At the Dietrich by Hildy Morgan
What an interesting experience last night was. It was the beginning of our Warrior Writers program and I had no idea what to expect. In fact, I had nothing in the way of expectations at all. I was hoping someone would attend but I didn’t actually expect anyone. A program like this is hard to start. We’re all headed into unknown territory and therefore there can be no reasonable projections as to how it will turn out. So I was pleasantly surprised when, a few minutes before six, a man walked through the door asking if this was where the warrior writers were meeting. Wow, I thought. One more than I expected. About forty-five minutes later another man walked in – to check us out, he said, to be able to tell vets he works with whether it’s worthwhile. I could tell at first that he couldn’t see how writing anything could possibly help. He was a physical guy deeply involved with a group that does physical things with the vets. Hunting, fishing, kayaking. Good stuff. I could see his brain trying to fathom how sitting with paper and pencil could possibly bring about change.
Jennie Pacanowski, the leader of the group, a longtime warrior writer, told him she was happy to have him with us, but he would have to participate or he wouldn’t understand how this could help. He was cheerful and amenable, if doubtful, and agreed.
Now a note about Jennie. What an interesting, smart, delightful brave dame she is. A combat vet – she was a medic in Iraq – she came back whole of body but couldn’t leave the chaos of war behind. “I’m the safest driver on the road,” she laughs, “because I’m always scanning, eyes looking here and there and looking, looking for those IED’s that could kill me. Always looking. Always looking.”
It is her authenticity that makes it all work. Her laughter and her grit. She commands instant respect although I’m sure she would shrug that off with a laugh. But she does. Her poetry is amazing and superb. She writes about a young Marine who threw himself on a grenade to save his fellow Marines. “Who does that?” someone in the hospital had asked when she delivered his broken and dying body. “Someone who wants to save his buddies,” she writes. Simple. And so complicated.
In the end the first man who had arrived – a lovely fellow with a real flair for writing – talked about the isolation the memories of war bring. He wrote in clear, concise style. He wants to be a writer. He already is.
And the fellow who wanted to “check us out” wrote a short paragraph about coming home on leave, and being so excited that he was coming home and would see his family even if it was for only two weeks. He couldn’t wait! And then, when the plane landed and the soldiers left the plane, they stood at attention as the flag-draped coffins of the men and women who were coming home for good were carried by. And as he read what he had written the tears ran down his face. “I’ll tell the guys about it,” he later told Jennie. He understood now how writing could help.
So we meet again in a month and we’ll see. We are committed to making this work. Cross your fingers for us. And for the men and women who have yet to discover what brilliant writers they are.
Change of subject. On June 3 we go to New York on one of the Dietrich’s famous bus trips. We are going to Lincoln Center to see The King and I which is one of the most beautiful musicals ever written. The price is a bit steeper than usual, but that’s because the seats are terrific. And the price includes the bus and dinner. And one of the best times you’ll ever have! Come on. Join us. You’ll have such a good time. I promise!!! 570-996-1500 will get you that ticket.
See you at the Dietrich.
