Going Back into the A Shau

Sixty years after the fact, I returned to my old barracks at the Presidio of San Francisco. It was part of a journey arranged by Brian and Melanie to celebrate my Eighty years of pondering life’s ‘what ifs?’ Our journey began where my military life was born and ended on the beaches of San Diego a week later.

Fast forward two years from that Kerouac-inspired Road trip and I once again ventured back into the A Shau (pronounced A-Shaw) Valley in South Vietnam. This return journey was precipitated by a phone call from out of my past, the decision to reread the novel (part autobiographical) that encompassed that part of of my life and the thought of giving birth to yet another storyline wrapped in the same mid-Sixties environment.

Funny how things turn out. After writing the first version of “Love in the A Shau,” I assumed I had put that part of my fictional past behind me. I was done falling in love freshman year, feeling the exhilaration and angst of that first romantic entanglement, harboring wonderful fantasies of our future together and ultimately experiencing the painful realization that it wasn’t meant to be.

That long, monotonous bus ride from Minnesota down to boot camp at Fort Leonard Wood Missouri was but a dark spot on my collective memory. Yet I can still feel those emotions in the middle of the night when my sweetheart and all my friends were safely ensconced in their beds, dreaming of their bright collegiate futures ahead of them.

But much to my surprise and chagrin, my journey as author and protagonist was relived all over again with that reread. For reasons that gradually began build in my subconscious, I slowly came to realize that returning to the A Shau was an exhilarating experience and I was sorely tempted to go there again…in the form of yet another novel. Perhaps my journey back in time wasn’t over yet.

Standing in front of the barracks with my two kids brought up a plethora of mixed emotions. I was still around; a lot of my barracks buddies weren’t. Some were brought down by the conflict overseas, others made their eventual escape back to civilian life and the rest simply disappeared. But what if, I asked myself, a different scenario had played out. That thought then became the genesis for another possible novel that had long been percolated in the far reaches of my back brain.

‘Presidio Adieu’ is the working title for yet another novel from that same time period that has been percolating in my brain for some time now. Its birth is very tenable considering the numerous other projects screaming for my time and attention. While I don’t envision its creation anywhere in the near future, it has still gotten my imagination going into overtime once again.

Readers loved so many of the segments of that first book. This was especially surprising coming from my female readers. I worried that the graphic descriptions of war and the profanity of military talk would them turn off.  I feared they might see it as just gratuitous profanity used for shock value. But the opposite was true. As one friend mentioned out to me, quite pointedly. “Oh, come on, Denis, give us credit. We’re much smarter than that. We understand the violence of war and the profanity-laced dialogue that comes with the territory. It just added to the flavor of the moment and painted a vivid picture of the profound changes your protagonist was going through.”

It might be a tough trip back because I tend to get very vested into my characters. Yet it’s not often that I get to go back in time and revisit San Francisco of the mid-sixties. It was a world of barracks banter, office intrigue, sexual liaisons, cunning and stealth and all culminating in the bloody battlefields of the Nam.

To be sure, this proposed novel would have a totally different storyline with a different cast of characters. It would be more of a mystery novel than a story of combat. Yet the same emotions captured, lost, gained and lost again would be present. Whether in the post newspaper office, the barracks or the streets of San Francisco, it would be a world where only a few of the women were virgins and manual dexterity with the boys didn’t refer to their working on car parts.

It would be an interesting journey that I and my characters would love to travel. Proving once again that in fiction you really can go back to what once was and change it for the better or worse.

As I mentioned the odds of ‘Presidio Adieu’ starting anytime soon are remote. But if I do find the time, I think it would be an interesting journey well worth the effort if I can keep my fear of dying in battle and conflicting emotions of love in tack. It would be another trip back to the barracks again. Older and only slightly wiser this time around.

The Rest of Your Life

I have a friend I’ve known for more than sixty years. During the summer months, we lunch at the Monument Park in Saint Paul. We’ve kept our bond of friendship strong since first meeting at our respective first jobs out of college. Now in his retirement, my friend has chosen to spend a lot of his time in caregiving members of his religious community.

We don’t talk about it a lot but he is comforted in knowing that he’s making a real difference in his patient’s lives. There’s a strong religious component to the care but it’s never pronounced nor a banner in his relationship with his patients. He does it because it is the right thing for him to do and it brings a comforting presence to his patient’s lives.

My friend’s devotion to others got me to thinking about how other folks I know, now also in their retirement years, have chosen to spend the rest of their lives. I’ve often complained about the ‘old men at the coffee shop.’ These are the retirees whose lives have descended into gathering each morning at the old watering hole simply to complain about life in general. Most communities have a McDonalds where the disenfranchised gather each morning. Their rhetoric is usually the same. It’s a steady stream of grousing about local and national politics, other nationalities, young people, employers,

Fortunately, there’s another group of folks who have chosen to be more productive in their remaining years here on the planet. Whatever their profession in their other life, they have now gone in another direction which brings them newfound satisfaction.

There’s an old girlfriend of mine who has traveled the world and continues skipping around the globe with her husband. Several other women I know have embraced their passion for the arts; painting, acting, and other creative/theatrical ventures. Another couple decided early on to have a major presence in their grandchildren’s lives and have done just that. Another fellow at 89 years young is still doing taxes and loving it.

Richard J. Leider in his book ‘Power of Purpose’ talks about what researchers are discovering about how an increased sense of purpose can improve our health, healing, happiness, longevity, and productivity. The book has a definite spiritual bent about it. But Leider, without apology, sees this as an important component in his approach to life-satisfying ventures.

Leider goes on to explain that ‘Purpose is an active expression of our values and our compassion for others-it makes us want to get up in the morning and add value to the world.’ His book, details a graceful, practical, and ultimately spiritual process for making it central to your life.

With or without a spiritual angle, finding purpose for the rest of your life is certainly a worthwhile venture in living. I found mine almost by accident. While easing out of my business ventures, I encountered an irascible jerk who pushed me to the limit. I’d had enough and decided to close up shop. That left me with the next big challenge. What to do with the rest of my life? Retirement wasn’t an option. So, what was I going to do until my tour of duty here on earth ended?

Two western novels, written back in 1972 and 1973, were still gathering dust and growing gray with the ages. They were born in the snapping keys of my faithful LC Smith typewriter and an overactive imagination. Each evening, I would escape into our home in Reisterstown, Maryland, close the door and travel out West once again.

Each typewritten page was born, editing, retyped, and set aside. After a year and two hundred and fifty pages for the first novel, it was set aside and a second one begun. Another year later, it was also finished, set aside, and forgotten as my first-born son captured my full attention.

Fast forward fifty years and I went back to those tired old binders of graying pages of threatening Apache smoke signals, a fiery redhead; and a grizzled travel-worn scout and their adventures in the hot Arizona desert.

After scanning that first novel onto a floppy disc and then transferring it into my new Macintosh computer, I was off to the races. It took three more self-published novels before I would let myself admit that perhaps I had become a writer. After that, the plays, movie scripts, novellas, poetry, children’s books, comic strips, song lyrics and more than 700 blogs came bursting forth.

For me the journey is never ending. Fortunately, there’s no time limit on writing. That is, until the words lose their meaning and the story becomes boring. Until then, I’ll just keep pounding away on the keyboard and spin my tales of imaginative folks and (I hope) interesting storylines. It’s become ‘the rest of my life’ and I’m loving it.

Artichokes, Aprons, and Art

For years now, Sharon and I have been brainwashing our grandkids every chance we get. It has always been unapologetic and unbridled in Nana’s attempt to influence. The kiddos, as Amy likes to call them, were roped into kitchen duties, art classes and learning table manners. Later on, theatrical ventures became a part of their time spent in the desert. All under the guise of: ‘you need to learn this now so you can use it for the rest of your life.’

Now, none of us adults have any illusion that our grandchildren are going to become world-class gourmet chefs, New York gallery artists or a modern-day version of Miss Manners. But they darn well will become comfortable around a frying pan, a paint brush and learn how to prepare an eight-course meal. And it ‘will be fun’ in the process….so says Nana. If any of them catch the artists/acting bug, Papa will also be thrilled beyond words.

For the last seventeen or so years, Sharon and I have been fortunate enough to be able to host both families; the LaCombs and the McMahons in Palm Springs for either the Thanksgiving or Christmas holidays. From the very start, when Maya was just a toddler, Sharon felt it was important to introduce her grandchildren to the culinary arts, painting in many different mediums and basic table manners.

The kiddos very quickly went from baking cookies to more complex recipes. Pretty soon, they were preparing side dishes and desserts for many meals. Art classes began with alcohol ink then graduated to more complex mixtures of acrylic paints and other formulas to get some interesting results.

All of the grandchildren helped set the table at night, learning proper placement and table etiquette. They learned to wait until everyone was served before beginning to eat. They understood that a simple prayer and acknowledgement of life’s graces was also part of the ritual. It was family time and family was/is everything for us.

As the years passed and the kids grew older, Papa began writing short plays for ‘staged readings’ that the kids could perform. The first props were puppets and loveable ‘Cash,’ their Colorado dog. Their parents and an ever-growing audience of friends and neighbors were in attendance for their performances.

Over the last several years, music has been added to the mix and Maya singing, accompanied by Samantha on her ukulele, has entertained the crowd. It’s just another example of our pushing the grandkids out of their comfort zone.

When you’re at Nana and Papa’s house, it’s part of the package. The kids have grown to understand and (I think) like the ritual, the process, and the pushing of comfortable boundaries. It’s become part of overall experience of time spent in the desert. I think we’re all the better for it. I know I certainly am.