RESPONSIBIITY

 

RESPONSIBILITY

On the night of June 5 1944 Allied Commander General Eisenhower gave the command, “Okay, we go”. Those simple words launched what would ever after be known as D-Day. Over 150,000 men, some 5,000 ships, and about 10,000 airplanes were unleashed onto the beaches of Normandy. If they failed, if they were thrown back into the sea, the results of World War II would be in peril, the outcome unknowable.

From the moment he uttered those simple words the Commanding General lost all control. Whatever happened, whoever failed in their duty, whichever part of the plan was flawed, there was nothing he could do about it. Failure would not be the personal fault of guy who gave the order, but it would have forever been his responsibility.

Eisenhower recorded two statements for public distribution. The first announced the beginning of the invasion. In the second never needed statement he took total and personal responsibility for all failure. The commander cannot say “No, I’m not responsible at all”, that is a recourse of failures. Taking responsibility is what the person in charge does, the credit for success is given to those “who are actually in the arena”.

As a society we accept the person at top is of whom we demand responsibility. Holding the person at the top responsible for failures not their fault is the reason baseball managers or business CEO must resign when the team or business fails.

Thus, as a nation the President of the United States bears ultimate responsibility for failure, even where he is not personally at fault.

Take the case of the Vietnam war. Eisenhower started it. Kennedy is said to have wanted out, it’s not his fault he was assasinated. Johnson, scholars contend, did want a war. Nixon was convinced by the military it could be won. When all was lost, failure was the responsibility of President Gerald R. Ford, who had come late to the game at best.

As this is being written hearings on going on in the U.S. Senate examining the ‘story’ of American withdrawal from Afghanistan. One political side seems almost desperate to assign fault, the other to determine responsibility. As it was in Korea, Cuba, Vietnam, Iraq, the military just wants somebody to fight. [SIDEBAR: If in November 1962 President Kennedy had followed the advice of military advisors regarding the Cuba Missile Crisis, nuclear war would have followed. It would have been Kennedy’s responsibility, and he knew it.]

Seventy-five years later it remains true that no one will ever tell all the story of World War II. I await to see whether the whole story of Afghanistan may ever be told.

Given that part of the story I know, of only this am I sure: A vast chasm exist between responsibility and fault. At fault is failure, not at fault is not. Not accepting ultimate responsibility when ultimate responsibility is yours, that is failure in every arena, whoever be at fault.

FOOTSTEPS

 

FOOTPRINTS

Last Wednesday Dick Burchell passed from this ephemeral world into the tangible arms of Jesus. He will be missed for now by those left to follow in the journey some other day.

He was, at best, an acquaintance. Would not have known of his passing except for his wife, Ann, being a Facebook friend. What I do know is that his wife and children, and a great many this present world friends loved him and held him in highest regard. They who knew him said of him he lived a full and good life. That says most of what I’d want to know about any man.

As I understand it he died following heart surgery complications. The morning he passed I was having a blood test, a follow-up to my bi-pass surgery in July at same hospital. When I made this connection, among those sobering truths heard somewhere, sometime, this came to mind:

     The fear of death is not in its certainty, but in its randomness.

I’ve seen just enough of life to not fear death all that much: Have had all the more popular heart issues, coded twice, almost been killed a few times by other drivers, and made many mistakes I’d not want to re-live.

I look back at life, however, and wonder about the randomness of it all. Why this one, or that one, and not me?

     How many times could it have been me?

     How many times should it have been me?

     Surely could not have come so far on my own?

Memory, sometimes referred to as inspiration, brought back this poem by Mary Stevenson:

FOOTPRINTS

One night I dreamed a dream.
As I was walking along the beach with my Lord.
Across the dark sky flashed scenes from my life.
For each scene, I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand,
One belonging to me and one to my Lord.

After the last scene of my life flashed before me,

I looked back at the footprints in the sand.
I noticed that at many times along the path of my life,
especially at the very lowest and saddest times,
there was only one set of footprints.

This really troubled me, so I asked the Lord about it.
"Lord, you said once I decided to follow you,
You'd walk with me all the way.
But I noticed that during the saddest and most troublesome times of my life,
there was only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why, when I needed You the most, You would leave me."

He whispered, "My precious child, I love you and will never leave you
Never, ever, during your trials and testings.
When you saw only one set of footprints,
It was then that I carried you."

Juror of Last Resort

 

Brazil Times blog of February 23, 2015

Juror of Last Resort

Being on a real live jury would have to be on my “bucket list”. It something I’ve always wanted to do; and have no personal, political, or philosophical reasons to not serve.

I’ve always seen myself as Henry Fonda in the 1957 movie “12 Angry Men” fighting my closed-minded fellow jurors. The truth would come out because I stood alone in its defense. Or, something like that.

I did get called once for jury duty when we lived in St. Louis.

The court building in St. Louis is a very large structure with parking downtown minimal and nowhere near said building. Had someone drop me off at door, so only had to walk up 30 steps and take elevator to find the juror’s room on 10^th floor. By the time I got that far the clerk looked at me and said I was excused for health concerns (her concerns for me, I suspect). You’d have to see me walk more than 100 feet to understand why, and I was 20 years younger then.

Recently, though, I finally got a second chance to serve on a jury; this time in my beloved Clay County where I certainly want to do what I can to re-pay the benefits of living in Indiana.

In the mail came a very nice letter from the Clerk/Jury Administrator telling me what a “most rewarding” experience was in store for me if chosen for jury duty.

In due course I dutifully completed the enclosed questionnaire; answering “yes” where it showed what a solid citizen I am, and “no” to those items for which I might label myself a laggard.

There were, to my dismay, two questions which would certainly derail my hopes of a Henry Fonda triumph.

Question: Do you have a physical disability or condition which renders you incapable of serving as a juror?

Answer: Sorry about that, but, Yes (just ask that clerk in St. Louis)

Question: If so, is there a reasonable accommodation which the Court could provide which would allow you to serve as a juror?

Answer: Sadly, No (many have tried).

The Clerk/Jury Administrator requested a response within 7 days. I did include a note asking for consideration in this regard. I explained that between receiving their nice letter and being able to respond it had become unexpectedly incumbent on me to implement one of my surprise inspections of the Union Hospital emergency room and cardiac care facilities. But, I had gotten to their questionnaire upon ceasing to be otherwise engaged.

Last week came another letter, this time pointing out I was “required by law to attend”. As requested I called the Friday beforehand; and, yes, I would have to appear in Circuit Court.

Not willing twice to rely on the kindness of strangers, I had my family doctor, Dr. Frank Zwerner, prepare a nice, short letter explaining that jury duty was just not going to be my thing. I need not have bothered the good doctor.

As required Judge Joe Trout asked a series of questions as to citizenship, age, etc. I think it was the fifth question, something about physical inability, that Kay nudged me and said, “Raise your hand.” Neither the prosecutor nor defense attorney, both of whom know me, had any objection to my leaving.

Thus dashed was my dream of being one of twelve angry men (and women).

But, if Clay County gets absolutely desperate for jurors, as their last resort I’d give it a try. The Courthouse isn’t that big, I can rent “12 Angry Men” for a refresher course, and have memorized the number for 9-1-1.

Why I Write 2

 

WHY I WRITE

EVEN IF NO ONE READS IT

(Part 2 of 2)

“Writing is an obsessive, compulsive disorder.”

(Stephen King)

Always like to say “I write to find out what I think”. Turns out that can be a lot of work, and turns on a lot of that work is wasted effort. Going to leave my laptop for some future generation to read all the stuff I thought about but never published, or even finished writing.

Have done some small preparations in writing process: Some book learning, a couple of writing seminars, and a nifty-keen YouTube channel for not-that-good writers where the producer actually answers your comments. And, yeah, I learned a lot from my parents and teachers. Mostly, though, like most writers I learned by mistake. Learning by mistake being my primary talent.

Much loved wife says writing is my art, and artists can do anything with art they want, even learn by mistake. Following is my thus the state of how I do ‘art’.

MY PRIME DIRECTIVES

Writing is not about me
Writing is talking to people you don’t know, or like.
Writing is being curious about everything new to you.
Writing is finding out if what’s important to me is important.
Writing is knowing if it is important to anyone, it’s important.

Writing is listening
Writing is listening to things not heard before.
Writing is listening to things that can not be true.
Writing is listening to things heard many times before.
Writing is listening to things that have something to teach.

Writing is thinking
Writing is noting the thoughts before they’re gone.
Writing is filling in those notes with real, live words.
Writing is making sense of those beautiful thoughts.
Hard part is the thinking.

Writing is writing
Write like nobody’s watching, because there is nobody watching.
Write like nobody’s reading, because you want to have no interference.
Write like it’s important to you, because it must be important to you to write it.
Write like everybody’s reading, because otherwise it’s not worth anybody reading.

MY BOUNDARIES

Neither make the rules nor play, just report on the game. Limit to observations based solely on own admittedly limited experience and knowledge. Facts if I got them, opinion only if clearly so labeled.

Neither defend nor attack another. No one has given me any authority to do so, nor to I have ability to judge which is truth. I can only observe and seek the rest of the story.

Stick to writing ‘prose’ and not essay or thesis. I haven’t the mind for great research nor in-depth thinking. If it weren’t for Google and Wikipedia wouldn’t even know what ‘prose’ meant [Language that usually exhibits natural flow of speech and grammatical structure].

MY CONCLUSIONS

Remain open to everything, even if it’s ‘wrong’. Gotten too old and seen too much to know anything. I’m just an ill-informed observer of too many lost and wasted years.

Writing, as the man says, is an “obsessive, compulsive disorder”. Most of what I write is written because I can do no other. If it is, as it often is, important to no one, at least it gets out of my head.

Danger is that once it’s put in writing, there it is. If the writer learns and grows, as writing tends to make happen, said writer cannot change the maxim ‘what I have written I have written’. Write like some future generation will inherit my laptop, actually read all th junk on it, and wonder ‘what was he thinking’?

Why I Write 1

 

WHY I WRITE

EVEN IF NO ONE READS IT

(Part 1 of 2)

“No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.”

(Samuel Johnson 1709-1784)

Don’t know original source of “I write to find out what I think”. First heard it from MASH creator Larry Gelbart. Have seen the saying attributed to Stephen King and others. In any case, it is very often what I do. Case in point, what you are about to read – if I can con you into reading it with this scathingly brilliant introduction.

As told to youngest son, then a would-be 5^th grade teacher, I really first learned to write in the fifth grade. As with most things in my life, it was learned by mistake. Got into a lot of trouble, even one of few times my father was really mad. In trouble mostly because of how my sentences were structured (okay, did figure that out too late).

By the eight grade the teacher told whole class I had real talent. And, a few high school teachers and some professors agreed. Even our most beloved daughter, the smartest of the bunch, says she can always tell when daddy wrote it.

Over the years tried to earn actual money writing, mostly in Christian publications. Can say I’m a ‘published writer’, but they don’t pay nothing. Most ‘successful’ writing gig were the 350+ unpaid blogs for Brazil Times website.

Putting it in print, paid or not, carries a certain level of risk. In 1974 I attended a writers seminar in Cincinnati. Something said by editor-in-chief stayed with me, and may be more true now than then: “Once what you write is published, it is out there forever, it can never be taken back. Years and study will always make you better informed than on the day you wrote that thing; but none of that will show up in the mind of a reader finding it some years hence.” This was before stuff went out on the Internet.

So, guess I do write well enough for what I got paid. If anyone takes serious what I write, or is offended by it, they got what they paid for. In the end, though, I will never be a ‘good’ writer because I’ve never been a good reader. Most of what I write comes from things I’ve seen, heard, experienced. As my sister the teacher tells me, it’s just the way my brain is wired. This observation, however, is that good readers make good writers because good readers have a bigger world from which to draw.

Nowadays I try to write as if everybody on earth will read it; but content if at least my kids do. If you’re reading this you are probably one of my actual or adopted kids, grandkids, or other long-suffering family member.

MY MOTIVATIONS

First and foremost, there is always more to every story. I write to find out how much of that story I actually know.

Obsessive, compulsive need to be the “rabble-rouser” who forces thought and discussion among those whose life experiences tell a different part of the story.

To warn the past is always prologue. Because ignorance of the past has always led to ignorance of the future.

To sort out what I hear on YouTube and TV machine from what I only believed because of stuff previously found credible from source I liked.

To write what no one wants to hear, so that they will have to defend what they believe without relying totally on who taught it to them.

Sometimes it’s about putting things in writing so somebody will know it happened, or at least passed through my mind.

To be read. Believing it’s worth reading is the vanity of becoming doddering old man.

It’s only ‘art’ I’m any good at:

If a tree falls and no one knows it, does it not make a sound?

If an artist creates their art and no one knows it, is it not art?

Let’s face it, I’ve got nothing much else to do now that MASH went off air.

To be continued….