I've admired Donald Murray ever since I read his iconic A Writer Teaches Writing in graduate school. It wasn't until I was re-reading Tom Romano's Write What Matters that I was reminded of Murray as Romano and Murray were close friends. That got me researching some of Murray's other books, which is how I landed on this memoir.
Murray, a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist in addition to being a college professor of composition, starts the book with a detached eye-witness account to his own heart attack in his 70s. This causes him to reflect back on his life (hence his "Twice-Lived" life).
He didn't focus as much on the aspect of writing as I hoped, but he has several other books, including the iconic A Writer Teaches Writing, about that.
I did enjoy Ch. 4 "Turning Points" in which he reflects on key points in his life where - in reflecting on them - he realizes how important they truly were, even if he didn't realize it at the time. One of my favorite examples is when he reflects on how frugal and mean his parents were. His father was a Baptist minister while his mother was a stay at home mom who terrorized him much of the time and never failed to communicate how disappointed she was in him. Murray - as a young boy - ventured to the doctor, who happened to be a friend of the family. As he puts it, "Dr. Bartlett was the only person who was not family how knew the secrets of our home." And by 'secrets,' he means how his father and mother lived much of their life on credit. Murray recalls how one of them would send him down to explain to their land lord how they didn't have enough money to pay rent this month, knowing that the land lord would be more merciful on a child than one of his parents.
It was during his visit to Dr. Bartlett - after the doctor asked Murray how his parents were doing - and Murray didn't really know what to say beyond, "The usual," that Dr. Bartlett uttered words that forever changed Murray's life (and look at the style Murray applies to them): "Donald. You. Do. Not. Have. To. Be. Like. Your. Parents."
I want to have students journal or write daily about these types of turning points in their lives. I think they are rich with potential for essays.
I also enjoyed Ch. 6 "Aloneness" and got another writing idea from it. This chapter includes Murray's reflection on what it means to be alone. Sometimes that means getting up earlier than his wife and being alone in his study where he reads and writes. Sometimes that includes sitting with his wife and being alone together. Eventually that will mean that one of them will be alone after the other passes away.
In this chapter Murray reflects on the small changes that came with age. He notes how his wife no longer attends the university hockey games. She doesn't drive at night, nor does she enjoy the long drives they used to go on often. She doesn't go to concerts or plays anymore. He notes how he doesn't enjoy going out much anymore. Simply going to the grocery store is an adventure. He dislikes driving at night when he was younger, he loved driving at top speed around hills and curves just keeping up with his headlights.
I was struck with a writing assignment - again in journal entries or daily reflections - what changes have occurred as we grow older? Saturday mornings used to be the only times I ever got up early. Why? Saturday morning cartoons! Now, I can't sleep in past 6:30 if I try! Now, I love to have coffee in the morning. In high school and college, my favorite thing was to grab a Mountain Dew and finish it off in three gulps. I thought anyone who drank black coffee was disgusting. Now, it's my ritual to down one from the Keurig before I do anything.
By far, though, my favorite parts of the book are when Murray reflects on his experience as a paratrooper and MP in World War II. From the chapter "A Veteran Speaks," this passage struck me
"Do I put myself back where I was by the telling of a night in Belgium when I dug in and found first a uniform button, then another, then a skill? I had found a companion from a famous battle in another war. Do I make myself return to how I felt that night -- the sense of comfort and companionship that that old soldier's skull gave me? Infantry combat is lonely, but that night I was not alone. I shared the waiting for the dawn attack with my personal veteran from another war. Do I want to remember when I felt comfort from a skull? Do I want to break my silence and tell it as I just have? I am not sure."
This reminds me of one of my favorite books, Tim O'Brien's classic, The Things They Carried, about his time in Vietnam. There is one striking chapter from that book called "How to Tell a True War Story." Of course, O'Brien argues that this is at best an oxymoron and at worst a paradox. There is little 'truth' in war, for a soldier's mind is under such stress and confronted with such atrocities that he can never truly believe what he sees, especially after the year when it becomes unforgettable, whether it really happened or not.
Later there is a scene where Murray is sent to the infirmary with a fever. He registers a temp of 104. They given him some medicine and send him back to the front. On his way there, he hears two medics arguing over a nice set of boots - while the severed feet are still in them. Then he hears a familiar voice, coming from a stretcher. It's a buddy from his platoon. He is boasting to Murray that he is getting sent home due to a small injury while Murray is getting sent back to the front to die. It is then that Murray learns the boots (and feet) belong to his buddy. He is delirious from morphine and likely going to be dead in a few moments.
Murray also tells the time he had another member of his platoon were going to go number two (as my father would say). They went out behind a barn. It was protocol to stay several yards apart from each other in case of snipers or land mines. Well as they were doing their business behind the barn and talking, Murray felt a 'whoosh' breeze by him and land near his friend. Then his friend simply disappeared. Ceased to be. It was a German shell that landed on him. His friend was reduced to a mist of blood, bone, and shit. Which all landed on Murray. Can you imagine living through that?
He tells of another time he was on scouting duty. He had to cross a large open space between dense forest. It was winter and he had to trudge through several feet of snow. As he was working his way through the open area, he saw a German soldier doing the exact same thing he was doing. Worse yet, he realized that the German saw him a split second before he saw the German. A bullet whizzed by Murray. Murray returned fired. He also missed. There was a tense couple of seconds as the soldiers stared each other down. Then - remarkably - Murray raised a hand and waved. The German waved. And both went on their way peacefully.
Ultimately, Murray argues that soldiers have to tell their stories. So we may learn what war was really like. He concludes the chapter with this bombshell:
"If we who were there do not tell of war, the stories will be left to the historians, the novelists, the myth-makers, the moviemakers, the politicians - those old men who send boys to kill boys like themselves."
The best thing about Murray's memoir is that it gave me so many new ideas to try out with my students in the fall.
I couldn't help but read this and think of the concept of 'identity negotiations.' How we often negotiate several identities at the same time. For example, right now I'm being the dutiful teacher as I write about some professional reading that I did to make me a better teacher. But in a little bit I'll be the dutiful father who just told his son he can't go on his phone for a few more hours and how we will sit down and watch a movie together in just a bit. I'm also a husband who needs to do a better job of being present with his wife instead of distracted by my laptop and phone. I'm also a friend, who had to postpone a meeting with several other friends tonight due to the weather. I'm also a homeowner who has a yard and a half of dirty at the end of my drive way that I need to use up in filling in low spots and trying to get grass to grow. I could go on, but you get the idea.
Writing and reflecting on our lives is a great way to negotiate and manage the various identities we have and a great way to allow new identities to emerge.
And that is what Murray does throughout his book. I am kicking around the idea of having my seniors - and perhaps my juniors - write a perspective paper on whether or not school will ever be the good old days for them - or - will they be the best times of their lives? I want students to interview their peers to see what they think. I want them to talk to relatives, older siblings, recent graduates, and so on. I want them to find testimonials and do research on this. All the while I want them to think (and write) about these questions - Who are you right now? Who have you been (that is, how are you different from your first day at Challenger or St. Bernard's? How have you grown since you left Franklin Middle School?)? Who do you need to be in order to . . . graduate, be successful in college, a great friend, find a career . . ?
I know that's a big jumble right now, but my thinking on it is still raw. I need to do more writing on it to figure out what I really think about it, which is exactly what Donald Murray would want.
And that's what I'm going to do right now.
Summer reading book #2: The Fisherman by John Langan. This one is a tour-de-force of horror as it won the Bram Stoker award for novel of the year in 2016.
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