AND NOW, FOR THE REST OF THE STORY
When A MATTER OF CONSCIENCE was completed, it was more than 600 pages. To reach the goal of less than 400 pages, a number of sections were cut. Two criterion guided the cuts: Is the material redundant and does it contribute to the core story?
The most difficult were those deemed not central to the story, because many of those sections were based on stories shared by men who had played football with Bobby or had been coached by him. So. . . over the next few weeks I will be sharing some of the material that did not make it into the final book. This week I share a few episodes that relate to Bobby's love of history, especially warfare.
***
Bobby didn’t spend all of his time on the football field. In the school library, he discovered countless rows of books about World War II. He sometimes skipped class to browse through the volumes, picking out those about Hitler to read more closely.
Bobby was both fascinated and appalled by the German dictator. The more he read about Hitler, the more he resented sharing the dictator’s lineage. Bobby was of German descent—his grandparents having migrated to America from Koblentz-on-the-Rhine—so he could not help but be mesmerized by Hitler’s desire to create a pure Aryan race—people with blue eyes, blonde hair, strong bodies. A snapshot of himself? He found the idea both embarrassing and vile.
Bobby also read that Adolph Hitler, growing up in poverty, often alone and uncertain, found a sense of purpose in fighting for the Fatherland. Similarly, but in the microcosm of his world, Bobby found a purpose in battling for the Purple Pounders.
Hitler, far from a model soldier, was known for his sloppy manner and unmilitary bearing. In that regard, Hitler and Bobby were polar opposites. But both were eager for action and ready for difficult assignments. However, Hitler’s obsession with eradicating all Jews from the face of the earth was anathema to Bobby. Years later when he visited the Dachau concentration camp, standing still in front of the massive ovens where so many were sent to their death, Bobby blinked back tears—his lifelong abhorrence of Hitler fully justified.
***
At Central, captivated with the various components of war, Bobby passionately studied about military strategies, fighter planes, and tanks.
But sometimes warfare was just plain fun.
One day in shop class, when students were assigned the task of building tables, Bobby made a wooden sword and then talked Paul Allen and another friend, Billy Joe King, into making swords for themselves. For days, Bobby appeared around corners, wielding his sword and yelling, “Defend your honor!”
When the teacher left the room one morning, the shop class turned into a swashbuckling sword fight. Standing on top of tables, brandishing swords—it was all great fun until the teacher returned unexpectedly. Bobby and his mighty men were in big trouble. Their swords were confiscated, never to be seen again.
It was easier to get away with a good fight on the football field.
***
Jim Woods, who attended Central with Hoppe, recalled how much Bobby loved history and political science and how much he detested the Nazis.
“Bobby was always pretending he was a fighter pilot, shooting down the Nazis.
“One day when J. Pope Dyer, the political science teacher, was out of the room, Bobby got on top of a wooden desk and began pretending he was shooting everyone in the room, telling them they were Nazis.”
Rotating in place atop the teacher’s desk, his hand a pretend gun, Hoppe kept aiming at classmates and shouting, “Bam, you’re dead. Bam, you’re dead.”
Woods said Bobby “shot” him but when Woods didn’t fall out of his desk seat, like other classmates, Hoppe jumped across the desks—like a wood nymph hopping from stone to stone across a babbling brook—until he reached Woods’ desk.
“Why aren’t you dead, Jimmy?” Bobby asked.
“Because you didn’t hit me,” Woods replied with a smart-aleck smile on his freckled face.
Bobby jumped down, reached under Woods’ desk and flipped it. Just as Woods hit the floor, Bobby said, “See. I did get you.”
At that moment, Dyer returned to the room, seeing a no-longer-smiling Woods on the floor.
“I got in trouble, but Bobby didn’t,” Woods says. “Dyer loved Bobby.”
***
TUNE IN NEXT WEEK FOR MORE STORIES
The most difficult were those deemed not central to the story, because many of those sections were based on stories shared by men who had played football with Bobby or had been coached by him. So. . . over the next few weeks I will be sharing some of the material that did not make it into the final book. This week I share a few episodes that relate to Bobby's love of history, especially warfare.
***
Bobby didn’t spend all of his time on the football field. In the school library, he discovered countless rows of books about World War II. He sometimes skipped class to browse through the volumes, picking out those about Hitler to read more closely.
Bobby was both fascinated and appalled by the German dictator. The more he read about Hitler, the more he resented sharing the dictator’s lineage. Bobby was of German descent—his grandparents having migrated to America from Koblentz-on-the-Rhine—so he could not help but be mesmerized by Hitler’s desire to create a pure Aryan race—people with blue eyes, blonde hair, strong bodies. A snapshot of himself? He found the idea both embarrassing and vile.
Bobby also read that Adolph Hitler, growing up in poverty, often alone and uncertain, found a sense of purpose in fighting for the Fatherland. Similarly, but in the microcosm of his world, Bobby found a purpose in battling for the Purple Pounders.
Hitler, far from a model soldier, was known for his sloppy manner and unmilitary bearing. In that regard, Hitler and Bobby were polar opposites. But both were eager for action and ready for difficult assignments. However, Hitler’s obsession with eradicating all Jews from the face of the earth was anathema to Bobby. Years later when he visited the Dachau concentration camp, standing still in front of the massive ovens where so many were sent to their death, Bobby blinked back tears—his lifelong abhorrence of Hitler fully justified.
***
At Central, captivated with the various components of war, Bobby passionately studied about military strategies, fighter planes, and tanks.
But sometimes warfare was just plain fun.
One day in shop class, when students were assigned the task of building tables, Bobby made a wooden sword and then talked Paul Allen and another friend, Billy Joe King, into making swords for themselves. For days, Bobby appeared around corners, wielding his sword and yelling, “Defend your honor!”
When the teacher left the room one morning, the shop class turned into a swashbuckling sword fight. Standing on top of tables, brandishing swords—it was all great fun until the teacher returned unexpectedly. Bobby and his mighty men were in big trouble. Their swords were confiscated, never to be seen again.
It was easier to get away with a good fight on the football field.
***
Jim Woods, who attended Central with Hoppe, recalled how much Bobby loved history and political science and how much he detested the Nazis.
“Bobby was always pretending he was a fighter pilot, shooting down the Nazis.
“One day when J. Pope Dyer, the political science teacher, was out of the room, Bobby got on top of a wooden desk and began pretending he was shooting everyone in the room, telling them they were Nazis.”
Rotating in place atop the teacher’s desk, his hand a pretend gun, Hoppe kept aiming at classmates and shouting, “Bam, you’re dead. Bam, you’re dead.”
Woods said Bobby “shot” him but when Woods didn’t fall out of his desk seat, like other classmates, Hoppe jumped across the desks—like a wood nymph hopping from stone to stone across a babbling brook—until he reached Woods’ desk.
“Why aren’t you dead, Jimmy?” Bobby asked.
“Because you didn’t hit me,” Woods replied with a smart-aleck smile on his freckled face.
Bobby jumped down, reached under Woods’ desk and flipped it. Just as Woods hit the floor, Bobby said, “See. I did get you.”
At that moment, Dyer returned to the room, seeing a no-longer-smiling Woods on the floor.
“I got in trouble, but Bobby didn’t,” Woods says. “Dyer loved Bobby.”
***
TUNE IN NEXT WEEK FOR MORE STORIES
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