I was recently tuning a piano in a new customer's home, and I couldn't help but peruse the bookshelves that were immediately above the piano as I did my work. Various interests of the household became apparent as my eyes searched the shelves - painting, photography, philosophy, war, the sea, among others.
As I was finishing up and putting away my tools, I commented to the elderly lady of the house on her fine book collection. To my amazement, she said I could help myself to whatever I wanted as she and her daughter were going to try to give them to a local library the next day. Apparently, the woman had become a widow within the last year or so, and these were her late husband's books. Another group of books nearby had to do primarily with the Navy and general maritime interests.
I fought very hard the urge to ask for a large box and to simply take the whole collection. I was proud of my self-restraint. I ended up taking five books. Two of them introduced me for the first time to Ernie Pyle, a popular columnist and World War II correspondent. The first book I read was a collection of his material entitled Here Is Your War. The other was entitled The Story of Ernie Pyle, by Lee Miller. I have recently read both books, and just prior to them had finished Ship of Ghosts, referenced before. A couple of days ago I finished Pacific Battle Line, by another WWII correspondent named Foster Hailey. Somewhere in there I also read Remember Pearl Harbor!, by Blake Clark.
I am now watching the WWII documentary Victory at Sea, which originally aired on television as a series in 1952 and '53. The presentation can be a little melodramatic even for my taste, but there are some awfully powerful and tragic images caught on film by all sides of the conflict.
Rather than go through each of these and critique them, I thought I would share the impact they have had on me taken as a whole. Basically, any romantic notion of war I have carried with me throughout my 43 years has been burned away, like the smoking ruins strewn across the deck of a bombed and torpedoed aircraft carrier. And no matter how biased an author may be (because, after all, he's cheering for his side), the tragic human toll trumps all feelings of national pride - at least in me. What is a nation but a group of people trying to dwell together in relative peace and safety? And when nations clash, who does the fighting? People. Just people who otherwise would be home with their families, living life.
My mom once said that she views the world as one giant kindergarten, a big group of kids who are trying to learn how to get along. That's probably the best summation I've heard. If only we could learn with a sense of humor, with a sense of what is just and fair, with a sense of decency, and with a sense of compassion for our fellow human being. If only world leaders could see that we're all in the same boat, on this one earth - so why spoil the fun with bombs and guns and poisoned gas? Don't they see that someone is liable to get hurt? The problem is the fact that every world leader is also a member of the kindergarten. It's hard to step outside and look in objectively. It's hard, but not impossible. It's probably easier, though, than having to scrape your friend off of the flight deck. It's probably easier than watching a burned, naked child running down the street in abject terror.
The only wars we should be fighting are those against poverty, disease, ignorance, injustice, corruption, and organized crime. In short, against anything that oppresses the human race as a whole. That's hard, too, but not impossible. And anything is better than the alternatives to ignoring such things.
It's probably safe to say that some of my feelings are being fueled by the fact that my brother will be spending the next year in the Middle East conflict. I just want him to be home with his wife and kids.