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Dept. of Holy Days
Once Again, I Remember.
There are thousands upon thousands of men and women across the country's military branches who have given their lives in defense of the nation, or as victims of the country's necessary and unnecessary wars. This day is complicated, especially for someone who grew up in Canada, where solemn remembrance of such losses are marked on Nov. 11.
Over the years, I've come to mark Memorial Day in two ways. I honor those people, so many of them young, who gave the last full measure of devotion in wars. And I also remember people who I lost. So here are two essays I wrote in previous years.
*** *** ***
Memorial Day: It's Complicated
Memorial Day in the United States is officially a time to recall and honor the men and women of the military who have died in service to their country.
These days, I'm not sure what "in service to their country" means. There are too many examples of wars - both official and unofficial - that in truth were not prosecuted to protect this country.
The days of the Second World War, the only recent war I can think of that can reasonably be called a necessary war, are long gone. In some ways I think we have returned to the days of the First World War, which was simply a toxic stew of nationalistic ambitions and power grabs. Only now, the wars that have been prosecuted over the last 55-60 years, at least by the so-called First World, are, when one digs down far enough, the results of murderously ideological experiments or callous economic decisions undertaken by corporate apologists.
None of that has anything to do with the men and women, almost all of them young, who put on uniforms and went where their country told them to go, and died in the process. They are the people for whom Memorial Day should be commemorated.
War is horrific, and transforms people in terrible ways. I have no doubt that there were men and women who died in U.S. wars who did horrible things before they died. But I believe that more men and women in the U.S. military tried to do their duty with as much humanity as possible, in situations where humanity was at a premium.
So here is what Memorial Day is, for me.
A time to weep for, honor, and remember all the dead who served in the U.S. military and who fought in the Great Necessary War.
A time to weep for, honor, and remember the dead who served in the horrifically unnecessary wars that followed, for unnecessary reasons; indeed, a time to weep for and remember all those who served in those unnecessary conflicts.
A time to weep for and remember the men and women who war transformed into monsters.
A time to condemn the generals, and chiefs of staff, and White House advisers, and White House occupants that made decisions that led to those deaths and to those monstrous transformations.
Some believe that war will always be with us. I fear they may be right. Until that is no longer the case, I will continue to weep for, honor, and remember, those who died wearing this country's uniform.
*** *** ***
I Remember: A Personal Memorial Day
Janet Sears; close friend in my early newspaper days. Sweet-faced, wryly-sardonic woman whose laugh I can still hear, as she nursed me through a broken heart, as we shared musical tastes and made fun of the men who broke our hearts. Janet's sweetness concealed a tough determination to control her life, which came in handy, because her life was a tough ride. Died of cervical/ovarian cancer in the late 1990s. I kind of loved her, and I miss her.
Mary McAndrew: newswoman extraordinaire, poker player, sardonic to the point of being frightening. How amazing was she? This amazing. I'll always be grateful to her for introducing me to percogesic, an amazingly effective over-the-counter anti-headache medicine, which no longer exists. Died of cancer in 1999. I respected the hell out of her, and I liked her and I miss her.
Ed Sunden: unforgettable, unbearable and unbearably wonderful. Brilliant, over-the-top, horrid and lovely, sometimes at the same time. Gun lover, deer-hunter, non-stop smoker, beer drinker, tequila consumer, inveterate prankster, nonstop in every sense of the word. I met him at Suncon, the 1977 World Science Fiction Convention. SF fan, friends with some of the most amazing people, one of whom was my Best Beloved, to whom he introduced me. He changed my world. Died of an apparent aneurysm while sitting down to work, Dec. 6, 2000. I loved him, and I miss him.
Rona Malk: nurse and educator, mother, brilliant - yes another one whose intellect glittered - and occasionally dangerous. Joined Ed in making nights at our favorite bars an unpredictable adventure. Wanted a family, and found it when she fell in love with her husband, and had two children with him. Died of cancer in 2001. She made me laugh and think. I liked her, and I miss her.
William Cardwell Routliffe:absent father, bon vivant, convivial train-wreck, whose life lurched and stumbled because of alcohol, but who always got back up. Maker of friends, teller of tales, a man who knew his life wasn't what it could have been, but loved it nonetheless. Died following a stroke on January 26, 2009. I didn't know him nearly enough, but I think I loved him, and I miss him.
Nick Katz: my first friend at Pioneer Press. Incredible reporter, long-ago blues guitarist, purveyor of the darkest, blackest of humors, one-time romantic idealist turned wounded cynic. Lover of cooking, to a near-chef level of talent. Detective noir fan. He babysat my son when FB was a little guy. He was an amazing, wonderful friend, and a vastly talented individual, who, at the end, hated everything about his job and his life, but he kept going. I wanted so much for him to be happy. Died of a possible heart attack or maybe an aneurysm on May 11, 2013. I miss him very much.
Mary Glen Keirstead Routliffe Stirling: my mother. This is how amazing she was. I can't begin to say how much I love her. Died after a year's fight against cancer that wasn't found nearly early enough. I miss her like crazy, and I still like to talk to her.
Drucilla Katz: Nick's mother, who became a sort of long-distance mother to me. I met her in person only twice, but both times she drew me to her with her wry humor, a gentler version of her son's surreally unforgettable humor. Her laugh was infectious and her outlook on life was just as infectious. She called me to tell me Nick had died, and we cried together. After that, we kept in regular phone contact, remembering him - for she loved him so much - and mulling over the political crazinesses around us. She was a staunch FDR/Kennedy liberal, so those conversations were delightful. She loved her cats. She spent her life helping others; I know she helped me. I miss her.
Joan Bledig, opinionated avatar of Chicago's northwest side, Edgar Rice Burrough's expert, skiffy fan. She welcomed me into the home she shared with Ed Sunden; she taught me what she could of typesetting. She loved Ed, and fought with him with delight. Her laugh was infectious, even if I didn't agree with much of her beliefs. She died several agonizing days after a major stroke followed heart surgery. Our mutual friend Dr. Gonzo had to make the decision to take her off the ventilator. Gonz and I think she's back with Ed, her best friend. I think she deserves that.
Kirk Regan, one of the Regan boys who somehow became part of my high school class, despite never being in my high school class. Like all the Regan boys, he fought demons, and won against them. He was kind and deliriously in love with life, and I'm so glad I had the chance to hug him during our class reunion. He died of cancer last year.. Fuck cancer.
(I do not believe it dishonors the weight of remembering those who gave the last full measure of service in wars both just and unjust (for soldiers never start the wars; they never continue them. It's the men and women safely behind all the lines that do that evil.))
There are thousands upon thousands of men and women across the country's military branches who have given their lives in defense of the nation, or as victims of the country's necessary and unnecessary wars. This day is complicated, especially for someone who grew up in Canada, where solemn remembrance of such losses are marked on Nov. 11.
Over the years, I've come to mark Memorial Day in two ways. I honor those people, so many of them young, who gave the last full measure of devotion in wars. And I also remember people who I lost. So here are two essays I wrote in previous years.
*** *** ***
Memorial Day: It's Complicated
Memorial Day in the United States is officially a time to recall and honor the men and women of the military who have died in service to their country.
These days, I'm not sure what "in service to their country" means. There are too many examples of wars - both official and unofficial - that in truth were not prosecuted to protect this country.
The days of the Second World War, the only recent war I can think of that can reasonably be called a necessary war, are long gone. In some ways I think we have returned to the days of the First World War, which was simply a toxic stew of nationalistic ambitions and power grabs. Only now, the wars that have been prosecuted over the last 55-60 years, at least by the so-called First World, are, when one digs down far enough, the results of murderously ideological experiments or callous economic decisions undertaken by corporate apologists.
None of that has anything to do with the men and women, almost all of them young, who put on uniforms and went where their country told them to go, and died in the process. They are the people for whom Memorial Day should be commemorated.
War is horrific, and transforms people in terrible ways. I have no doubt that there were men and women who died in U.S. wars who did horrible things before they died. But I believe that more men and women in the U.S. military tried to do their duty with as much humanity as possible, in situations where humanity was at a premium.
So here is what Memorial Day is, for me.
A time to weep for, honor, and remember all the dead who served in the U.S. military and who fought in the Great Necessary War.
A time to weep for, honor, and remember the dead who served in the horrifically unnecessary wars that followed, for unnecessary reasons; indeed, a time to weep for and remember all those who served in those unnecessary conflicts.
A time to weep for and remember the men and women who war transformed into monsters.
A time to condemn the generals, and chiefs of staff, and White House advisers, and White House occupants that made decisions that led to those deaths and to those monstrous transformations.
Some believe that war will always be with us. I fear they may be right. Until that is no longer the case, I will continue to weep for, honor, and remember, those who died wearing this country's uniform.
*** *** ***
I Remember: A Personal Memorial Day
Janet Sears; close friend in my early newspaper days. Sweet-faced, wryly-sardonic woman whose laugh I can still hear, as she nursed me through a broken heart, as we shared musical tastes and made fun of the men who broke our hearts. Janet's sweetness concealed a tough determination to control her life, which came in handy, because her life was a tough ride. Died of cervical/ovarian cancer in the late 1990s. I kind of loved her, and I miss her.
Mary McAndrew: newswoman extraordinaire, poker player, sardonic to the point of being frightening. How amazing was she? This amazing. I'll always be grateful to her for introducing me to percogesic, an amazingly effective over-the-counter anti-headache medicine, which no longer exists. Died of cancer in 1999. I respected the hell out of her, and I liked her and I miss her.
Ed Sunden: unforgettable, unbearable and unbearably wonderful. Brilliant, over-the-top, horrid and lovely, sometimes at the same time. Gun lover, deer-hunter, non-stop smoker, beer drinker, tequila consumer, inveterate prankster, nonstop in every sense of the word. I met him at Suncon, the 1977 World Science Fiction Convention. SF fan, friends with some of the most amazing people, one of whom was my Best Beloved, to whom he introduced me. He changed my world. Died of an apparent aneurysm while sitting down to work, Dec. 6, 2000. I loved him, and I miss him.
Rona Malk: nurse and educator, mother, brilliant - yes another one whose intellect glittered - and occasionally dangerous. Joined Ed in making nights at our favorite bars an unpredictable adventure. Wanted a family, and found it when she fell in love with her husband, and had two children with him. Died of cancer in 2001. She made me laugh and think. I liked her, and I miss her.
William Cardwell Routliffe:absent father, bon vivant, convivial train-wreck, whose life lurched and stumbled because of alcohol, but who always got back up. Maker of friends, teller of tales, a man who knew his life wasn't what it could have been, but loved it nonetheless. Died following a stroke on January 26, 2009. I didn't know him nearly enough, but I think I loved him, and I miss him.
Nick Katz: my first friend at Pioneer Press. Incredible reporter, long-ago blues guitarist, purveyor of the darkest, blackest of humors, one-time romantic idealist turned wounded cynic. Lover of cooking, to a near-chef level of talent. Detective noir fan. He babysat my son when FB was a little guy. He was an amazing, wonderful friend, and a vastly talented individual, who, at the end, hated everything about his job and his life, but he kept going. I wanted so much for him to be happy. Died of a possible heart attack or maybe an aneurysm on May 11, 2013. I miss him very much.
Mary Glen Keirstead Routliffe Stirling: my mother. This is how amazing she was. I can't begin to say how much I love her. Died after a year's fight against cancer that wasn't found nearly early enough. I miss her like crazy, and I still like to talk to her.
Drucilla Katz: Nick's mother, who became a sort of long-distance mother to me. I met her in person only twice, but both times she drew me to her with her wry humor, a gentler version of her son's surreally unforgettable humor. Her laugh was infectious and her outlook on life was just as infectious. She called me to tell me Nick had died, and we cried together. After that, we kept in regular phone contact, remembering him - for she loved him so much - and mulling over the political crazinesses around us. She was a staunch FDR/Kennedy liberal, so those conversations were delightful. She loved her cats. She spent her life helping others; I know she helped me. I miss her.
Joan Bledig, opinionated avatar of Chicago's northwest side, Edgar Rice Burrough's expert, skiffy fan. She welcomed me into the home she shared with Ed Sunden; she taught me what she could of typesetting. She loved Ed, and fought with him with delight. Her laugh was infectious, even if I didn't agree with much of her beliefs. She died several agonizing days after a major stroke followed heart surgery. Our mutual friend Dr. Gonzo had to make the decision to take her off the ventilator. Gonz and I think she's back with Ed, her best friend. I think she deserves that.
Kirk Regan, one of the Regan boys who somehow became part of my high school class, despite never being in my high school class. Like all the Regan boys, he fought demons, and won against them. He was kind and deliriously in love with life, and I'm so glad I had the chance to hug him during our class reunion. He died of cancer last year.. Fuck cancer.
(I do not believe it dishonors the weight of remembering those who gave the last full measure of service in wars both just and unjust (for soldiers never start the wars; they never continue them. It's the men and women safely behind all the lines that do that evil.))
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