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Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Not Bill.
Have you ever had one of those conversations that come at you out of the blue that just leave you reeling - both emotionally and intellectually? A conversation, that leaves words and ideas echoing in the most remote spaces of your consciousness? Well I had one like that yesterday and I’m still pondering its meanings. It’s a bit of a long story, but bear with me; I think it’s worth it.
First, let me set the stage. I was sitting among good friends in a little tobacco shop in Falls Church smoking my pipe and shooting the breeze with my eclectic gaggle of friends. The subject shifted to jump-training (parachuting) in the army and to an experience one of my friends had when a Congressional Medal of Honor Recipient visited the Army jump school he was attending.
This CMH winner had parachuted in behind the lines during World War 2, putting his life in great jeopardy. He had then had shown great valor in saving the lives of other men-at-arms. The old veteran was there to inspire the younger Airborne men, and inspire them he did. That led to a discussion about the young Marine who threw himself onto a grenade, and whose service was just this past week. Since most of my friends are veterans or associated with the Defense or Intelligence sectors, the conversation was passionate, inspiring, heart-breaking, and tough.
Somehow, this reverent conversation about the nobility of valor shifted to the current shabby treatment that the United States government shows to its veterans, especially with respect to Veterans Administration health care. Two otherwise cordial friends of mine grew furiously angry - almost menacingly so - when they described the treatment of their friends, fathers, and grandfather.
A comment from one friend came out of the blue: “It makes me mad as hell that our government doesn’t keep its promises to its veterans, instead building some arts center for little towns somewhere.�
Once again, I found myself at the receiving end of the arts being positioned as what’s unimportant, what’s marginal, what’s usurping other more noble priorities. It’s been a lifetime experience, both for me and for many of my colleagues who work in the arts.
I felt stunned. Everyone present in that conversation knew what I do — that I work in the arts. I’ve worked with more than my fair share of little arts centers in little towns out there in the American countryside. Despite the affection and respect my friends show me, I was not spared. I felt eyes avert uncomfortably. I felt the room grow awkwardly silent. I felt my inner voice quiet, stifled from the moment.
Still, stunned as I felt, I understand the anger. My own father is a World War 2 veteran and his VA benefits matter, especially as he approaches his 80s. My Uncle June was a 2-time Silver Star awardee who was left for dead on Guadalcanal after being wounded by Japanese machine-gun fire. He was found alive a couple of days later by the second invasion wave. Another uncle that I’ll never know died in the War before I was born. Everybody’s family pays a price when there is war and mine is no exception. Here in Washington, where there are so many military families and defense workers, the subject comes up often. It is a price that hovers above our way of life like a smog inversion. It filters the brightness of the sunlight in a way that only the soul notices the shadow’s lengthening.
Later that afternoon, another friend of mine (who I shall rename Bill here) who works in high-stakes security environments for the State Department came over to my house to listen to music and chat for awhile. I got to know Bill over several months and, on one occasion he bought one of my guitars from me. He’d always wanted to learn to play a musical instrument and he had decided he’d spend his off-duty time during his next Iraq tour learning to play guitar.
Bill is one of those guys that nobody messes with - at least nobody with sense. Bill leads security teams for foreign heads of state, for people like the Secretary of State, for Ambassadors, etc. During one of his several tours in Iraq, Bill was in charge of security arrangements for “the highway of death� that runs between the Baghdad airport and the Green Zone. He’s out there facing terrorists and suicide bombers — himself. He is charged with protecting people like the truck drivers who make the supply runs. These folks rely on his plans and strategies in order to survive. Bill is a serious guy who doesn’t mess around. He knows that lives depend on him; he lives that truth every minute of his life.
If you met Bill, I doubt you’d guess what he does. There is an affable twinkle in his eyes and there is always a warm handshake at the ready. He is soft-spoken and modest — always ready with a quick laugh and a shy grin. He’s smart, erudite, and incredibly well-read. He reads and discusses Aristotle. He is an avid arts attender that loves the ballet and opera. He’s articulate and curious. To tell you the truth, I just love the guy. He makes me feel good about the quality of people who do what he does.
As much as I admire Bill, and as much affection as I have for him, I realized I didn’t really know him like I thought I did. He took me somewhere very surprising yesterday in the course of our conversation and I doubt that I’ll ever forget it.
We were listening to a track of Jerry Douglas playing with The Chieftains when Bill interrupted and started talking in that friendly Midwest twang of his:
“Neill, do you know why I just love our friendship? I can come over here and you will start talking about all this amazing music and art, and you share it with me and I just can’t get enough.�
“Guys like me - well, we have to hurt people in our line of work. No matter how much somebody deserves it, every time you hurt somebody, it peels a little piece of your soul away. It starts stealing your humanity, one piece at a time.�
“You wanna know why I need the arts? All those little layers of humanity that violence steals from me - well, I gotta find a way to put ‘em back. The arts do that for me. They make me human again. They stop me from just turning into something less than human. When you’ve seen what I’ve seen, done what I’ve had to do, well...you have to find ways to heal and be normal, somehow."
“Hell, Neill, you’re normal. You’re just normal. Me, I’ve got to work at it. I’ve got to come back and somehow rebuild myself. That’s why I love the arts and that’s why I need our friendship and that’s why I love a guy like you. You have all this beauty around you. You are an expert in beauty and you know how to give it to guys like me who have to become experts in evil and ugliness. That’s why I need these times with you.�
I’ll admit that I had to steel myself against tearing up. I was moved and I was trying to maintain some semblance of manliness with my friend, Bill. Here was somebody who I respect enormously - who I am somewhat in awe of - telling me that the arts matter and that beauty does, in fact, heal hearts and call people to their humanity when their souls are scorched by the fires of the times and the meanness, viciousness, and cruelty of blind, killing rage.
There are those who might wonder how I could doubt the importance of something I've spent my whole life working with and caring about. I mean, if somebody like me doesn't persist in their belief, what chance is there to convince other people? Believe me, I've thought long and hard about that question, especially having tried hard as an arts advocate over the years. The truth is that I've struggled to maintain my faith in what art, beauty, and creativity can accomplish in people. I don't think it's all that unusual for someone to experience a crisis of faith - whether it is in oneself, in one's God, or in the value of art.
That's why what Bill had to say meant so much to me. I suspect that we all cherish those people who are capable of restoring or refreshing our own convictions.
The conversation I’d had earlier about little-arts-centers-in-little-towns wasting money that might have instead healed some Veteran who might have deserved it more? Well, I still understand and sympathize with that point-of-view. But Bill helped me understand where I and others like me fit in differently.
So often, ideologues force us, with their fiery rhetoric and vivid conjuring skills, to make unwise choices. They will take two rights and make one of the rights into a wrong. They may force these false dichotomies upon us for noble reasons, but the choices they describe for us are not improved by their intentions.
Men like Bill — who come home from the sandy, bloodied perdition that Iraq has become — need forces of healing. And when they’re making those lightless night runs on mined and sniper-lined roads, they need to know that there are hometowns, people, and a way of life that is worth defending. For my friend Bill, the arts are a part of that.
Bill told me that he had to go home to meet his wife before they took off together to attend the Kennedy Center’s production of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? We were talking about what a tough, vicious play that is. I confessed that it is not something that I particularly want to see again; there is too much pain and cruelty embedded in that play.
Bill couldn’t wait to see it.
Posted on January 14, 2007 05:32 PM | Permalink
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Comments
Neill:
This post should be required reading for anyone who is unclear about what the arts do for the human spirit and condition, and their importance to any society that calls itself civilized. I would like to distribute it to CAPACOA's members, if that's OK.
Although I believe that the current Iraq incursion qualifies as one of the worst foreign-policy blunders ever committed by a world power, I believe with every fiber of my being that those who do their government's bidding in the military deserve the full support of those who stay at home. Your conversation with "Bill" is a powerful reminder that soldiers, like the rest of us, have a part of them that needs the kind of nourishment that only the arts can provide.
Hey Neill:
Great post! Everybody who has doubts about money being wasted on the arts should read this, if only to see how the other half feels.
Amazing story. I feel very privilege to have read this story. I'm sure this is something that I will talk about in the future.
Neill,
Excellent blog entry. I understand where Bill is coming from and I will agree that the "peace and beauty" that art/music brings into ones life is able to let "us" see the peaceful side of life.
I have always enjoyed coming home and relaxing to some soft jazz and a travel to a peaceful place through it.
In 1975 I had the pleasure to back-pack through Europe for 63 days. The most peaceful times were spent with the arts. Looking at the Old Masters paintings in France or seeing the sculpture of David and the Sistine Chapel and the work of Michelangelo was the most restful/peaceful time I can remember. I have tried to keep those memories close and in times of "stress" remember them.
Bill is a man that has a job that nobody wishes to have and is put in harms way on a regular basis, but he has the retreat to the arts to find the inner peace again.
The inner peace is important and I do not know what I would do without the ability to stroll down the lane of the Arts to keep a fresh outlook. It has helped me many times.
Again thanks for the blog entry and keep up the outstanding work my friend.
Hi Neill:
Inspiring and true. Many thanks for sharing this story.
Neill,
Not only do you tell a heck of a story - you have an uncanny way of sharing the stories we all need to keep believing we are making a difference. Thank you, and your friends, for their insights.
Dear Neal
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! For telling us this story; it certainly provided welcome "encouragement" for someone who after 20 years working in the training and grass-roots area of arts and cultural presentation and in the small communities of Canada and the US has had to rely on an enormous amount of confidence in trusting that there is a reason for this “European Immigrant� (born in Germany in 1947, and with the emotional scars of a war-torn family to show for it) for my being in this glorious country and for what I have learned to accept as my calling to the less glamorous "trenches"... :-)
Cheers Gudrun
Hello Neill,
I don't know if you'll remember me. I don't know if you'll put this on your page. It matters not. I just hope the message gets to you (There's a song in there somewhere).
I attended one of your sessions in Halifax a number of years ago. At that time, I was working as the Communications/Marketing Director of the Savoy Theatre in Glace Bay, Nova Scotia. I'm hoping I was just annoying enough for you to recollect our time together.
A little over a year ago, I decided to make quite a big shift in my career path. I now work for a Federal Crown Corporation - an entity that serves as an economic development organization for Cape Breton. (Bear with me here, there's a reason I'm boring you to death with all this information about myself!) "We" are actually responsible for funding a lot of the creative sector projects around here, including the upgrade at the Savoy about 4 years ago. I'm still working in the area of communications; although the content here is somewhat different. I no longer write about the next great concert to entice ticket buyers, or design posters...now, I write speeches and releases for the government. I know - quite a shift! From the arts to government. (No worries, I will not be assimilated!)
The person I used to work for at the Savoy (I won't mention his name but his initials are Donald Ferguson - don't sweat it, he'll love the publicity!) sent me your link, thinking I would enjoy the read. He was right.
I felt compelled (dramatic word choice - I realize, but I really mean it) to tell you how much I appreciated reading this today. I have many conversations with the 'higher-ups' (those who have already been assimilated) in my office about the importance of the arts and funding the arts community.
I'm fairly sure that my past position at the theatre and my background in performing arts does nothing to help these conversations. Although I'm confident they appreciate the fact that I may know a little more than the average bureaucrat; I think they also feel my position on the topic is somewhat biased (Also, I'm pretty sure they've decided I'm nuts). So, I never really know how to shift the perspective to drive the point home without sounding like a ditzy, overly excited cheerleader.
Your blog entry represents an opportunity for me to connect the dots in a different way. You are giving a whole other demographic a voice to speak positively about the importance of beauty and music and art in our lives. I fully intend to use this entry to my advantage when I stir up anpther conversation on this topic. Don't worry, I'll give you the credit.
What a great perspective to present. What a timely perspective to present.
So, thank you.
In my bureaucratic position, I'm supposed to say something like, "I enjoy your writing very much and look forward to reading more."
In my artistic position, I will say, "You rock my socks Neill!! Keep on keepin' on!".
Take care,
Jennifer Crocker
In perusing my bookmarked blogs this morning, I coincidentally read this post and the most recent post on Mako Fujimura's visual arts blog (makotofujimura.blogspot.com) one right after the other... the interaction of war and art feature prominently.
I have often heard the arts referred to as a way to "engage the culture that is, and create the world that ought to be". The idea that art can help us celebrate joyous elements in life--by giving us new ways to perceive them--and to process through the brokenness in life--by helping us see the pieces that need to be put back together again--are central to human experience.
This was a great story to share, and I'll be glad to reference it in the future.
Neill, I was hesitant to read this when the opening started with military and veterans; I just did not want to read another rant or more propoganda about "THE WAR". However I was surprised and interested in the ensuing text. I am a Canadian living in Shanghai where I am experiencing a completely different world than the safe, benign, beautiful one in which I grew.
I've always been drawn to art, architecture, natural beauty, literature, music. I've dabbled in painting and writing throughout my life and though I do not consider myself an artist, I do appreciate the creativity, commitment and expression that art, in all its marvelous forms, entails.
Often the people who fight in the wars, that "the powers that be" or even we ourselves, deem necessary, or right or noble or moral do so to preserve a way of life. But art preserves the quality of that life.
In every society: rich, poor; left, right; good bad; simple, complex; developed developing; crowded, sparse; easy, harsh; people find some expression of beauty even in as small a thing as a carved spoon to eat with, or a flower to smell.
In my opinion you cannot separate art from life and those who try are merely misguided. We should all continue, in whatever large or small way we can, to celebrate this marvelous life we have the privilege to share. Sandy O'Reilly
Neil:
A very moving story about the importance of what we do. Thank you.
Great Post!
Who’s Afraid of Big Bad Bill?
I recently read this blog and have serious misgivings about it’s message. I was out of the country when a link to this article was emailed to me, but two months later, I still feel compelled to respond.
As an Arts administrator of many years, I have, like Neill, felt obligated to justify the value of the arts on many occasions, and, like Neill, I am generally grateful to hear any echo of support; nevertheless, I find this particular defense of the arts very troubling. For me, it brings to mind George Steiner’s famous edict on culture: “We know that a man can read Goethe or Rilke in the evening, that he can play Bach and Schubert, and go to his day’s work at Auschwitz in the morning�. Like Neil’s friend “Bill�, those in charge of Nazi death camps were often “smart, erudite, and incredibly well-read…avid arts attendee [s] that love[d] the ballet and opera�, but their affinity for high art did not deter the prosecution of their inhuman atrocities. Recalling Steiner’s chilling observation, I am appalled to think that art had failed to prevent such barbarism; I would find it more repugnant to believe that it may have helped maintain its practice.
It may be unfair to compare “Bill� with the Nazis, since I don’t know him or the details of his job, but American soldiers are also quite capable of committing atrocities, as Mai Lai, Abu Ghraib, and other incidents in recent history attest, and “Bill� is clearly not at ease with his conscience: “Guys like me—well, we have to hurt people in our line of work…every time you hurt somebody, it peels a little piece of your soul away. It starts stealing your humanity, one piece at a time.� My suggestion to “Bill�: If you want your humanity restored, don’t go to the opera; give up your day job!
My suggestion to Neill is to find better justifications for supporting the arts. When the arts are accused of depriving veterans of decent healthcare, he might simply suggest that the trillions of dollars wasted on an unjustifiable invasion would provide adequate funding for both healthcare for veterans (and every other citizen) and new arts initiatives. In any event, the arts should be defended for their contributions to the betterment of society, not for their role in sustaining its worst practices. I’m not afraid of Virginia Woolf, but I’m a little afraid of “Bill�.
Sandra Thomson
Thank you for posting Sandra's response, and thank God for Sandra Thompson. I could not agree more. I have agonized over whether I should bring my personal antiwar feelings into this discussion or not. Until now I had decided to stay out of the fray. Now I think it is important for those of us who agree with Sandra to step up and be counted.
I too am not afraid of Virginia Woolf, but I am sincerely disturbed that the support of the arts is attached to "Bill". The Arts must strive to express the human condition, be food for thought, shine a light in the dark corners of society use any analogy you like but please don't make the Arts out to be salve for the warriors.
Lloyd Fitzsimonds.