaning “stupid or crazy person,” itself an alteration of nut.

Crony: Merriam-Webster says that the word means an intimate companion of longstanding, a chum. It originated in the 1660s as a variation of chrony, Cambridge student slang, probably from Greek khronios “long-lasting,” from khronos, “time.”

More the next time words overwhelm me.

Words. Words, Words (2)

Time for you to put up with once again my captivation with words.

Today with I start with boycott. It’s defined by Oxford Languages as meaning to withdraw from commercial or social relations with a country, organization, or person as a punishment or protest. Its source is Charles C. Boycott who died in 1897. He was an English land agent in County Mayo, Ireland, ostracized in 1880 for refusing to reduce rents.

Next, slog. According to Oxford Languages, the word means to work hard over a period of time; to hit forcefully and typically wildly, especially in boxing; or to walk like a dog. Merriam-Webster gives no etymology. According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word, meaning “hit hard,” first appeared in 1824. It was originally pugilism slang, probably a variant of slug, “to strike.” The use meaning “work hard” appeared by 1846. The sense of “walk doggedly ” came in 1872.

Sloth: The word has two meanings, obviously related: a slow moving arboreal edentate mammal, and disinclination to labor or action—laziness. The word’s etymology is straightforward: from Middle English slouthe or slewthe (laziness).

Meh: An expression of apathy or indifference, in print by 2003, said to have been used in media from 1992. Its source is unknown; it might have had a Yiddish origin, or maybe someone just made the word up.

Brat: The word means either a child or an ill-behaved child. According to the Online Etymological Dictionary, it is derived from the 1500 word meaning “beggar’s child,” from a northern, Midlands, and western England dialect word for makeshift or ragged garment.

Shrift: The word is German, and it means writing. The English version is derived from Old English scrift, confession to priest, followed by penance and absolution. The only usage I’m familiar with in modern English is “short shrift,” which, according to Oxford English Languages, means rapid and unsympathetic dismissal, curt treatment.

Epitome: an abstract or brief statement of the chief points of some writing. The word is derived ultimately from the Greek epitome, from epitemnein—to cut short, abridge, ultimately from epi, into and temnein, an abridgment or brief summary.

More next time.

Words, Words, Words

That was Hamlet’s reply to Polonius’ question, “What do you read, my lord?” in Shakespeare’s 1603 play. The implication is that he was bored. Unlike Hamlet, I am fascinated with words. Readers of this blog ask me why. The best I can tell you is that I am a writer (six books and 17 short stories) and a linguist (seven languages other than English), and my life has been filled with words.

I learned early in life that I was blessed (and cursed) with a vocation: to write. I was also born with an unusual flair for languages—they come to me easily, and I enjoy studying them. Because writing doesn’t pay, I became a linguist and a spy until I could retire with an ample annuity so that I could write fulltime.

And I am blessed that English arguably has more words (1,025,109) than any other modern language, according to the Oxford Dictionary. The number of people for whom English is their mother tongue is 350 million, but the number of people who use English is 750 million.

Modern English words come mostly from old English and its German roots (Anglo-Saxon), but we also have borrowed from a multitude of other languages. In order of frequency, they are Latin, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Dutch, Scandinavian, Japanese, Arabic, Portuguese, Sanskrit, Russian, Maori, Hindi, Hebrew, Persian, Malay, Urdu, Irish, Afrikaans, Yiddish, Chinese, Turkish, Norwegian, Zulu, and Swahili.

Ours is a polyglot language.

So I have a rich source to draw on for my writing. And because of my fascination with words and the languages they come from, I regularly post here lists of intriguing words and their origin. I’ll be posting more of those starting tomorrow.

Lucky Me (2)

I was phenomenally lucky on the battlefield. Between 1962 and 1975, I spent more time in Vietnam than I did in the U.S. My job was assisting friendly forces in combat with signals intelligence, the intercept and exploitation of the radio communications of the invading north Vietnamese. During all those years, I was never once hit by gunfire. The same was true after 1975 when I served all over the world in places I can’t talk about because my work there is still classified. My best guess is that the enemy concentrated his fire against those firing at him. I wasn’t even carrying a gun in my hands (although I had a .38 revolver in a holster) because of the radio equipment I lugged around to link me with my employer, the National Security Agency (NSA), and in-country intercept sites who were monitoring enemy communications and tipping me off.

My good luck went on when Saigon fell to the North Vietnamese in April, 1975. Even though the Ambassador, Graham Martin, forbade me from doing it, I successfully evacuated all 43 of my subordinates and their families. That meant that I had to stay until the very end. After the North Vietnamese were already in the streets of Saigon, I was lucky enough to escape under fire by helicopter.

When I returned to NSA in 1975, I insisted on leading my subordinates rather than managing them. I was lucky enough to get way with it, and the people working for me, lifted up and encouraged by me, achieved astonishing results. As luck would have it, I was promoted to the top levels of the Senior Executive Service (SES) and retired with a generous annuity. Free of money worries, I wrote fulltime. My luck held again. All six of my books and 17 short stories were published.

My luck was still good when I came down with lung cancer some years ago. I had been a heavy smoker until I was in my mid-thirties. More than fifteen years after I quit, I was diagnosed with cancer in the upper lobe of my right lung. I was close to death when I started chemotherapy and radiation to reduce the tumor enough that it could be removed. I underwent surgery, and the lobe was removed. I was lucky enough to survive.

And I was lucky enough to learn early on practices that would insure my continued good health. I sleep as much as ten hours a day, drink plenty of water, depend on a diet of mostly vegetables and fruits (almost no meat and no sweets), and lift weights for a couple of hours every other day. I am determined to live well past my hundredth birthday. All available evidence suggests that I’ll be lucky enough to succeed.

Who could ask for better luck than I’ve enjoyed all my life?

Lucky (2)

I was phenomenally lucky on the battlefield. Between 1962 and 1975, I spent more time in Vietnam than I did in the U.S. My job was assisting friendly forces in combat with signals intelligence, the intercept and exploitation of the radio communications of the invading north Vietnamese. During all those years, I was never once hit by gunfire. The same was true after 1975 when I served all over the world in places I can’t talk about because my work there is still classified. My best guess is that the enemy concentrated his fire against those firing at him. I wasn’t even carrying a gun in my hands (although I had a .38 revolver in a holster) because of the radio equipment I lugged around to link me with my employer, the National Security Agency (NSA), and in-country intercept sites who were monitoring enemy communications and tipping me off.

My good luck went on when Saigon fell to the North Vietnamese in April, 1975. Even though the Ambassador, Graham Martin, forbade me from doing it, I successfully evacuated all 43 of my subordinates and their families. That meant that I had to stay until the very end. After the North Vietnamese were already in the streets of Saigon, I was lucky enough to escape under fire by helicopter.

When I returned to NSA in 1975, I insisted on leading my subordinates rather than managing them. I was lucky enough to get way with it, and the people working for me, lifted up and encouraged by me, achieved astonishing results. As luck would have it, I was promoted to the top levels of the Senior Executive Service (SES) and retired with a generous annuity. Free of money worries, I wrote fulltime. My luck held again. All six of my books and 17 short stories were published.

My luck was still good when I came down with lung cancer some years ago. I had been a heavy smoker until I was in my mid-thirties. More than fifteen years after I quit, I was diagnosed with cancer in the upper lobe of my right lung. I was close to death when I started chemotherapy and radiation to reduce the tumor enough that it could be removed. I underwent surgery, and the lobe was removed. I was lucky enough to survive.

And I was lucky enough to learn early on practices that would insure my continued good health. I sleep as much as ten hours a day, drink plenty of water, depend on a diet of mostly vegetables and fruits (almost no meat and no sweets), and lift weights for a couple of hours every other day. I am determined to live well past my hundredth birthday. All available evidence suggests that I’ll be lucky enough to succeed.

Who could ask for better luck than I’ve enjoyed all my life?

Lucky Me

I’m one of the luckiest people I know. Luck has been with me repeatedly during my wild life. That explains why I’m still alive today despite circumstances which should have killed me.

My luck started when I was six years old. With an alcoholic mother and a father in prison, survival was up to me. As a result, I developed self-reliance to the point that I resented having to depend on other people. That ability served me well on the battlefields of Vietnam and elsewhere.

My good luck held when I enlisted in 1958 in the U.S. Army to go to the Army Language School (ALS—now called the Defense Language Institute). I wanted to study Chinese, but the army decided to teach me a language called Vietnamese, which I had never heard of (we called that part of the world French Indochina back then). I spent a full year in intensive study in that unknown language. That chance assignment reshaped the rest of my life.

When the army assigned me to the National Security Agency (NSA) at Fort Meade, Maryland, after I graduated first in my class at ALS, I discovered that Georgetown University in D.C. was offering evening classes in Chinese. I enrolled. By the time my enlistment was finished, I was comfortable in Vietnamese, Chinese, and French (a language I had taught myself as a child), the three languages spoken in Vietnam and used by the North Vietnamese in their radio communications. Luck was with me, and NSA immediately hired me as a GS-11, five grades higher than the normal new hire, and sent me to Vietnam in 1962.

More next time.