Books I Have Read

A Facebook Friend recently asked me to "Share a list of ten books that affected you in some way."

My problem was cutting the number to ten.

Here's my list, in no particular order.

1. The Bible
2. Mere Christianity 
3. 1984
4. Starship Troopers
5. Tom Sawyer
6. The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People
7. Getting Things Done
8. The Collected Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
9. The Lord of the Rings trilogy
10. The Outlander

And, an honorable mention: The Red Badge of Courage

I now challenge you. Share a list of ten books that have affected you, either below in a comment, on Facebook, or via email.

Which ten books have most affected you?

To Absent Brothers

His name is Tim. He is my brother. Tim is a First Lieutenant of Infantry and an Army Aviator. At age 26, his hair already flecked with gray, Tim is a bit older than most of his fellows. Tim arrived in our unit in April of 1972 fresh out of Flight School and Cobra transition. He flew his first mission the day before Tan Canh fell. The next day, he would fly over Tan Canh in Bill Reeder's front seat. When his turret weapons wouldn't fire, Bill handed him a camera and told him "Take pictures," and he took pictures. Tim died at Ben Het on 9 May 1972 after thirty days in country. Tim is my brother. He is absent.

His name is Fred and he too is my brother. Fred is a Captain of Armor/CAV. Fred is so CAV he wears spurs and a saber with his dress blues. Fred completed two tours in Vietnam and had seven Purple Hearts before attending flight school and returning to Vietnam as Executive Officer of an Air CAV Troop. Fred was flying Command and Control when he was hit and subsequently perished. Fred is my brother. He is absent.

Dusty and Dex are also my brothers. Dusty's aircraft exploded in flight, the site of its crash undiscovered for nearly forty years. Dex, who now has an airport named after him, perished from burns suffered in a post-crash fire. These too, are my brothers. They too are absent.

I never met Mark. Mark was gone long before I got to the unit, but he is my brother. In later years, his kid sister would seek out men who knew, lived, and flew with Mark to learn how he lived. What she found is documented it in a heartfelt memoir entitled "Dear Mark". Although I never met him, Mark is my brother. He is absent.

Each year, at the closing banquet, the Vietnam Helicopter Pilot's Association sets a table as pictured above for our absent brothers.

The TABLE, set for one, is small, symbolizing the loneliness we feel without them.

The TABLECLOTH is white, symbolizing the purity of their intentions and their willingness to respond to their country’s call to arms.

The single ROSE in the vase reminds us of the families and loved ones of our comrades-in-arms, who kept the faith awaiting their return, and are forever left behind.

The RED RIBBON tied so prominently on the vase is reminiscent of the red ribbon worn by many who bear witness to their unyielding determination to account for every one of our missing.

A SLICE OF LEMON on the bread plate reminds us of their bitter fate.

There is SALT upon the bread plate too, symbolic of the river of tears shed by families and loved ones.

The GLASS is inverted. They cannot toast with us.

The CHAIR is empty. They are not here. Our lives are incomplete because they are not here to sit with us. They were there for us. We are still here for them.

In honoring them, each of them, all of them, we face their table, the table where they should be sitting. We stand silently in their absence.

To the Missing Man. We flew with you and called you comrade; we will never forget you. Though absent, you are our brother.

To absent brothers.

Epiphany

I'm a standin' on a corner

Somewhere in Arizona

And such a fright'nin' sight I see.

There's an old man there

With snow white hair

In a window looking back at me.

-- with apologies to the Eagles

There I was, waiting to cross the street in the middle of an Arizona afternoon and I find myself staring back at me from the window on the other side. Coming face to face with yourself is jarring, especially if you're not expecting it, and more especially if the reflection fails to match the image of yourself you hold in your mind.

Talk about cognitive dissonance! 

In the reflection, I see a white haired old timer with a tired expression and sizable paunch rather that the trim, alert and energetic middle aged gentleman I know myself to be. Neither does the reflection match the image of any of the many former selves I carry with me. 

Only my inner eye can discern the skinny seventeen year old farm boy, yet that boy is there.

Only my inner eye sees the proud 21 year old with his new bride, yet that young man is there too. 

All of them are there: the idealistic military officer, the dashing helicopter pilot, the father watching children grow from infants to toddlers, through grade school, preteen, high school, and college years to become responsible productive adult members of society.

The engineering professional is there, as is the proud grand father, and many others.

None of these past selves is evident in the current reflection. All are behind it, each having played an essential part in building the person represented by the image.

The image in the window? Momentarily jarring, ultimately unimportant.

What I do with the image? Thought provoking and totally important.

I can either conform my actions to the image and become as I appear, an old man quietly going to seed. Or I can challenge the image and boldly engage new knowledge and experiences, have adventures, and live above and beyond the expectations of society.

I know my choice.

How about you?

Have you ever come face to face with yourself?

What did you see?

Will you conform your life to your reflection, or boldly live beyond what is reflected? 

Reflection on Good Friday

Has darkness triumph'd?
Why call we this Friday "good",
Yet mourn our dark deeds?

Before light, darkness.
Before resurrection, death.
Before joy, mourning.

The story ends not here!
The coming triumph of Light
Makes this Friday good.

And to you my friends,

Why call ye this Friday "good",

How understand you?

The Gods of The Copybook Headings

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, school children were given notebooks in which to practice their penmanship. The top of each page was imprinted with a short proverb or maxim. Children wrote these sayings over and over by hand down the page as they practiced forming their letters.

The Copybook Headings encapsulated old fashioned common sense. Henry Ford wrote "Most of the wisdom of the world was in the copy books. The lines we used to write over and over again, the homely old maxims on which we practiced to obtain legibility of our p's and q's, were the essence of human wisdom."  (Ford Ideals, 1922)

In 1919, a 53 year old Rudyard Kipling wrote of the timeless values expressed in copybooks in his poem, The Gods of the Copybook Headings. In his poem, Kipling sets unchanging gods of the copybook headings against the temporary and mortal gods of the market place. The gods of the market place representing the gods of the here and now, the gods of temporary fads such as Dutch tulip bulbs, dot com stocks and mortgage backed securities. 

Kipling writes:

"As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die." 

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!"

What did you write over and over to practice your letters?

Did you have a copybook? 

What did the gods of the copybook headings say to you?

The Game Afoot!

It was late March. Naturally it was snowing. I stared out the window at the black and white world in front of 221B Baker Street, contemplating the swirling patterns as my friend read his newspaper.

I heard the paper rustle as it dropped to the floor.

The piercing eyes fixed on me.

"The game is afoot, Watson!" he said with excitement.

"Game, Holmes?" said I. "Of what game are you speaking? Surely you are not caught up in the March Madness."

"Not that game," said he. "I speak of the great game, the game of funding local government."

"But certainly, Holmes, our Board of Supervisors consider their annual funding exercise much too serious for it ever to be a game," said I.

"Nonetheless, Watson, it is a game." said he, "Regardless of the dedication of our esteemed Supervisors, establishing the annual spending plan and setting the tax rate is all one great game. There are rules and objectives, moves and counter moves, winners and losers."

I raised an eyebrow and was rewarded with a pained expression. An explanation would be given.

"The game is played are as follows:

County agencies submit funding requests based on what they spent last year plus reasonable growth. The objective of each agency is to maximize funding so their requests are always inflated but never so much as to be rejected out of hand."

"Staff consolidates, clarifies, and rationalizes the requests to produce a draft spending plan."

"The Board meets in a series of long, grueling and sometimes acrimonious working sessions to adjust the budget and establish the tax rate."

"Projected revenues seldom meet requested spending so the Board requests agencies trim their budgets to within some specified target."

"Then the fun begins. Agencies propose draconian cuts to popular programs and make bold appeals for public support to restore funding. Supervisors gravely warn of a crushing tax burden. Both then eagerly await the outcry of impassioned pleas from an outraged citizenry begging 'Please don't cut funding to my pet program,' and 'I will gladly pay higher taxes.'"

The Board smiles. They have achieved the victory they seek -- increased tax revenue under the political cover of an overwhelming volume of citizen requests."

"Agencies smile too. They have achieved their victory -- maximum funding with which to finance bureaucratic bloat."

"Only the taxpaying public loses."

"Egad, Holmes," said I, "That is positively sinister and cynical."

"Yes," said he. "Sinister and cynical though it be, that is how the game is played."

I looked at his paper. The headlines read. "Department of Public Education Proposes Closing Four Schools, Eliminating Freshman Sports, and Curtailing Fine Arts Programs. Appeals to Public for Support."

I was forced to agree. It's how the game is played.

How is the game played in your city, county or state?

What are the rules and objectives of the participants?

What is the sequence of moves?

Who wins and who loses?

Thank You Dr. Seuss!

This month marks the birthday of Theodor Seuss Geisel, better known as Dr.Seuss, author of children's books and creator of the Cat in the Hat, Thing One and Thing Two, Horton the Elephant, the Grinch and a host of other memorable characters.

I first heard of Dr. Seuss more than sixty years ago when I was in first grade. Our teacher, Miss Jensen, read us a fantastic story about wonderful things that might have happened on a place called Mulberry Street. She said it was written by Dr. Seuss.

In the story, a young boy walked home from school, knowing his dad would ask what he saw on the way. What he saw was a horse and cart plodding up Mulberry Street. Nothing else. Just a plain horse and cart on Mulberry Street.

But what if?

What if the horse and cart were part of a parade? And suddenly there was a parade, a fabulous parade, with bands and floats and acrobats and jugglers and a full motorcycle police escort "with Sergeant Mulvaney himself in the lead!" all described in great and and loving detail, each detail vividly illustrated, and each description ending with the statement "And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street!"

Later, I would visit McElligot's Pool beneath which "way down beneath in the muck and the murk there might be some fish who are all going "Glurk!"

I would visit the fabulous zoo of young Mister McGrue. There I would see a lion with ten legs, "a nerkel, a nerd, and a seersucker too!"

I would sit through the multiple acts at Circus McGurkus many times.

Long before there was a Cat in the Hat, a Thing One or Thing Two, I grew up with Dr. Seuss.

Dr. Seuss, or rather Thidwick, the Big Hearted Moose, taught me about sharing even when it's not convenient.

Bartholomew Cubbins, in Bartholomew and the Oobleck, taught me about unintended consequences.

I didn't realize it at the time, but Horton the Elephant taught me the importance of faithfulness and follow-through. I still hear his words "I meant what I said, and I said what I meant. An elephant's faithful, one hundred percent."

Dr. Seuss taught me to be open to new things. By the time I first experienced them in in Army, I already knew I'd like green eggs and ham. And, in the words of the book "I would eat them on a boat and I would eat them with a goat. I would eat them here and there. I would eat them anywhere."

Most importantly, Dr. Seuss taught me that other people were important, all other people. As Horton the Elephant observes in Horton Hears a Who, "A person's a person no matter how small."

And even a Grinch can be redeemed to the point he gets to carve the roast beast.

Important life lessons all.

How about you?

What lessons did you take from your childhood literature?

Which ones remain today?