Real Men and Me

essaysbysean.blogspot.com

Some years ago, in the early eighties, a book title made it into popular culture: Real Men Don’t Eat Quiche. Well. Just how do you define a real man? Obviously many worried males wanted to know, judging by the continuous laughter. At the time there was a Sally Forth cartoon (my memory is imperfect) where the daughter, holding a toy tricorder, walks into the kitchen where her dad was eating, saying to him, “My wimp meter is reading: Someone is eating quiche.”

Sally takes her daughter aside, “Don’t say that; now he’ll do something silly like take up hang gliding.”

Daughter: “Does this mean I should take back the pink sweater I’m getting him for Christmas?”

At the time there was a fad for men wearing pink shirts; but I suppose the color is again out of fashion—not-that-I-pay-attention-to-men’s-fashions, because hey, I’m a real man… During most decades gender differences are something you “just know,” but don’t explicitly analyze. If feminism has ebbed it’s because of the big problem associated with digging into the truth of these things: “The truth shall set you free, but first it shall make you miserable.”

As a teenage boy, as best I can recall, none of us were into learning something as abstract as “women’s liberation.” At most, we merely thought “liberation” meant “jobs” for women. I had no nerd peers back then, so maybe I missed a small part of teenage life, but still, I think I can speak for average teen boys: We weren’t ready for philosophy yet, not until the post-secondary years. I did carry one nugget off to college: While reading a war nonfiction book in high school, I found a sentence from the volunteers of WWII: “Most of us marines felt Hemmingway was a bit too hairy chested for real life.” I knew the name, of course, but I had never read him. I filed that sentence away as just one more thing I wasn’t able to understand yet.

Off at community college, of the age to have my peer’s permission to think deeply and critically, we took two works of Earnest Hemmingway, a short story and a novel. I stuck up my hand excitedly to say, “Wow, this is exactly what I somehow gleaned a real man was like!” (OK, I didn’t say “gleaned,” but I was sure excited) As I recall, the class thought Hemmingway hadn’t influenced society so much as captured what was in the air.

Around that time I remember feeling relieved to read the science fiction of Larry Niven. His bachelor characters, like Hemmingway’s, might wear shirts with breast pockets and epaulets, but in Niven’s universe, where war was not practical, there was no traction for the military virtues. And Niven’s characters rarely knew anyone who hunted. Most importantly, to the young man I was, Niven’s characters were shown as understanding science and being “articulate”: the exact opposite of being "strong and silent." In other words, in Niven’s eyes, I could be a storybook hero even if I went to university and was smart.

This I needed to know, lest I “soak up self-hatred from my culture,” a risk the feminists knew of all too well. Hey, I couldn’t help being smart and liking books and wearing glasses. I wasn’t the only young man trying to understand our culture: A US Marine rifleman during the Korean War noted in his diary that his young peers couldn’t laugh with a natural giggle, only an Homeric roar. That same young man raised his status by saying he had gotten into a fight in town, and won—this after first thoughtfully scraping his knuckles back and forth on the sidewalk to add verisimilitude.

As for Hollywood, everybody knew, back in my pre-Vietnam childhood, that the classical American hero was “the duke.” A broad shouldered plainspoken man, he appeared in classic westerns and war movies. His very name was plain and simple: John Wayne. But here’s the thing: I caught a telling scene late one night on TV (probably Rio Bravo) where John Wayne was the sheriff. It was an office-jailhouse scene: Someone starts playing a guitar and singing; others sing too or keep time clicking spoons or tapping mugs; a real good time is enjoyed by all. During all this our strong hero just smiles. He isn’t a spoilsport who would make the others feel unmanly—but he doesn’t quite join in, either.

In the duke’s world, it’s as if real men can whistle but not sing. They can’t be too graceful at dancing, or too artistic, or—of course in reality they were: I’m only talking about the cultural ideal. ’Tis a culture unhealthy.

I’ll never know how many men, like those young guys in Korea, put their actions where their beliefs were, men like the hero’s friend in the novel Revolutionary Road. (Later a Brad Pitt movie) During the conformist 1950’s the poor guy deliberately evades any cultural growth, tries not to ever become verbally skilled, and marries an uncultured wife. What he might call “trying to be a regular guy,” trying to do the right thing, I would call “destroying his character.”

As for Earnest Hemmingway, such a sensitive gifted writer, he ended up, as writer Rita Mae Brown notes, needing to have his picture taken standing beside dead animals.

On the other side of the “real man” coin was my first hero of my adult years: a fellow essayist with the pen name George Orwell. (Eric Blair) While Hemmingway drove ambulance in the Great War, Orwell, just a shade too young for that war, was a volunteer seeing combat in the Spanish civil war. Hemmingway had no college but he spent much time at Gertrude Stein’s salon in Paris. Orwell had gone to a tough boarding school that produced tough imperial administrators, later to Eton—“The battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton”—and then gone on to join the imperial police force in Burma. At last he threw it all away—rejecting imperialism, resigning his commission—to go investigate first hand what it was like to be Down and Out in Paris and London. In his own way, he too was trying to do the right thing. He was one of The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas. Today we might say Orwell worked on “becoming liberated.” Truly, I think Orwell was manly enough, even if he could recite poetry. (So can I)

During WWII various G.I.s, wanting to meet Orwell, made their way his flat; meanwhile, Orwell made his way to Hemmingway’s quarters. Entering the room, he quietly put out his hand, saying, “I’m Eric Blair.”

Hemmingway yelled something rude, like “Who the hell wants to know?”

Orwell tried again, quietly. “I’m George Orwell.”

Then Hemmingway was again rough and manly, saying something like, “Hi! Have a snort!” and reaching under his bed to hold up a jug.

Looking back on poor Hemmingway, I think he trapped himself into writing characters who have no wife or children in order to maintain his belief that a “real man” is rude and inconsiderate. Meanwhile, the characters played by the duke could be married, or get engaged at the end of the movie. John Wayne was never a jerk, and we all liked him.

Lately I’ve been thinking about two men of the Conroy family. The father was a US marine officer who flew fighter jets. The son, Pat Conroy, was never a manly marine, but he was the next best thing, by our cultural indicators: He attended a military college, (with harsh hazing) played varsity basketball, and in later years was invited to speak yearly at the coast guard academy, years when Pat was a successful novelist. Pat stands as yet another reminder not to take our culture’s “real man” totem too seriously.

Pat’s father, unfortunately, was not a good human being. In fact, he was lucky not to be criminally charged and drummed out of the service, but his secret was never uncovered… He was an horrific abuser of his wife and children, unbelievably horrific: Pat seriously thought none of his brothers and sisters would go to the old man’s funeral. How strange: When the man died, the children attended and the town had a big funeral. People liked the old colonel. What had happened was this: Pat wrote a novel where he made the father sympathetic enough to read about, The Great Santini. (Later a movie starring Robert Duval) What happened next was the father tried, and succeeded, to live up to the good character in the novel. He changed.

When people such as a marine colonel and a colonial police officer are willing to change it is so wondrous—this proves change is possible for the rest of us too. Truly we may change… as individuals, and as a culture. It was entirely appropriate for the women of my youth to go seeking liberation for us all. We might associate change and growth mostly with our college years, and rightly so, but Orwell had been all finished school when he sought a new path, and “Major Conroy,” who as a middle aged father got college grades of C-minus, did his personal growth after his eldest son Pat had finished college.

My platoon sergeant had no college—he went straight to the forces from secondary school; I can still picture him as a middle-aged man of high morale in a big tent during winter warfare. There he once pulled out a paperback, with some silly title about men’s issues, to say laughingly, “You guys are all going to die early because you don’t face your manhood issues.” He was, he told us, giving the matter intense study.

Only a live fish swims upstream: While it’s OK for most folks to live a life on automatic pilot, it’s more fun to be thoughtful about the world around us.

Sean Crawford

Wearing a pretty pink vest to work for a late-winter beach day,

And then getting a laugh by saying,

“Hey, I’m secure in my sexual identity.”

Spring, 2013

Footnotes:

~In the forces it was common knowledge that statisically we would die five years after retirement....
In an Army Journal in the 1950's an officer noted that the combat arms had the shortest life span in retirement and speculated that it was from these arms having less sleep. Today the theories tend away from the physical and more towards southern California psychology: That people need a reason to be busy, a meaning to their life.

~The Eton quote, of course, is from the Duke of Wellington, after leading the allies at the battle of Waterloo

~If people of the terror-exporting nations are standing sadly on the shore while the river of progress rolls on leaving them behind, it is because, seeing themselves as "victims," they lack self confidence to change… easier to look backwards to a sharia past.

~The enthusiastic US marine diarist was Martin Russ, for The Last Parallel. One day in broad daylight, safe behind the lines, he timed how long it took to cover ground while walking silently at the same speed as one of his night patrols in no man’s land. Very slow. As a boy I tried it too. While deer can slide their hooves silently under old brown leaves, I could never tread old leaves without noise.

~Joan Didion once did an essay about her girlhood love of John Wayne.

~My knowledge of Pat Conroy comes from his excellent philosophical memoir My Losing Season. He had a love of learning basketball, and a love of academic learning, loves that I suspect those who attend college merely “to get a job” will never know.

~One of the Austin Powers spy comedies referenced The Great Santini: The scene where the villain bounces a light inflatable beach ball globe off his son’s head saying, “Are you gonna cry now?” In the Santini movie it was a heavy basketball, brutally bounced repeatedly off the back of the boy’s head as he kept walking away. Watching Austin Powers, I was glad to see the old Oscar-nominated movie was still remembered, because when it came out (1979) I think many people stayed away as it was too soon after Vietnam.

Muslims, Universities and Belonging

essaysbysean.blogspot.com

Introduction

Since my Belonging piece of two weeks ago, (April 2013) I’ve been thinking of young people and community. For my part, as an undergraduate, I came to feel part of the smaller “campus community” through attending exciting guest lectures, seeing the quadrangle in the moonlight, helping friends navigate between their parents and their brave new university culture—“you can’t go home again.”

Back then I never thought about Muslim students coming from lands without democracy—are such places lacking “community?” This I wonder because recently, with the graphic autobiography Marzie (Poland under communism) and Anna’s story To the Edge of the Sky (China under communism), I have become aware of how mean people under oppression can be. During the 1980’s I found the Russians had a saying, “Everyone moves alone” meaning they wouldn’t help anyone move their stuff to a new residence. How alien to us. Could it be that people suffering oppression can’t cooperate with each other, are instead thrown back on their clan and family, because they can’t care about each other?

I am wondering because two or three more young men in Boston, from the former Soviet Union, have been arrested: not radicalized jihad-ists, just guys who recognized the photographs of the killers. But then, instead of telling the community, they went to the bomber’s residence and threw evidence in the dumpster. As you know, further mass loss of life was avoided only because the terrorists were caught on their way to kill again in New York City. Did the young men put “friendship” over the community? Over saving lives? Did they delegate “caring” to the “government?” That’s not how democracy works.

Meanwhile, in Canada, a university PhD student has been arrested for terror, for plotting to kill people on a passenger train. Strange: I always think of hot-blooded students as trying to be fair, and of professors as trying to be sane and thoughtful. Not always, I guess. If I were a young student, today, my “meaning of life” conversations would be about belonging to a community.

I think, if I were a Muslim student today, I would open-mindedly ask: Could our community include atheists from former communist countries, and atheists with parents from Muslim countries? Furthermore, how could democracy ever work if we try to keep people out of our community and out of our heart? How could we deny them—or ourselves—the chance to volunteer to join in sandbagging the river against a terrible spring flood, or help in a summer riverbank clean up, or run in a fall marathon to raise funds for cancer research? After all, such actions by “the people,” not “the government,” are important for feeling responsible for democracy, important for a feeling of belonging to the community.

I wish I could be an undergraduate again, in the dormitories late at night, listening to students reasoning it out.

I decided this piece needed to be posted again.
Muslims, University and Belonging
I've been thinking lately about Muslim students at university. A few months back the world newspapers carried a story where a prominent beauty pageant contestant, a Muslim, made some anti-west pro-violence public statements. From Muslim students worldwide the silence, as usual, was deafening. In my own neck of the woods there was no sign of any Muslim "idealistic longhaired student" rebuttal. Why not?

The Muslim population is probably too big to be compared to subcultures such as gypsy, mafia or biker. The parents in those narrow minded groups, it seems to me, would rather their children attended technical schools, career colleges or were trained in hospitals rather than become creative liberated thinkers. Forget university—No questions allowed!

I used to wonder about the mafia. How does a young criminal find a nice proper Catholic girl to marry? Easy: find girl raised in a mafia family. Perhaps, as in the movie Good Fellas, she was beaten with a broom handle as child. Her crime valuing family will embrace not only dysfunction but also control of members. They will have a word for outsiders; they won't marry them.

(Subculture)

Needless to say, in any subculture, no one's consciousness is raised enough to say, "We believe in dysfunction and control." It's like how a "dystroling" member of biker gang reacts so unconsciously if a member enters the biker clubhouse wearing a soft pink T-shirt. Now, if a sociologist was present, observing, then he alone would know the thoughts: ..."If one person can dress outside the norms of our subculture then others may feel free to dress with less rigid gender roles, or to dress like colorful ethnics, or... like suburban "straight Johns," and soon we will feel some sympathy for others, and then consideration for others, and how the heck can we commit crimes against others if we feel consideration?..." The biker will simply say, "Arrg! What's that crap you're wearing?"

My brother once wore the uniform of a Boy Scout. He was a clean-cut wholesome youth until he went away to university. He came home at Christmas with (gasp!) long hair! And a purple puffy shirt! How Mom used to iron that shirt so vigorously, hoping it would wear out. But this was back in the age of perma-press and miracle fabrics. Mom never despaired of my brother's appearance. She knew that a well brought up considerate kid might become a liberal, but never a sinner. I suppose parents back then comforted each other with a variety of jokes, one of which could have gone (my version): a kid comes home the first Christmas and he's a communist, next year a socialist, next year a liberal, and in his final year a conservative... Perhaps when orthodox parents warn that attending university may lead to cigarettes and sex, what they secretly mean is: may lead to freedom of thought. No questions allowed!

(Learning)

While a small rigid subculture could be threatened when a young adult learns to "compare and contrast" I don't think a big flexible culture can be harmed. Take Jade Snow Wong, the author of Fifth Chinese Daughter. After graduating university, as her book makes clear, her culture remained inspirational although imperfect. One day in class Jade sat up straight when she heard a teacher say something like, "Once children were economic assets, but now we raise them for the joy of it." Suddenly her family/culture's repetition of "Be obedient" was put into context. As a French student, Jackie Mousseau, once told me, "The truth shall set you free...but first it shall make you miserable."

During school I talked to many students, French and otherwise, because in my Introduction to Psychology textbook (by Zimbardo) I had read that only half of your education at school comes from textbooks, the other half comes from teachers and other students. Back in my day, of course, the classes were much smaller in size making it easier to learn how to discuss, but still—Today's students, Muslim or otherwise, have no excuse not to at least make an effort. If you can't ask "meaning of life" questions by yourself then go listen to others. I remember how at two different student parties, Friday and Saturday, I quietly listened to a discussion of "does joy in life equal sad?" You just won't get that topic in the working world, nor ones like, "Does truth make you miserable?" or, "Are farm kids more obedient?" or, "If we want computer designers (nerds) in a company to be more creative, then should they be allowed to wear pink T-shirts and jeans rather than a proper dark business suit?" In the business world this last question could be intuitively answered if you had been awake back in university. Questions are allowed!

(Youth)

At this point in my thinking I am beginning to answer my opening question: why the Muslim student silence? I'm almost ready to approach the question head on. If the silence is worldwide then I guess I can't blame local students, but what I can do is feel hope. Perhaps schools overseas are not as liberal as ours, while here the schools are embedded in a culture of growth, not status quo. Here is where the silence will first be broken. I dimly recall anthropologist Margaret Mead writing that Americans change faster than the rest of the world because of American youth. John-boy will say, "Dad, let's get one of those newfangled steam tractors." Dad will reply, "In the old country my father and his father found horses were good enough..." but eventually John-boy will get his dad to try a tractor. I remember visiting a college girl's house when her parents were not home. Joyce Gee was Chinese; the tableware was western. She explained that her brother had got her parents to change tableware just last year.

Her's another meaning of life topic: Does having a Muslim religion mean you are part of a culture, or a rigid subculture? For now, perhaps the latter is true. If a Muslim religious leader writes in my local newspaper forum (this happened) to say that Muslims here in Canada are hard done by, well, I don't expect a student to come home that afternoon and say otherwise. Not: "Mom, I've been talking with students, including sociology majors, and they say that we Muslims are treated no worse than folks from France or China."

(Meaning of life)

A local Muslim leader might write in to echo the words of the Egyptian ambassador, (Canwest news service, Ottawa, March 9, 2007)"...because, honestly, if you look at things from a world perspective, it is as if Muslims or Islam are under attack and under siege around the world." ...For now, it's as if no one is coming home to refute such propaganda. Not: "Dad, I've been talking to students and I can assure you that even science majors, even after 9/11, are barely aware that there are non Arab Muslim nations, and can barely name any of them. So if there's a conspiracy against Islam then our nation's best and brightest youth have somehow been left in the dark."

Perhaps Muslim students don't trust their parents enough to talk to them. After all, students in my youth were known to say, "Don't trust the establishment!" and "Don't trust anyone over 30!" Or perhaps they don't trust their longhaired idealistic save-the-whales fellow students. Either way, I have hope. I believe in youth. I believe candles will soon be lit here in North America that will go on to light the world.

Sean Crawford

losing my hair but trying not to lose my open-mindedness

posted to the net Spring 2008.12

Footnotes regarding American youth:

~ in 1945 U.S. infantryman Raymond Gantter, while fighting through Germany, speculated that Germans wanted to mold their children into German traditions while "Americans, having no real tradition, see their children not as carbon copies of themselves, but as the potentials of something better. Americans are secretly humble before the promise of thier children, Germans are not." (p316 of Roll Me Over)

~ You may recall Bill Cosby "doing an Art Linkletter" by interviewering kids on "Kids say the darndest things." I remember watching Art's original show in black and white. This was before transistors and "portable TVs," back when families only had one TV set. Back in the 'fifties Art learned that foreign kids were different. If he asked, "How would you change your father?" a U.S. kid might gleefully say, "I'd make it so that he would watch Zorro instead of wrestling matches." A foreign child would freeze or say blankly, "Change my father?"

~ As noted in my Atrocities (May 2011) essay the average army age was 26; Gantter was a 30 year old private when he first went into battle. He was a junior and senior NCO (noncommissioned officer) before being awarded a silver star and a battlefield commission. As a tough fighting man, with a wife and kids back in the states, he wrote, "Perhaps we baby our children too much, but I like it that way." (p316)