The other day I was thinking of a new way I might promote my book, Boot: A Sorta Novel of Vietnam. My youngest daughter, a self-proclaimed computer Guru, said, “Pop, you’re pretty damn good at marketing, about the only thing you haven’t tried is bumper stickers.” Bumper stickers, I am thinking to myself, they work pretty good for politicians and whales. So, my daughter and I set off to FayetteNam to one of those chain print stores to check out designing and printing bumper stickers. Normally, I’m much more frugal with my money, I still have the first dollar I ever made (a 1957 Silver Certificate signed by Priest and Anderson I earned mowing my neighbor’s yard with an old rotary mower), but my book is having a good year. I sold over a hundred books in 2020, why, heck, that’s almost 2 books a month! My friends tell me that it’s doing better than most self-published books but it ain’t ever going to be a run-a-way best seller. Shoot, a young man could have a pretty good time with that kind of money.

So, we get to the print shop and start looking around. I see a bumper sticker that says ‘Honk, if you love Jesus.’ Well, the old creative juices start flowing and I’m thinking, That worked pretty good for Jesus, I hear people honking all the time, wonder how that would work for Boot. So, after some haggling with my daughter, the word smith, we finally decided on ‘Honk! If you’ve read Boot.’ I wanted it to say, ‘Honk if you love Boot.’ My daughter convinced me that it was more important to know who read it than who loved it. “Besides,” she said, “We don’t care if they love it, as long as they buy a copy. That’s the American Way, pop. The code of Sam Walton and Jeff Bezos.” So, this big ol’ smile of parental pride spreads itself across my face, I’m thinking, Dagnabbit, I have raised a genius daughter. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my wife about our brilliant daughter. So, after an acceptable amount of time haggling with the clerk over the colors and size, etc., we were ready to make our purchase…..

When I do Good, I feel Good

And

When I do Bad, I feel Bad.

That is my religion.

- attributed to Abraham Lincoln

In 2005 we were visiting different schools around the Northeast where our daughter was auditioning for various music programs. While we were in Baltimore visiting the Peabody Institute, I had a birthday. So we drove down to Washington, D.C. It was something I had wanted to do for a long time because I had not been there since 1970, and I had heard that a lot of changes had taken place. In 1970 Washington D.C. was not a very attractive city, right up there with Bagdad. Certain areas of town were off-limits to young Marines and anyone else who enjoyed breathing. In the back of my mind somewhere, I really wanted to visit the 'Wall' honoring the more than 58,000 who died or were missing in Viet Nam. Eventually, we got around to the reflecting pool, and the three of us began our walking tour. We started at the WW II monument and worked our way along the south side of the reflecting pool to the Korean War monument. The WW II guys either had better lobbyists, or it was a more prestigious war to serve in because their monument beat the Korean memorial all to hell. Hey, but what do I know about monuments?

Then we walked up the steps to the Lincoln Memorial. Now, THERE is a monument! We stopped on the landing about halfway up and asked my daughter, Cat, if she knew what famous American had once spoken here. She looked at me as if I had dog poop on my head. "Dad, everyone knows that. It was Forrest Gump!" Aha, I says to myself, this girl's education is starting to pay off. Actually, we had a good laugh about it and then talked for a while about Dr. King's speech on our way into the memorial. If it was built to inspire and awe, then it certainly achieved its purpose. It was totally silent inside and provided a mood for meditation and reflection. We spent a few moments silently reflecting on Lincoln's words, then became distracted by some rather large woman from Iowa whose underwear must not have fit her properly. We walked outside, and I wondered to myself who else had spoken from the steps of this memorial? Probably some Punk Rock group.

We walked over to the Viet Nam Veteran's Memorial. Still, when I saw all these fat guys in motorcycle jackets crying into their hankies and having their pictures taken with some Asian tourists, I thought to myself, another time. My memories of those I served with are just as fresh today as they ever were. I try to honor them by the life I lead and the example I set. Hope they don't mind that I didn't want to 'wail' on their wall. But I must admit, it was the coolest of all the memorials, not the most expensive, but the coolest. Eat your hearts out, Korean vets, you didn't get diddly. Where they will put the Iraq/Afghanistan Memorial is a question congress should be thinking about. I'm sure it will be the largest, gaudiest yet. Constitution gardens seem like an appropriate place, and it's not very far away.

But then it occurs to me, how strange it is for the President who presided over America's Civil War (or as President Trump likes to say, the War of Northern Aggression), who hated war and violence, to be presiding over war memorials. Now, don't get me wrong, I think we need war memorials. If they provide even a modicum of consolation for families who have lost loved ones in defense of their country, whether history judges the war justified or not, then they are worth it.

But it seems to me that it would be much more appropriate for the Lincoln Memorial to overlook The WW II Children's Hospital and the Korean Cancer Center, and the Viet Nam Cultural Heritage Museum. Based on everything I have been able to consume about Mr. Lincoln, these would be much more fitting memorials.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RI-l0tK8Ok0

You Tube

If you live to be one hundred, you've got it made.

Very few people die past that age. - George Burns

Why is it our children are continually complaining that we are 'too old' to understand, then with the next breath telling us to grow up? More than likely, they are going through that phase where nothing we do is right! Of course, I never complained as a young adult (wink, wink, nod, nod), so it is difficult for me to understand where they are coming from. But for a moment, let's focus on people who are growing older, say past sixty at least. (Of course, this won't make much sense to a 15-year-old who thinks a 25-year-old is over-the-hill or a 25-year-old who thinks 35 is ancient!) What is it that gives folks like those in the video such a passion for life at age ninety, while we all know people who act like they may not make through tomorrow and are only fifty? Is it nature or nurture or some combination of the two? There are older folks I love to be around because of their positive outlook on life and the zeal they have for adventure. My wife belonged to a book club where she was the youngest member. The rest of the group was in their 70's and 80's. This group of women enjoyed every minute of every day, and when they got together, they knew how to party. After a book review, they loved to share a glass of wine or two or three and could quickly go through two cases of Chardonnay. They broke all the familiar stereotypes of old people.

Stereotype 1 - Old people smell bad.

Not that I have noticed. Rest Homes smell bad, basketball games smell bad, motorcyclists, babies, homeless people, congressmen, garbage dumps (P.C: Landfills), anyone in an occupation that requires strenuous outdoor physical activity, and young people that think it is healthy to bathe only once a month smell bad. To generalize that all old people smell bad is grossly inaccurate. O-o-o-o-oh, what is that smell? Do you have mothballs in your pocket?

Dulce et Decorum non Est …

Bill McCloud's iconic collection of poetry in his book, The Smell of the Light, will engulf the reader in a war of conflicting thoughts and emotions. The poems are based on fifty-two letters that Bill wrote home while he was in Vietnam. We become traveling companions with Bill as he engages us in this mind-manifesting odyssey to Vietnam. Bill shares with us his humanity as he describes the unimaginable horrors of war and the tedious quotidian routine of life in the Army.

Bill paints his images in visuals that are relatable and easy to conjure up in your mind. In his poem 'Peace,' he takes a common peace symbol and turns it into an ironic metaphor about the military's outlook on peace in a time of war. Essentially, someone steals a peace symbol from his locker, and he searches everywhere for the missing jewelry. He concludes:

'I figured he'd be pretty easy to spo

But I never saw a soldier

Advertising for peace

At Fort Gordon Georgia'

'Peace' is beautifully written verse that leaves interpretation of the tongue-in-cheek conclusion up to the reader.

This collection of poetry about the war in Vietnam pokes rapid-fire holes in the enduring myth that war is somehow a 'glorious' thing, like a machine gun with a cardboard target. In 'April Fool's,' Bill explains why he no longer celebrates April Fool's Day. Again, Bill takes an ordinary object, April Fool's Day, and reveals to us a whole new way of looking at it. The reader's perceptions are forever altered. On April first of each year I have left in this life, I will think of the cruelty and dark humor soldiers in combat use to hide their frailties and sense of humanity. I will also contemplate how fortunate I am to be able to read this insightful poetry by a soldier who not only maintained his humanity in war but was able to share with us a small slice of his soul.

These poems are a reflection of a young man's life laid out on a continuum we call space and time. Bill's journey of self-discovery and finding meaning in his life, in his surreal surroundings, mirror Bill's heart and humanity. His very soul. Of all of Bill's poems, I grew most attached to 'Eating Glass.' I sought Bill's permission to use it in my novel, Boot: A Sorta Novel of Vietnam, because it symbolized the difficulty of understanding and articulating human emotion. (You can read the poem here: https://emerge-writerscolony.org/eating-glass/.) I was so enamored of Bill's poetry that I asked for six more poems, and he graciously acceded to my request.

David Willson, who writes Book Reviews for the Vietnam Veterans of America, said, "This book of Vietnam War poetry sits very near the top of the heap." David, I agree with you one hundred percent. I highly recommend this book.

If it Tastes like Chicken …

Let me state unequivocally that Utopia Avenue by David Mitchell is the best literature I have read, thus far, in 2020. In fact, it is the best book I have read since Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens. In this reviewer's opinion, it is David Mitchell's best work since Cloud Atlas. I would venture to say that Utopia exhibits a literary sophistication that far surpasses the Cloud. Mitchell's ability to weave an intricate tale and draw us into the narrative is almost supernatural. Being a writer, I know that it has taken Mitchell years of study and many moons of grinding away at the keyboard, editing, revising, editing, and rewriting to pull off a literary work of this magnitude.

The story revolves around the exegesis of the rock and roll revolution taking place in England in the late 1960s, through the eyes of individual band members of Mitchell's fictional band Utopia Avenue. The band's main characters are about as disparate as any other band playing rock and roll then or now. Each member is fundamentally a virtuoso on his/her respective instrument(s), and each has worked in different groups. How they are brought together is as vital to the story as to how they interact, grow, and flourish as musicians and songwriters. The group is formed almost as an accident, as were many of the bands in this era of musical reformation and metamorphosis.

Music appears to be essential to life in many of Mitchell's stories, and in Utopia Avenue, it serves as a powerful force for triggering introspection. Not just ours, but members of the band. For example, when the crew discusses a name for themselves:

"'Utopia' means 'no place.' An avenue is a place. So is music. When we are playing well, I'm here, but elsewhere, too. That's the paradox. Utopia is unattainable. Avenues are everywhere." (Utopia Avenue p. 61)

The paradox of the band's name is a powerful symbol of band's music, as we discover how they write their songs and where each band members' respective inspiration is derived.

When we reach a point in the story where we are asking ourselves 'How did that happen?' or 'Why did Elf do that?' or 'Is Jasper nuts?', Mitchell subtly leads us to an explanation. We want to know what happens next, but we also desire to understand why things are the way they are.

If you are old enough, Utopia Avenue will flood your mind with memories of a different time. A time filled with music coming out of at least one garage on every block here in America. And if you are young enough, you can appreciate the technology that continues to develop and expand our ability to create beautiful harmonies and wordplay. It is without reservation that I highly recommend Utopia Avenue.

I am throwing this out there for the folks that are so reactionary on social media. To give them something to think about. Let’s say that you are a teacher in a classroom of 9 and 10-year-olds. The bathroom monitor grabs a student who was apparently misbehaving and holds them on the floor with a knee on the student’s neck until the student passes out. “Oh, that would never happen,” you say. But let’s say it did, and the community is in an uproar about and wants answers. But the bathroom monitor’s organization (BMO) stands with their member and claims the monitor is a really nice person that got carried away in the heat of the moment. The BMO flood the social media with photos of bathroom monitors with American Flag patches on their arms, helping little children across the street, finding lost kittens for children, and passing out coats and school supplies. The next thing you know social media is flooded with stories about how wonderful the BMOs are, and they should not all be condemned for the actions of few. Many even ask, “Where was the teacher?”

The Nine and Ten-year-olds all across America get organized and start marching on the schools to demand more training for BMOs and stricter policies regarding their behaviors. They even form a Young Lives Matter organization (YLM). The National Organization of Benevolent Bathroom Monitors gets involved. The next thing you know, photoshopped pictures of Elementary Schools being vandalized are all over social media. Slogans like ‘YLM’ and ‘BMs are Mean’ appear on school doors. Different groups start fundraisers online to repair the vandalism. The media finds out it’s a hoax and reports it on page 13 of whatever newspapers are still in existence. The fundraisers continue. Cute pictures appear on social media of John Wayne defending the much-abused BMs.

As absurd as this story is, it mirrors the irrational reactions I have seen all over social media after the murder of George Floyd. Everything from photoshopped pictures of national monuments being defaced (which keep cropping up, the photos that will never die) by ‘those commie Black Lives Matter kids,’ photos of the police doing all the things they should be doing like, helping little old ladies across the street, and taking a baby that can’t breathe to an emergency room, you know, the kinds of things we love the police for doing, protecting and serving their communities.

And when social media does not seem to have the influence to stop the protests? Why, now is the time to run the American Flag up the pole. That will certainly distract everyone from demanding that ALL people be treated equally under the law. Playing the ‘Patriot’ card is a distraction that still seems to work.

Is there a solution to the insane divisiveness that divides our country? Quite possibly, IMHO. A solution is something we will look at in Part Two.

Until Next Time,

I Remain,

Just another Zororastafarian ‘trying to get by on being quiet and shy,’ but still slows down when he sees a police car…

On my Facebook author page, https://www.facebook.com/CharlesLTempleton/, I use a variety of photoshopped images. These images are photoshopped to 1) change the context and meaning of the image, 2) capture the imagination of the viewer, 3) attempt to provide some humor, but the primary reason for photoshopping, is to 4) promote my debut novel, Boot: A Sorta Novel of Vietnam. So, are all the photos on my Facebook page photoshopped? That depends on what you mean by photoshop. A photo has been photoshopped if it has been manipulated or enhanced in any way. This could mean, cropping the photo to make it fit on Facebook, or changing the hue or brightness of the photo to enhance its looks. Also, there are many photos that I borrow for reuse. Do I check to see if these photos have been photoshopped? Not always. Like the photo for this blog, is it real?