War Heroes, Relatively Speaking

My uncle Irving Heymont, retired U.S. Army colonel, WWII hero, and stern patriarch with a sense of humor you needed special genes to locate, passed away last Tuesday evening at the age of 90. I mentioned him when I replied to Mary’s post the other week about her ancestor, Major General Lord Blayney.

Irving Heymont, with my husband Scott and me, at the celebration of Irving's 90th birthday. Taken April 6, 2008 at the Museum of Jewish Heritage in NYC

We write about war (and other) heroes and heroines and how character shapes their actions and actions shape their character. What I learned from even the briefest research on my uncle is that this was very much the truth. And yet, sometimes it isn't until someone passes away and the mourners take a trip down Memory Lane and revisit the life and achievements of the deceased, that long-held myths are exploded. As a child I always thought he was “very Jewish”—as in more strictly religious than the rest of the family. And yet, I was wrong in some ways, in that he wasn’t always that way.

Among my uncle's many accomplishments is his stewardship of a Germany postwar displacement camp for Holocaust survivors. Rather than distill events and reminisces from this time in Irving Heymont’s life, I will let the witnesses and survivors speak for themselves.

Even professional Jewish soldiers recognized how powerfully the revelations of the camps influenced their own behavior. Irving Heymont of the Third US Army was placed in charge of the Landsberg displaced persons camp in September 1945. In his first speech before the inmates, the 27-year-old major articulated his identification with the Jews forced to live there. “As I speak to you tonight, I can also be called a sort of DP,” he told his audience. “We know what you suffered in the Nazi concentration camps—and not just through newspaper reports. My Regiment liberated a concentration camp.” Many years later Heymont concluded that “the few months I spent at Landsberg had a greater impact on my outlook on life than any other experience in my career, including infantry combat in both World War II and the Korean War.” Though he was unaware of it at the time, Heymont subsequently reflected that “Landsberg made me a conscious Jew again--not a religious Jew, seeking the ways of the Lord—but an affirmed member of the Jewish people.” [From an article titled: “When Jews Were GIs: World War II and the Remaking of American Jewry.”
At http://www.fathom.com/course/21701756/session4.html.]

Below are excerpts from two condolence letters from Survivors sent to Irving’s daughter, my cousin Laurie:

I could not have been happier than when I was with him and we spoke of Landsberg and the world into which I was born. His letters to your mother, of blessed memory, will have an enduring effect on the history of the Jewish Displaced Persons' camps and that period of Jewish history.

But it was more than the letters, it was your father's sense of justice and the fact that he believed that the Holocaust survivors needed to take their future into their own hands, to reestablish identities that had been taken away from them during the Holocaust years.

His few months in the Landsberg DP camp were, I believe, a turning point in Jewish history. It allowed the survivors in Landsberg, which became the spiritual and intellectual center of the concept of the “Survivng Remnant,” as they called themselves, to develop a philosophy and a vision that has finally been realized, I think, with the impact of the Holocaust on our nation and our world.

But, of course, Dad was not satisfied to sit back and accept such accolades. He then turned his attention to the generation of Germans that inherited the terrible crimes of their parents and grandparents. Dad did not judge, did not condemn, instead he asked the children and grandchildren of Landsberg to accept the responsibility of uncovering the truth of the what had happened in their town during the Holocaust years, and what they could do to make certain that it would not happen again.

Imagine, your father influenced a generation of German teachers and students to say and do “Never Again.” He was a beloved figure in Landsberg and had the respect and admiration of all.

As you know, there is a street in the former Jewish DP camp named for your father. I walked in the camp, now a vibrant apartment community . . . Your dad would not have recognized the place, except for the headquarters building where he had his office. That is still very much the same building and I know his spirit will remain a part of it.

My parents . . . arrived in Landsberg on August 22, 1945. Your dad arrived there a few weeks later. My parents remembered your father well. Because Dad was a “by the book” soldier, he sought to run the camp with a firm but fair hand. One of his beliefs was that it would be difficult to maintain control if the survivors knew he was Jewish. So he never let it be known that he was.

My father remembered your father as the “non-Jewish officer with a Jewish heart.” And it was that Jewish heart that identified your Dad and will forever be a part of his legacy.

Abraham J. Peck
Director, Academic Council for Post-Holocaust Christian, Jewish and Islamic Studies; University of Southern Maine

And:


. . . Your father . . .played such an important part in of our destiny after our liberation by the US forces at the end of World War Two. We were children of the Holocaust who were told by the Nazis that we were sub human vermin. Our self esteem as Jews was non existant. Then we met your father who was in charge of our camp in Landsberg. He was the first Jewish American officer [it was not until a speech my uncle made to some of the Landsberg camp survivors decades later that he admitted his Judaism] and we thought of him as someone who came down from Olympus. Especially of what the Nazis kept telling us how worthless we are.

Your father's appearance lifted us out from the abyss of Nazi hell and began restoring our lost dignity as human beings and Jews. Besides taking care of our material needs in the camp, he gave us a spiritual lift up that we will remember as long as we live. During the post war years and later in Israel we reestablished contact with him and met several times here in Israel and in Washington DC. He became such a good friend not only because he was such a “Mensch,” but because we always remembered him as the symbol of the Jewish men and women who served in the allied armies to defeat the “fiend-Hitler.”

We remember him at Landsberg tall, impeccably dressed in an American army officer's uniform. He held an emotional address [years later] which brought tears to our eyes. “As I speak to you tonight, I can also be called a sort of DP.,Landsberg made me a conscious Jew again—not a religious Jew, seeking the ways of the Lord—but an affirmed member of the Jewish people,.” he said.

Most of us DP’s left Landsberg for Israel where we fought in the War of Independence restoring not only our dignity but our ancient homeland, and helped building it up from a pauper state to what it is today, a proud strong state. We achieved what no other country ever achieved. From a tiny country without any natural resources, with barely 600,000 inhabitants we managed to absorb millions of penniless Jewish refugees from around the world and build up the country to what it is today and that despite five brutal wars in which the combined Arab armies tried to destroy us. We, Holocaust survivors formed an important part of that restoration and we, our children and grand children are part of the back bone of the country.

It was your father who showed us the way and we thank him for it. We shall never forget him.

Solly Ganor

Uncle Irving would be both shocked and pleased that alibris is selling a copy of his Among the Survivors of the Holocaust, 1945: the Landsberg DP Camp Letters of Major Irving Heymont, for $300! I have to confess that I’ve never read them, but my understanding is that they contain numerous letters to my aunt Joan, Irving’s wife—and in many ways the letters tell a love story between the two of them as much as they illustrate the glimmer of light at the end of one of history’s darkest tunnels.

Who are your personal heroes among your ancestors or nearer relations? Who among them has caused you to look deeper at and/or be prouder of your identity? Whose innate character and/or actions have influenced or catalyzed your own?

What did the simple folk do?

I’m a history nut, I admit it. Lately I’ve been reading ancient history (Mesopotamia, Egypt, the Persian Empire, etc.). For thousands of years in the Middle East, ever since the Sumerians settled between the Tigris and Euphrates river and ancient Egypt recognized a need to protect trade routes and control the Fertile Crescent, armies have been invading the flat, invitingly fertile lands of what is now Egypt, Iran, Syria, Palestine, and Israel.

Such conquering forces were seeking a better life and they attained it by force. The Semitic Assyrians overran the peaceful non-Semitic Sumerian civilization, which fell to the Babylonians, which succumbed to the Assyrians... and on and on until by the 14th century B.C. three empires controlled the area now termed the Middle East: Egypt, the Hittites (Syria), and the Assyrians. Ever since then, the maps of the Middle East have been constantly redrawn as various kings jockeyed for power.

Every nation wanted to survive, and war was the path. That meant constant relocation of peoples – or worse, subjection by force or annihilation as their leaders struggled to protect themselves economically and militarily.

But the other day I was admiring a miniature gold sculpture (Persian, 4th C. B.C.) of a chariot and four horses when I suddenly wondered: in the midst of the destruction of armies and cities, what did the “little guys” do when they were caught in the middle of rampaging armies?

Mostly they were slaughtered or enslaved.

One great conqueror, the Persian Cyrus the Great, thought about this as well. When he conquered the Babylonian Empire (and almost everything else from Afghanistan to Libya), he developed the world’s first charter of civil rights. This was a series of decrees incised on a round clay cylinder, now known as the Cyrus Cylinder. (The original resides in the British Museum; a copy is displayed at the United Nations.)

The Cyrus Cylinder (note the date--539 B.C.!) has three main premises: (1) establishment of racial, linguistic, and religious equality among the peoples of the Empire; (2) directing that slaves and all deported peoples (particularly the Jews) be allowed to return to their homeland rather than be massacred or treated as slaves or second-class citizens; and (3) restoration of all destroyed temples of the various religions.

The following day a news article on the killing of civilians in Gaza sparked my interest; this article included a quotation from what is now termed Modern International Law, which reads in part: “International humanitarian law places no prohibition of fighting in urban, but requires parties to take care to spare the civilian populace.”

It has been 2,500 years since the Cyrus charter of human rights was written.

Stories that Cry Out for Discussion

My friend and fellow writer Penny Williamson and I spent a wonderful afternoon Saturday at a party of Dorothy Dunnett readers (that's Penny and me left in Edinburgh, on a trip where we went to a Dunnett-related conference). Dunnett readers tend to be a fun, well-read, and extraordinarily nice group of people. Over tea and wine and a delicious array of food Saturday we talked about books by Dunnett and others as well as favorite television series.

There’s something about Dunnett’s books that particularly lends them to discussion and analysis. They’re so complex and multi-layered. The books aren’t mysteries, but there are mysteries running through both the Lymond Chronicle and the House of Niccoló which provide endless food for debate and speculation. Even now both series are finished, plenty of unresolved questions remain. Add to that vivid historical context, rich literary allusions, and a fascinating cast of characters, and it’s hard to read Dunnett and not want to talk about the books. As we discussed at the party Saturday, in the dark ages before the internet, we all had long lists of questions we wanted to pour over with other Dunnett readers. For a long time, the only other Dunnett reader I knew was my mom. We would discuss and debate the books all the time. Penny and I first became friends because we both loved Dunnett books. We’d spend long lunches talking over the Lymond Chronicle and debating what might happen next in the House of Niccoló.

Through my Dunnett friends, I’m also involved in a discussion group of Dunnett readers who watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer (you’d be amazed at the parallels ). Leaving the party Saturday, I found myself pondering what it is about certain stories that seem to particularly lend themselves to discussion. Ongoing story arcs are a big part of it, so book and television series both lend themselves to reader and viewer discussions, online and in person. Dunnett's series and BVTS both have complicated, ongoing stories, with plenty of questions about who’s real agenda is what, who will end up with whom, how characters may have been related to other characters in the past, and a host of other mysteries. Not to mention books, episodes, and seasons that end with nerve-wracking cliff hangers.

Another important element is characters one comes to care about and root for. Sometimes, particularly when there are romantic triangles, the rival merits of the characters becomes a topic of discussion. I recall a number of debates over Gelis verus Kathi in the House of Niccoló or Angel versus Spike on BVTS.

The X-Files and Alias also lend themselves to discussion , as does Lost (I’m watching last week’s episode as I write this and will probably have to rewatch it to make sure I didn’t miss a vital clue). I think the more a series, television or book, has an going mytharc (to use an X-Files term), with story and character development that extends from episode to episode or book to book, the more it becomes something one doesn't watch/read and enjoy but something one wants to talk about and explore. The mystery series I talk about the most with fellow readers may wrap up the central mystery within a book but the continuing characters have plenty of ongoing issues that stretch from book to book. Elizabeth George’s Lynley/Havers series, Laurie King’s Mary Russell series, and C.S. Harris’s Sebastian St. Cyr series all come to mind. When I finish one of the books, I inevitably want to talk about it (particularly the in the case of the recent George and Harris books which left lots of unresolved questions). Though they aren’t mysteries, but the same is true of Lauren's Pink Carnation series. There are always questions that linger at the end book, whether it’s about the identity of villains, Colin and Eloise, or the Pink Carnation herself.

Another thing all these series have in common is vivid, richly-detailed world-building, whether it’s Dunnett's 15th and the 16th century Europe and beyond, suburban Sunnydale, Mulder & Scully’s conspiracy-rife FBI, Sydney Bristow’s CIA and the Alliance, an island that moves back and forth in time (and goodness knows what else), Lynley & Havers’s Scotland Yard, Holmes & Russell’s 20s Britain and beyond filled with puzzles and adventures, Sebastian St. Cyr’s dark Regency London, or the Pink Carnation's adventure-filled Napoleonic Europe. They’re all worlds I enjoy visiting, filled with characters I enjoy spending time with.

Do you have favorite series, whether literary or on television, that lend themselves particularly to discussion? Do you seek out friends to talk them over with? What elements in series do you find particularly good topics for analysis?

The Romance of the Canopy Bed: Well, sorta

Surfing again, researching life in the 1500's for a new WIP and I came across this interesting bit on canopy beds. I've always wanted one...so much for the romance. ;-)

CANOPY BEDS

In the middle ages and earlier, there was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded protection. That's how canopy beds came into existence.

Canopy beds actually date back to 13th century Europe. In most castles and manor houses and in some town dwellings, materials such as wood, clay tiles and stone were used for roofing. All served even better than thatch to "stop things from falling into the house." Poor peasant folk, who were the most likely to suffer the annoyances brought about by an ill-kept thatch roof, commonly slept on straw pallets on the floor or in a loft. They did not have canopy beds to keep out falling dead wasps and rat droppings.

Wealthier people didn't need canopies to keep out things that dropped from the roof; yet wealthy people such as noble lords and ladies or prosperous burghers did have beds with canopies and curtains. Why? Because the canopy beds used in medieval England and Europe have their origins in an entirely different domestic situation.

In the earliest days of the European castle, the lord and his family slept in the great hall, along with all their servants. The noble family's sleeping area was usually at one end of the hall and was separated from the rest by simple curtains. In time, castle builders constructed separate chambers for the nobility, but though lords and ladies had their bed(s) to themselves, attendants might share the room for convenience and security. For the sake of warmth as well as privacy, the lord's bed was curtained, and his attendants slept on simple pallets on the floor, on trundle beds, or on benches.

A knight or lady's bed was large and wood-framed, and its "springs" were interlaced ropes or leather strips upon which a feather mattress would rest. It had sheets, fur coverlets, quilts and pillows, and it could be fairly easily dismantled and transported to other castles when the lord made a tour of his holdings. Originally, curtains were hung from the ceiling, but as the bed evolved, a frame was added to support a canopy, or "tester," from which the curtains hung.
Similar beds were welcome additions to town homes, which weren't necessarily warmer than castles. And, as in matters of manners and dress, prosperous town-folk emulated the nobility in the style of furnishings used in their homes."

I still want a canopy bed, though. Never had one when I was a little girl and now....well, it's still on my wish list, decades later. Who else out there had one/has one?

Where this info came from and more, see:
http://flyinggopher.com/1500.html

Tolpuddle Martyrs

God is our guide! from field, from wave, From plough, from anvil, and from loom; We come, our country's rights to save, And speak a tyrant faction's doom: We raise the watch-word liberty; We will, we will,we will be free!

After the amazing posts of the past few weeks--inspiration from movies, exotic family stories and the rest--I'm bringing us back down to earth with a solid thump.

Today's the anniversary of the day in 1834 when the Tolpuddle Martyrs were sentenced to seven years transportation for daring to form a trade union. And, no, I didn't make that name up--it's a village in Dorset, about seven miles from Dorchester, which is justly proud of the Martyrs, whose sentencing, pardon and return (well, most of them returned) is considered the founding of the English trade union movement. There's a museum in the village dedicated to them and a yearly festival in their honor.

The irony of the Toldpuddle martyrs is that what they were doing--the formation of the Friendly Society of Agricultural Labourers--wasn't even illegal at this date. The Combination Act had been repealed in 1825. And god knows they had a desperate need to protect themselves, bringing home a starvation wage of nine shillings a week in 1830, lowered over the next four years to seven shillings with a further reduction to six shillings in the future. The rapidly-growing organization stated they wanted ten shillings a week. Just to give you an idea of the extreme poverty of these laborers, it was estimated that the average rural household spent nine shillings a week on bread, the staple food of the working poor.

The nervous Whig gentry drew upon an obscure law of 1797 originally created to prevent mutiny in the navy, making the swearing of pledges of loyalty illegal, and the six men were brought to trial at the Dorchester Assizes. There they were sentenced to transportation, blatantly as an example to others, and became popular heroes.

In 1836, with the support of a new Home Secretary, Lord John Russell, and in response to public pressure, they were pardoned, and four of them returned to England. Only one of the six, James Hammett, went back to Tolpuddle, where he died in 1891. Three others emigrated to London, Ontario, where their descendants still live.

The tree pictured in the engraving above, and beneath which the first meeting of the Martyrs took place, still stands--according to a fascinating page of the National Trust site dedicated to historic trees, it's a sycamore that is over four hundred years old.

Extraordinarily, these men--or some of them--were literate. You can read their first hand accounts of their arrests, trial, and life in Australia at tolpuddlemartyrs.online-today.co.uk.

I find so much about the story heroic and touching, not the least of which is the power of words and language--the stanza at the beginning of the post was scribbled on a scrap of paper by George Loveless shortly after they were sentenced. I'm reminded of how much about Georgian-Regency England, beyond the glitter and fabulous clothes and elegance, was so heart-breaking and hard and pitiless.

I guess my rule when I'm writing is always to keep it in mind, if not on the actual page. How do you handle it? Does it worry you?

And I'm over at the Riskies today, or later today, talking about ... something possibly related to this. Or not.

Love in Subtext

One of the things I love about the blogosphere is the way a post and the attendant discussion can inspire another post and create a rich conversation among readers and writers. My post about The Privileged Class Enjoying Its Privileges was inspired by a wonderful post of Pam's. Pam’s post a couple of weeks ago took off on the 1930s romantic comedies I’d mentioned in my post and as she said social class and escapist glitter in the Depression-era movie, The Philadelphia Story.

My thoughts also drifted to The Philadelphia Story after some wonderful follow up comments on my post. I got out my video and watched the movie for the umpteenth time. It’s been one of my favorites since I first saw it at the age of ten. Even before that, I’d read and loved the Philip Barry play on which it is based. What struck me watching this time is how, in a movie that says a great deal about love and types of love and in which who will end up with whom is an open question, Tracy and Dexter’s love story is almost entirely in subtext. They talk about their past, but they don’t talk about their present feelings until the very end of the movie, when he proposes. And even that is indirect. Tracy is announcing to the assembled wedding guests that she and her fiancé have called off the wedding. She asks Dexter what to say next, and he feeds her the lines a speech saying that two years ago I did you out of wedding in this house and I hope to make it up to you by going through with it now as originally planned. Even their brief exchange afterwards doesn’t contain any “I’ve always loved yous”, but the words they do use (”Are you sure?” “Not in the least; but I’ll risk it–will you?” “Oh–I’ll be yare now–I’ll promise to be yare!” “Be whatever you like, you’re my Redhead.”) are somehow more meaningful.

One of my favorite Georgette Heyers, The Grand Sophy, is similar in that hero’s and heroine’s feelings are not expressed either in dialogue or, this being a novel, in inner monologue. Sophy and Charles spar from their first meeting. Perhaps the closest we get to a window into Charles’s feelings is the moment when he looks at Sophy across his young sister’s sickbed as though a thought, blinding in its novelty, had occurred to him. Charles does ask Sophy to marry him but even then neither says “I love you” in so many words. In fact his proposal is Will you marry me, vile and abominable girl that you are? and her reply is Yes, but, mind, it is only to save my neck from being wrung!

I first read The Grand Sophy at about the same age I first saw The Philadelphia Story. I remember reading the scenes between Sophy and Charles over and over, trying to tease out who felt what when, trying to decipher clues to their emotions (just as I would look for clues to Tracy’s and Dexter’s feelings whenever I saw The Philadelphia Story). Much as I love Heyers like Venetia and Frederica, in which there is much more exploration of the characters’ feelings, there’s something fascinating about a story in which so much is unexpressed.

Writing this blog, I tried to think of other stories in which the romance develops without the feelings being verbalized. Mulder and Scully’s love story unfolds without the words being spoken and without the viewer even being quite sure what is happening when. Yet the clues are there when you rewatch the episodes (one of the things I love about rewatching Seasons 6 and 7 in particular). Mulder’s I don’t want to risk–losing you in Requiem (the Season 7 finale) is much more powerful than a more explicit declaration of feeling.

Thinking back to my Declarations, Resolutions, & Other Heart-Stopping Moments post, Gil and Ingold in Barbara Hambly's Darwath Trilogy don’t express their feelings until that last scene where Gil asks Ingold if he wants her to stay with him. Their feelings for each other are more palpable than Charles’s and Sophy’s but expressed in gestures and often as much in what is not said as in what is said. The same is true of Holmes and Russell in Laurie King's Mary Russell books. The books are first person, so the reader is privy to more of Russell’s feelings than in some of other stories mentioned. But Russell and Holmes never express those feelings to each other. And Holmes finds a way to propose without putting any of it into words (You do realize how potentially disastrous this whole thing is? I am old and set in my ways. I will give you little affection and a great deal of irritation, though heaven knows you’re aware of how difficult I can be). Neither has said “I love you” to the other through the eight books of the series thus far. Though Holmes’s behavior in those books perhaps contradicts his claim that he would give Russell “little affection and a great deal of irritation.” In fact, to me one of the most romantic lines in the series was in Locked Rooms in which he says (don’t have my copy in front of me so I’m paraphrasing) that he doesn’t think the the sun rising in the west would cause his heart to stop but The sight of my wife going over the rail of a ship might have done the trick however.

My own Charles and Mélanie don’t often verbalize their feelings (in fact one reader on my website asked if I ever intended to dramatize the moment where they first say "I love you" to each other). Neither says “I love you" in Beneath a Silent Moon, including in the final scene. Charles instead tells Mel he “needs her” which somehow seemed a stronger declaration to me in that moment. They do say “I love you” in the first chapter of Secrets of a Lady (before their happy jewel box life completely falls apart) but even then it’s with the slightly embarrassed acknowledgment that the words can seem a cliché (Will it sounds hopelessly redundant if I say I love you too?). Charles tells Mel he loves her again, late in the book, but the words are clipped, almost harsh, wrung out of him by extreme emotion (as is his first declaration of love in a vignette I posted recently on my website). Charles and Mélanie talk in code more than verbalizing their feelings directly. In that, I suspect I was influenced by many of the stories discussed in this post.

What do you think of love stories in which the romance is expressed in subtext? Do you like them or do you prefer more explicit declarations? Writers, do you find characters who only admit their feelings in code easier or more difficult to write than characters who express their feelings more freely?

Song of My (groan) Self

What makes me weep
And tear my hair?
Gnash my teeth
And scream and swear?

What is the cause
Of such a mess--
Of feeling dumb
And worse distress?

Deliver me from wimpy verbs,
Fragments and elaborate puns.
Save my spirit and my brain
OH, RESCUE ME FROM THESE REVISIONS!


Are any of you cursed with this?