Doing Book Readings Is Not Always Predictable

Have been doing a lot of radio and TV interviews for the book, and some personal appearances as well -- book readings / signings. 

Of the latter, there was a special one last week, a fundraising event for a library organization and literacy fund. It was a warmly welcoming crowd and I spoke (with their apparent approval) for almost an hour, telling some of the stories from the book and reading excerpts as well. I had no plan as I began but tried to be sensitive to what the people were wanting. How intent and solemn should I get, when break the mood with humor. It was a fascinating exercise. Ups and downs, laughter and, a couple of times a few brimming tears. 

For example, I had no idea how I was going to conclude the presentation. Hadn’t planned that at all. But it planned itself. 

I was reading a story from the Vietnam writings in the book, a tale that -- just recalling it again, so burned it is in my mind -- I found myself losing composure a bit. It was a remembrance of a village of Vietnamese who had taken refuge underground as the largest battle of the war to that point was waged directly above them -- the bombs and mortars and gunshots for days after days. And the innocent villagers hid in their tunnels and caves underground not daring to emerge as long as the battle went on. And it sent on and went on. The people below had not brought much with them. And so there was first hunger and then worse. And that by the time the warring had subsided overhead and the villagers of Van Truong were sure it was safe to emerge from hiding, only a few us Americans were still there to witness their return. 

There was one man clutching his precious baby daughter, climbing up out of a hole, blinking into the blinding light of a free day and, clearly he was very hungry. A GI opened cans from his own rations and fed the man. It was sadly apparent that it was much too late for his baby. All a GI could offer for her was his own poncho to serve as the child’s burial shroud. Another GI used his entrenching tool to scratch out a shallow grave for the daughter and helped the father lay her to rest. Just one more casualty of the war but one I will never forget. Nor will I allow myself to forget the moment one of the marines, completing the burial, brought himself to attention, saluted over the grave, and then, bowing his head, said a prayer. He said a prayer.

I just stood there.

To this day, I hate that I just stood there. 

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That was the end of my speech.