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If I had to point to one history book that completely changed my thinking, the first one to come to mind would be Studs Terkel's "The Good War." Not as a famous as his classics like "Division Street America" or "Working," "The Good War" is a oral history of the Second World War.
Of course I knew about the war already. Growing up in the '60s, I was brought up on it. My father had been 12 when the war ended, the prime age to absorb all the romantic details of battle without running the risk of getting killed. Though I doubt he was guiding my education, not pressing the tales of men, battle and equipment upon me, so much as I was living in the post-victory air of triumph.So I read books like "Air War Against Hitler's Germany" with crippled B-17s fighting off the German Messerschmitts on their way to bomb the ball bearing plant at Schweinfurt. (And the fact that I can unspool that sentence without checking 50 years after reading the source tells you something). On my bedroom door I had, not a rock star poster, but one from the Air & Space Museum called "Know your enemy" show the silhouettes of military aircraft. I knew what a dihedral is (the upward angle of a plane's wings). I not only knew the name of the plane that dropped the atomic bomb, the Enola Gay — everyone knew that — but the island in the Marianas it took off from on its run over Hiroshima, Tinian, and the name of the pilot, Paul Tibbets.
All of this thanks to "Hear it Now," a boxed set of 45s of Edward R. Murrow's aural history of 1933-1945. I played it so much I had it memorized.
I start reading "The Good War" and met an amazing crew of pacifists, war resisters, deserters, factory workers — the cream of Terkel's leftie world. And I realize that yes, we won the war, but humanity was then as humanity is now, a broad spectrum of belief. I had bought a story that was somewhere between a fantasy and a lie. We defeated the Nazis — that was good. But it didn't make us saints, before or after.
I start reading "The Good War" and met an amazing crew of pacifists, war resisters, deserters, factory workers — the cream of Terkel's leftie world. And I realize that yes, we won the war, but humanity was then as humanity is now, a broad spectrum of belief. I had bought a story that was somewhere between a fantasy and a lie. We defeated the Nazis — that was good. But it didn't make us saints, before or after.
Even seeing the truth, or the truth as curated by Studs Terkel, I was slow to surrender the romantic myth.
When I wanted to say I was outnumbered, I'd evoke the pair of Navy pilots who raced to a small airfield at Pearl Harbor and took off in two fighters, rising to meet the onslaught. Here I am in 2002 writing about remodeling our decrepit farm house:
Ten years later I was still at it, commenting on Chicago's response to a front page pan of my Chicago memoir and two others in the New York Times Book Review, posting this on Facebook:
When I wanted to say I was outnumbered, I'd evoke the pair of Navy pilots who raced to a small airfield at Pearl Harbor and took off in two fighters, rising to meet the onslaught. Here I am in 2002 writing about remodeling our decrepit farm house:
The actual buying of the house wasn't precisely a surprise attack — I mean, we knew what we were signing. But the repercussions certainly were unanticipated, with wave after wave of repairs and set-backs and projects sweeping over us, while we dove behind barrels and tried to get our pathetically inadequate remodeling forces off the ground at Hickham Field.Note that, 61 years after the fact, I assume the reader will know what I'm talking about or, more likely, didn't pause to consider they might not. Although, in those pre-Google days, I should point out that George Welch and Kenneth Taylor got their P-40s off the ground at Haleiwa Field, 11 miles away from Hickam, no "h." Their squadron was originally based at Hickam, but had moved to a smaller field, which is why the planes weren't destroyed in the opening attack.
Ten years later I was still at it, commenting on Chicago's response to a front page pan of my Chicago memoir and two others in the New York Times Book Review, posting this on Facebook:
There are other examples — in 2019, I began my South American diary this way:
The solidly-built young man had a full red-beard and was dressed all in black, from his watch cap to his sneakers. His new bags — hip, if luggage can be hip — were also black, as were the clothes and luggage of his friend, who wore a Dutch cap.
A quip occurred to me.
"Are you lads on your way to blow up the bridge over the Remagen?" I thought, but did not say. Shutting up is an art form, and mentioning obscure bits of World War II trivia — capturing the Remagen bridge over the Rhine was vital to the Allies forces drive to Berlin in the spring of 1945 — to young strangers is not a practice embraced by those aspiring to be au courant. Okay, hipsters try to look like commandos when they're not aping lumberjacks; deal with it.
Notice that I felt the need to explain what I was talking about. That is considerate, but leaches the power from a metaphor. If you say, "I was in hell — which is very hot and unpleasant," maybe you need to find another way to describe where you are. I believe it's time to retire all World War II imagery, put it on the shelf along with the Civil War and the Battle of Hastings. A third of millennials can't say who won World War II, and I assume a significant number don't realize the war occurred. One duty of a writer is to be understood, and while it may be satisfying to deploy a well-worn, well-loved metaphor, if it's met with a puzzled shrug, what have you accomplished? Nothing.
That said, as with Lord Jim, freeing my mind of the Good War might not be so easy. After I wrote the above, I needed a headline for a column about Ozempic, and my first, immediate thought was, "Praise God and pass the Ozempic." Another Pearl Harbor reference. Chaplain Howell Forgy, on the USS New Orleans, despite his non-combatant status, encouraged the line of sailors passing ammo to gunners with "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition," which became a 1942 patriotic song by Frank Loesser.
And yes, when I saw I'd mis-remembered "The Lord" as "God" I did fix it. Though there was no need. Nobody other than myself was ever going to notice.
Not quite true. The very next day, Facebook memories served up a column from 2018: "Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition to Beto O'Rourke," about the need to support Democratic candidates, such as the guy who for a moment seemed like he'd defeat Sen. Ted Cruz in Texas. Well, that's one headline trope I'm never using again. I hope.
You'd have made a fine History teacher.
ReplyDeleteOh, don’t stop. While the millennials who read your column maybe rare as hen’s teeth, you inspire boomers like me to donate time to tutoring. And I freely admit that I borrow many of your metaphors references. Often the youngsters ask what I am referencing, and so I pass your knowledge to them. Keep it up, Neil.
ReplyDelete(Typo: "diherdral" should be "dihedral")
ReplyDeleteNeil and I are of near-identical age, and I definitely remember devouring "Air War Against Hitler's Germany" not long after it came out in 1964, just 19 years after the war itself ended, so I can safely say that even us kids were well aware of it.
Today, 19 years ago is 2007. Arguably the biggest recent event from that era would be the 9/11 attack of six years prior, which is easily remembered now and for the foreseeable future, but that will eventually blur into the distance as newer horrible events take its place.
The sliding window of our collective memory goes back only so far. The man-on-the-street interviews that Jimmy Kimmel likes to do with passers-by outside his studio will frequently deliver some ignorant whoppers, but even some of their more normal-looking interviewees can reveal that they have only a vague idea of recent history, and soon even that will fade away.
The other night on the Daily Show, when Trump compared the quick draw police response to Matt Dillon, Stewart showed pic of the actor Matt Dillon, then informed the laughing audience that (old man) Trump was referencing Gunsmoke's Marshall Matt Dillon and its once controversial opening sequence. Stewart, at 63, claimed he was too young to have ever seen Gunsmoke. Say what? I'm 63 and watched Gunsmoke as a kid. It ran until 1975. Reruns have been around for decades. Oh well, best get used to being old?
ReplyDeleteI was thinking the same thing when Stewart said that.
DeleteI come from a nearly identical background and with the same WWII veneration. The history book that opened my eyes was assigned for a high school class: "American Violence: A Documentary History" by Richard Hofstadter. Made it impossible to look at any aspect of our nation's past the same way.
ReplyDeleteDuring the Nixonian Era (June, 1969): "Violence In America" was published by the National Commission on the Causes and Prevention of Violence. Followed the Walker Report (about the '68 Convention riots in Chicago) and the Kerner Report ( about the inner-city uprisings in '67 and earlier). Still have a copy. "Violence is as American as cherry pie" was a famous quote from the 60s, and this book spells that out in meticulous and clinical detail.
DeleteSince colonial times, we have always been a violent country. Our Revolution was both a rebellion and a civil war. We have seen organized and unorganized crime, native violence against immigrants, vigilantism, frontier violence, racial violence, political violence, and especially labor violence. Strikes often turned into localizedl wars.
America has had the bloodiest and most violent labor history of any industrial nation in the world. Hundreds of working-class men and women have died for basic dignity andrights in their workplaces, the right to organize, and the right to to bargain collectively for a better life. Unions brought us the five day week, weekends, the eight-hour day, paid time off, pensions, and the bennies most of us take for granted. They were bought and paid for in blood and tears.
Before becoming absorbed in WWII history and baseball history, I got into labor history in junior high. My grandmother's husband was a Socialist and a union organizer in his younger days. Unfortunately, he was a gruff, unapproachable, and untalkative guy in his 70s. He died suddenly, before I could listen and learn...especially about his past.
Oh, the stories I missed. The strikebreakers, the cops, the picket lines, the riots, the deaths on both sides, the goons and ginks and company finks. Oral history is the best kind of history. For decades, Studs Terkel knew that. And in 1985, "The Good War" won him a Pulitzer Prize.
Are a third of Millennials really unaware who won the Second World War? I was curious, so I did a quick search. While I found a number of articles making this assertion, the ones I saw all referred to a 2023 study about young Britons aged 18-34.
ReplyDeleteEven though that’s not the cohort of US 30-46 year-olds I was expecting, that’s still surprising.
I like the way you write, Neil, and I’m enjoying this series about your metaphors.
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Sorry. I realize I'm being a bit obsessive but I'm stuck on wondering how the question about the Second World War was worded.
DeleteThinking Germany won -- that’s bad.
Thinking Germany won and not realizing that means the Nazis -- extremely bad.
Being asked to name the main Allied powers and omitting the Soviet Union isn’t great, though I’d forgive not knowing about Brazil (since I just found that out myself).
Confusing the terms Allied and Axis -- also not great but possibly understandable if to you if the War is just one of countless topics you covered fleetingly in school.
at the least American children attend school for 12 years. there are at minimum 160 days of class each year . instruction for four hours per day. this is 7680 hrs of instruction. divided by 5 say . 1500 hours of history and world war ll gets touched on briefly?
Deletewhat on earth do they learn? why do they even go to school?
The top photo looks like Italy, perhaps.
ReplyDeleteLike all good writing, today's column has multiple takeaways. Hipster commandos isn't just a cool metaphor, it's an elevator pitch for an ABC action comedy.
ReplyDelete'Shutting up is an art form' is today's moneymaker. Can I get four of the coffee mugs, and one hoodie, all in commando black?
So you, too, were a WWII junkie at an early age, Mister S? Who'da thunk it? Being 13 years your senior, I grew up even closer to the war. My cohorts built model aircraft and played Army with WWII helmets and canteens. Which also meant that our fathers had been old enough to serve, and had their stories...very few of which were ever told by most of them.
ReplyDeleteMy old man spent almost two years in the Philippines, which is why I was delayed until '47. He saw some bad ju-ju at 25. Civilans dropping dead from starvation on the streets of Manila, which was the largest urban battlefield of WWII. Bigger than Stalingrad. Bigger than Berlin. We watched a "Victory at Sea" episode about that country. He was 40, I was 13. He began to sob. That told me all I needed to know, about his war.
But I wanted to know more. Much more. Skokie's library had a whole WWII aisle, yards long, and lined with seven-foot shelves. Began chewing my way through them in eighth grade. Started with the famed war corrspondent and columnist, Ernie Pyle. Then it was the air war in Europe, and a work by a writer named Bert Stiles, who flew B-17s and fighters. An expert wordsmith whose short stories were already being compared to Hemingway. How far and how high would he have flown? Enlisted at 22, died at 24.We'll never know. Still have his book. First edition.
My obsession has lasted for 65 years. Shelf upon shelf of books. Hundreds of VHS tapes and DVDs. WWII is still the subject of many shows and documentaries on cable TV, but the output is shrinking. The Good War is fading into history, as all wars eventually do. How many WWI buffs are there? Very few. How many for the Civil War? Not so many.
Only about 1% of the sixteen million American WWII veterans are still alive. Most are fast approaching the century mark.Their Boomer children are in their 60s and 70s now, like you and me, Mister S. When we pass on, their stories will go with us. And our WWII collections stand a good chance of ending up in the landfills, along with everything else. Today's kids will neither understand nor care. So it goes.