Chicago the . . . Band?

At some point, all of us become the butt of a joke.

Several years ago, I made a business trip to Singapore with a U.K. friend and colleague who insisted that we "do karaoke," to which I responded in rather colorful language that it would never happen. A few hours later, and after listening to our host's rendition of a favored Doobie Brothers song go from comical to painful, I took over the microphone and proceeded to "do karaoke."

The next day, compliments of my U.K. colleague, an e-mail went all over my company declaring, "Gillis does karaoke in Singapore." That episode has followed me for years.

Around the same time, I had promised my daughter that I would take her with me on one of my trips to Colorado when she graduated from college. I arranged the business trip to the Boulder area, along with some time for the mountains and a side trip to Colorado Springs. As a nice bonus, my best friend and his wife agreed to join us.

As an additional bonus, I purchased tickets to a concert in Colorado Springs by my favorite group of all time, Chicago. I spent the day of the concert boasting to my friends just how much they would enjoy seeing/hearing America's greatest rock band. Since my daughter had grown up in my home, she had long been a fan.


With great anticipation and expectation, we all went to the concert only to find that the tickets I had purchased were for Chicago the PLAY, not Chicago the BAND. My heart sank and my face tingled with warmth when I looked at the playbill and knew beyond any doubt that this moment was about to become the stuff of legend, and at my expense. My friends and daughter were hardly delicate in their laughter at and enjoyment of my complete and utter humiliation. And once we were seated, they felt no restraint in sharing my fiasco with those nearby. I could only issue a meek threat to stand and loudly sing "Saturday in the Park" once the play had begun. We came to hear Chicago, then by God we're going to hear some Chicago. But it was an idle threat.

On the drive back to Boulder the next day, I knew my daughter was bursting at the seams to call and tell her mom and brothers about our adventure of the previous evening. Finally, I handed over my cell phone to her and said only, "Go ahead." Believe me, from that point she knew what to do. With our family and friends, it soon became the equivalent of the aforementioned e-mail from Singapore.

But you know, the play wasn't half-bad.

Happy Birthday, Marines!

On November 10, 1775, the Continental Congress authorized the raising of two battalions of Marines. Philadelphia’s Tun Tavern—yes, a beer-serving establishment as its name suggests—was the very first recruiting location of the U.S. Marine Corps.

Thus, young men were recruited with the promise of a cold beer and an opportunity to serve in a Corps of Marines. I can only imagine the excitement those young men felt at being able to attach themselves to something with equal parts of mystery, glamour, and danger. I can only imagine the yarns that followed in Tun Tavern after they had stepped forward and signed on. I can only imagine the stories that were later told in Tun Tavern after those initial recruits had served during the Revolution and returned home to tell about it. Tavern tales have become as much a Marine tradition as the eagle, globe, and anchor symbol. Not so unexpectedly, Marines have always prided themselves on the fact that their branch of service was birthed in a tavern.

And why not?

The thread of history from Tun Tavern to Afghanistan shows that Marines have served America extraordinarily well, with dedication, professional competence, and unsurpassed valor. The Marine Corps has always stood at the cutting edge of military readiness—prepared at any moment to move into harm’s way. And, as is their habit once they find themselves committed to action, they have fought and won. An adversary on the verge of a fiery encounter with U.S. Marines would hardly be in a festive mood, and for good reason. No better friend, no worse enemy.

As is the custom on 10 November, Marines will gather far and wide to celebrate the birthday of their Corps. The larger Marine Corps bases will have well-planned, well-attended, formal birthday balls. The smaller outposts will improvise, a key Marine skill. Former Marines will take a moment to reflect back on their years of service, most likely with pride and nostalgia. The history of the Corps will be commemorated; old friendships will be renewed; the fallen will be remembered. Prayers will be lifted for those still in the fight, and for the families who anxiously await their return.

Here’s to the Corps on this 235th birthday!

And here’s to the Marines whose duty and blood and sacrifice have saturated the Corps in hard-won glory.

Here’s to an organization that is not only unique, not only elite, but without equal.

Here’s to the United States Marine Corps!

Semper Fidelis.

A Family of Heroes

A recent Wall Street Journal article told of a Scion, New York family who adopted a bomb-sniffing dog suffering from canine post-traumatic stress disorder. Gunner, who was mustered out of the Marines after service in Afghanistan, was adopted by Deb and Dan Dunham who drove from their western New York home to a South Carolina kennel to claim their newest family addition.

The skittish Gunner is adjusting to his new life with the Dunhams, albeit slowly. The dog is disabled by his wartime service, like many of his human counterparts who have experienced intense, vicious firefights and horrendous bomb blasts, sometimes over oft-repeated tours of duty. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have generated large numbers of traumatic brain-injury and PTSD cases among American troops, to include a brown-eyed Lab who at some point was pushed over the edge by the explosions and the gunfire.

Nonetheless, Gunner is fortunate to be in the care of a loving, unselfish family who is nurturing him back to health, slowly but inexorably. Each day that passes helps convince Gunner that he is safe, that he is truly out of harm’s way, that the sights and sounds that were once so terrifying and damaging to his canine psyche are no longer a part of his daily routine. Gunner may not ever forget, but again like his human counterparts, and with the help and caring of others, he can recover and live a fulfilling life.

Gunner has been given a second chance by the Dunhams.

And Gunner is helping to fill a void in the Dunhams’ lives. It should be noted here that Deb and Dan Dunham are the parents of Corporal Jason Dunham, USMC, who was awarded the Medal of Honor (posthumously) for his actions in Iraq in 2004. During a hand-to-hand encounter with an enemy insurgent, Cpl. Dunham covered a grenade with his helmet, shielding several members of his squad from the resulting deadly blast. In an act of incomprehensible bravery and soldierly love, Cpl. Dunham gave his own life to save the lives of his men. He is now, and will forever be, a legendary figure in a Marine Corps replete with legendary figures.

His parents are now sharing their lives and their love with a war dog who needs them in a big way. And for a long time.

Gunner is indeed a lucky Lab. Good luck with your new life, Gunner.

To the Dunham family: God bless you. Thank you for your inexpressible sacrifice and your incomparable decency.

And to Cpl. Jason Dunham: Semper fidelis, my brother. May you rest in peace.

Book Video Trailer

My new book trailer for Shall Never See So Much is now on YouTube. You can follow the below link to view.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OzLPJBrq0I

The Big Things

My beloved Georgia Bulldogs just lost their third straight game last weekend against a scrappy Mississippi State team in front of their giddy home crowd. The Dawgs are reeling, and for the first time in Coach Mark Richt's ten seasons, his program is under fire like never before.

The Monday-morning pundits and the ubiquitous sports bloggers seem ready to offer Richt the proverbial cigarette before covering his head and slipping the noose around his neck. Off you go, loser. Let's get a REAL coach in here. Let's win every play, every series, every game, every week. No excuses, just win, baby.

Richt's teams averaged ten wins a season before the current unpleasantness, but the accrued goodwill of such consistently high achievement evaporated after the latest loss. He has been convicted of the unpardonable sin of failing to garner a group of mostly teenagers into a collegiate football juggernaut in what is easily the most difficult conference in the (sometimes very ugly) business of college football.

To some, it's as if the end of the world is nearing. Their satisfaction in life is far too dependent upon the play of a nineteen-year-old college student in a contest that will, at its end, determine a winner and loser in a game, same as Go Fish or Horse or Dancing with the Stars.

Is it the same as a nineteen-year-old Marine dying from wounds in Afghanistan?

Of course it isn't. And those of us who get so swept up in college football games should take a deep breath and remember that the players who play, win or lose, live to play another day. It's a game, nothing more.

Back to those nineteen-year-old Marines: Does it matter that they played football on a winning or losing team? Or does it matter more that, as athletes, they were taught to give maximum effort, to never quit, to play by the rules, to stay loyal to their teammates and coaches, to get back up after being knocked down?

Keep developing young men, Mark Richt. That has a greater purpose--to them as individuals and to our society as a whole. The winning will follow eventually.

Guest Blogging

I am the guest blogger this week at my friend and fellow author CK Webb's Twisted Webb blog.

Thanks, CK!

http://twistedwebb.blogspot.com/2010/09/on-being-writer-by-gerald-gillis.html?spref=fb

And The Winner Is . . .

I was notified last month that my novel Shall Never See So Much was a finalist for a Readers Favorite award. The awards are Gold, Silver, Bronze, and Honorable Mention. There were five books as finalists in the Historical Fiction category out of all the novels entered.

Waiting a month for the final results has been a bit of a tense proposition.

With five books and four awards, one can get left out, you see. One thinks about that when considering the full range of possibilities.

Alas, not to worry.

Shall Never See So Much has been awarded the Bronze prize. It is now an "award winning" novel. I suppose by extension that makes me an "award winning" author. I confess I like the sound of both.

Now I can take a deep breath and relax. I'm sure I'll need an antacid after all this. Hmm, I wonder if the label on the antacid says "award winning"? (Oh stop it, for crying out loud!).

In any event, it's finally over. I'm grateful for the judges who chose my book. And I'm grateful for the readers who have bought it.

And I'm grateful for your reading this.

Awaiting the Award

My novel Shall Never See So Much is up for an award. It is a finalist for a Readers Favorite award in the category of Historical Fiction. There will be four winners named: Gold, Silver, Bronze, and Honorable Mention. There are five books among the finalists. That's right - four awards, five nominees.

Naturally I think I'll win. My book could very well be one of the six or seven best novels ever written. Truthfully, writing's not my only incomparable skill. I can think on my feet and handle tough interview questions. Why, let somebody dare ask me about my definition of marriage. Too, I am graceful and poised when I strut about in evening wear. Perhaps even a little coquettish. And besides, I look way better in a bathing suit than the other authors. And I can sing, too. Still. But the rumors about the sex tapes? Not a shred of truth.

Not to be boastful, but my book is a lock. When the four names are called, one will still be standing there, looking down sheepishly and trying valiantly to act like losing is no big deal. It ain't gonna be me, folks. I'll be standing there in my speedo, holding high the Gold medal and singing "Love and Marriage" in a raw masculine display of good ole American winnership.

Winners will be announced on September 1st. I will post a later blog and let you know how I finished, unless of course I lose in which case I'll quietly slink into the woods to commune with nature.

Anyway, until then, we finalists will wait in our evening gowns with our bouquets in our arms, smiling radiantly, and wait for the winners to be announced.

While I'm completely confident of victory, I do have to confess that the thought of losing, of standing there all alone and forcing a smile through the tears, does affect my ability to think and type and xmemdnrishaklcnjskanddnsbakdnfgbkssbnd

New York, New York

I am a son of the South. With the exception of my service in the U.S. Marine Corps, I have lived my entire life in the Southeastern USA. I've had the good fortune to travel all over the world, but it's the South I'll always call home. I love its heat and humidity, the grits and gravy, the Appalachian Mountains, the Atlantic and Gulf coasts, the writers and musicians, the red clay, pine trees, peach pie, and peanut brittle. Athens, Georgia on a football Saturday is nothing short of a quick little glimpse into Heaven itself (with red & black substituting for gold, of course). God has to let UGA lose every now and then or else we Dawg people might begin to think we'd already been called Home.

But by far, my favorite city on the face of this planet is New York. It is simply the greatest city in the world, in a world fully stocked with great cities. I love London, Sydney, Rome, Dublin, Tokyo, and Toronto. And I love our own Chicago, San Francisco, Boston, New Orleans, and my hometown Atlanta.

None can compare to New York, however. Its restaurants, its museums, its theaters, its skyline, its spirit and character--all of which I like. Its sports teams, its flagship newspaper, its traffic, its mostly liberal politics--none of which I like. But that's just it! New York has everything, whether you like it or not. It is big and brawny and sprawling, loud and boisterous, busy and action-filled, so deal with it.

Who will ever forget the way the city dealt with 9/11 and its immediate aftermath? New York took a punch and got back up again. It asked for help, but not sympathy, and our nation responded accordingly. In the process it won the admiration of America, if not the world.

I remember a visit my wife and I made to the city at Christmas, 2003. We visited Ground Zero, took in a show, and shopped the stores. But the moment I remember most vividly was when a FDNY engine passed in the street. I gave a salute to a fireman looking my way, and he returned the salute. From one American to another. If 9/11 had been a quick little glimpse into hell, then our witness to the bravery of those firefighters on that unforgettable day gives us all a lift, a pride, an appreciation for our people's spirit, and the spirit of our greatest city. Who can ever forget that bravery? That resilience? That quintessential New York can-do attitude?

It is the greatest city in the world.

A Presidential Visit

President Barack Obama visited my city, Atlanta, today. He gave a speech at a downtown hotel to the Disabled Veterans of America. His address spanned several topics, to include updates on the efforts in Iraq and Afghanistan. And, of course, there was the requisite political posturing that comes with any presidential appearance.

With regard to politics and positions, I don't have enough in common with this president's policies to fill up a thimble. He's on one end; I'm on the other. And we'll stay that way, I'm quite certain.

But today the president struck the right tone and chose the right words to express his admiration for America's veterans, especially those who have been disabled by their service in war. President Obama was respectful and appreciative, and more than once he underscored his commitment to take care of the men and women who have served and suffered in taking care of this nation.

Some issues transcend politics, and the care of America's disabled veterans is clearly one of those. I got the distinct impression today that the president understands that. I can only speak for myself--a healthy, non-disabled vet--but I'm glad President Obama gave a salute to the many thousands of wounded and disabled veterans of this nation. And I'm glad he came to my city to do it.

I return the salute, Mister President.

Where Are The Heroes?

Do we live in a society that no longer has heroes? Have we become so indifferent and cynical that men and women doing heroic things are seldom reported and hardly noticed, and consequently never celebrated or emulated? Are we too sophisticated to become caught up in something as yesterday as a hero?

And if so, where did our heroes go?

Admittedly, it's a stretch to find public officials nowadays whose behavior could be considered heroic. If anything, based upon the sheer number of ethics complaints and court proceedings, the opposite is often more descriptive. Our Hollywood celebrity culture provides an endless supply of beautiful but shallow, egocentric, sparsely talented individuals who provide us with an entertainment outlet not just with their "craft," but also with their antics and opinions.

The sporting world has become so soiled with cheating, pampered, self-absorbed athletes and coaches, and so driven by college and professional organizations that devalue longstanding virtues like loyalty and integrity, that past sports giants like Tom Landry and Vince Lombardi would likely be filled with disgust. And the corporate world has recently had more than its share of arrogant industry titans who have lied, bilked, and bullied their way to lifetime riches with an astonishing amount of collateral damage to their companies, customers, and shareholders.

There have been six Medals of Honor awarded to American servicemen during the course of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. How many Americans have seen television or print media coverage of these men? How many Americans know the names of all six? Or perhaps just one? And is this confirmation that we no longer have any heroes?

No. We still have heroes. The skill and calmness of U.S. Airways pilot Captain Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger who, with an airplane full of crew and passengers, landed the stricken jetliner safely in the Hudson River, captivated the nation. We will never forget the incomprehensible bravery of the FDNY firefighters as they climbed the smoke-filled stairwells of the World Trade Center towers on September 11, 2001. The outpouring of goodwill toward New Orleans Saints quarterback Drew Brees was as much about his efforts in offering a helping hand to a still-reeling post-Katrina community as it was his Super Bowl victory.

Americans still pull their fellow citizens from rain-swollen rivers. Single moms hold jobs and raise kids and sometimes even manage to go back to school. Cancer victims fight back against their disease, often against overwhelming odds, and still make contributions to their communities or companies or churches. They are heroes, all. We are still a nation that needs its heroes, even without the high profile, to provide us with examples to follow, to cause us to remember our past, to give us reason for hope and encouragement.

And we still have men and women in uniform who are as heroic as any previous generation. By the way, the following Medal of Honor awardees are genuine American heroes:

SFC Paul R. Smith, U.S. Army (posthumous) - Iraq
CPL Jason L. Dunham, U.S. Marine Corps (posthumous) - Iraq
LT Michael P. Murphy, U.S. Navy (posthumous) - Afghanistan
Petty Officer Michael A. Monsoor, U.S. Navy (posthumous) - Iraq
PFC Ross A. McGinnis, U.S. Army (posthumous) - Iraq
SFC Jared C. Monti, U.S. Army (posthumous) - Afghanistan

With gratitude. May they Rest in Peace.

Public Confidence

I saw a recent Gallup Poll that rated the American public's confidence in a number of institutions. The question, specifically, was tell me how much confidence you, yourself have in each of these institutions.

Overall, the military showed a positive score of 82%, the highest among all categories. Small business was a distant second at 67%. Following, only the police (59%), the church (52%), and the presidency (51%) were above 50%. Public schools came in at 38%. Television news was rated at 23%, banks at 22%, and HMOs at 18%. Congress and big business were the lowest at 17% and 16%, respectively.

Is the American public losing confidence in many of its longstanding institutions? And is that loss of confidence justified?

The answer to both questions is, in my opinion, yes. Network television news is shedding viewers in much the same manner as a theater would shed moviegoers if someone entered and shouted, "Hijacked plane circling overhead." Dealing with banks and HMOs is rarely joyful, even when you finally get past the "If you'd like to hear this in English, press 1 now" to start your long wait. And what about Congress? Their rating seems a bit charitable, actually. In general the more the public sees of its elected officials, the more repulsed it becomes. With big business, some of the sharks who run (or did run) several of the major corporations have created far more misery than "value" in the past several years. They loved Bush, then they hated him. Then they loved Obama, now they hate him. Their great skill is in creating astonishing wealth for themselves, and not much else beyond sniffing the rumps of the political class. Isn't that a lovely image?

So why does the military hold such high confidence? The uniformed services are hardly without blemish, and plenty of politically driven rump-sniffers can be found in this institution, as well. Why the elevated trust on the part of the public?


It has something to do with the stakes. The American people understand that military men and women put their lives on the line as a matter of routine. The American people respect courage and sacrifice; professional skill and competence have always been admired by Americans. The public hurts when a flag-draped coffin returns one of our young fallen warriors. My own experience tells me that the Marine officers with whom I served were the most talented, dedicated, unselfish people I've ever known. I sincerely doubt that much has changed there.

The U.S. military has served our Republic well, and has earned the respect of our nation by having paid a considerable price in human life. What do the other institutions have at stake? A pension? A legacy? Enhanced profitability and cash flow?

It seems to me that in this survey, as in most other matters, the American people got it about right.

Independence Day

Not long ago I read David McCullough’s wonderful books John Adams and 1776. In each of those great works, there was an emphasis on what would have happened to those early American statesmen had the Revolution failed. Names like Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Hamilton, Franklin, Webster, and Adams. It’s foregone that those men would have been arrested, tried and most probably hanged, and left to become little more than footnotes in British history about how the colonial uprising had been subdued, and how the Empire had gloriously prevailed.

But the Revolution didn’t fail.

Those brave statesmen who staked their lives, their fortunes, and the lives of their families on an outcome that was far from certain, somehow crafted an amazing political and military victory over a numerically superior, battle-hardened, and eventually ruthless foe. Against all odds, those early Americans won with guile, perseverance, courage, and a deep belief that what they were risking would be worth the cost required. We had on our side the genius of Jefferson, the wisdom of Adams, the generalship of Washington, and the common men who left their homes and farms, who braved cold, hunger, and scarcity, and who valiantly fought the battles on their way to becoming uncommon men. Thank God Almighty for those people, for without them we’d be . . .

Well, the Revolution didn’t fail.

Ours isn’t a perfect union; far from it. And nowadays it’s a stretch to look at our elected representatives and find among them the same grit and fiber of the sort that won our national independence. Maybe it’s just me, but if tomorrow the Redcoats were bearing down on Washington, D.C. and our current elected officials were in charge, our newscasts would soon enough switch from CNN to BBC. Maybe that’s an unfair characterization. Maybe there really are stately men and women governing our nation. Maybe. Look for one the next time there’s a televised congressional hearing. Or another disaster in Louisiana. Again, ours isn’t a perfect union.

The good news is that the Revolution didn’t fail.

And we should remember that, always. Thomas Jefferson and John Adams died within hours of one another on July 4, 1826. We know how history has judged them. How will history judge us in 200 years?

Memorial Day, 2010

Since the sound of the first shots being fired at sunrise on April 19, 1775, in Lexington, MA, through the present-day sounds of battle being heard in Afghanistan, there have been an estimated 1,314,000 Americans killed in combat in service to this Nation.

Think of it this way: Twenty-two miles driving distance from Lexington is Boston's Fenway Park, with a capacity of 39,600 people. Fenway would have to fill to capacity a total of 33 times to equal the number of American war dead in our history. Thirty-three times! It would have to sell out every day in May, plus June 1st and 2nd, with different people each day, to reach the 1.3 million total.

And that doesn't count the thousands upon thousands of wounded--physically and/or emotionally--who bled and suffered and came home changed forever. It doesn't count the grieving parents or the widowed spouses. It doesn't count the children left without a parent. It doesn't count the friends and classmates and teammates and unit buddies whose grief also adds to and pushes out those ripples of impact that spread far beyond the home address of the deceased. For every U.S. soldier, sailor, Marine, or airman who has fallen, for every white cross or Star of David in an American or foreign cemetery, many, many more have been touched.


Our fallen heroes are our collective loss. And, odd as it sounds, it is also our collective gain. We are free because of them. We can choose how we work, how we play, how we worship, whom we vote for, where we live, because of them. We have life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in more than just the theoretical, because of them.

This weekend, when Old Glory snaps in the breeze, proudly displaying its radiant colors and soliciting emotions that tend to constrict one's throat and moisten one's eyes, when taps plays and drives its somber notes into the very deepest parts of us, think of them. And their families. And those who are in harm's way, still, in dangerous and far-away places.

But especially think of them.


All 1,314,000 of them.


They gave us all they had. They've honored us, and made us better. "The last full measure," as Mr. Lincoln so aptly spoke at Gettysburg.


Now we pause to honor them.


And to thank them. All of them. The thirty-three stadiums of them.

May they rest in peace, and may God bless.

FAQs

Here are some of the frequently asked questions from readers, either directly or thru my website, that I've been asked concerning my book Shall Never See So Much:

Q - How did you come to choose the year 1968 as the setting for your story?
A - So much happened in 1968 that there was an unusually large number of events with major historical significance. Though my novel deals largely with the first half of 1968, the story still includes the large Tet Offensive in Vietnam, the growing anti-war movement at home, the decision of LBJ not to seek re-election as president, the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., and the presidential-primary campaign and eventual assassination of Sen. Robert F. Kennedy.

Q - Why the choice of a brother and sister as the main characters?
A - Mostly, for balance. The story told via the point-of-view of a Marine brother in combat, and his estranged and politically active sister, seemed to offer such a conduit for portraying what was unquestionably a divisive, complex period.

Q - Did you serve in Vietnam?
A - No. I served as an artillery officer in the U.S. Marine Corps in the early Seventies, and certainly trained for combat in Vietnam, but I was not sent. I spent a year in Okinawa and mainland Japan as the regular Marine Corps units drew down from Vietnam.

Q - What do you want readers to come away with after reading your book?
A - If the reader is old enough to have lived through the period covered, then I hope he/she enjoys the trip back in time. If the reader was born after the period covered, then I hope he/she gets a sense of the times--the cultural and political divide, the war, the momentous events, and the courage and spirit of Americans doing what they thought was right. In the end, though, it's my hope that the reader is entertained with a good story and compelling characters.

Q - Do you have another novel planned after Shall Never See So Much?
A - Yes. It's a business novel . . . and I'll leave it at that for now.

Robert F. Kennedy And His Unfulfilled Potential

June 6, 2010, will mark the 42nd anniversary of the death of Sen. Robert F. Kennedy. Kennedy died of wounds from an assassin's bullets the morning after his victory in the California Democratic primary in his quest for the presidency in 1968.

He was only 42-years-old at the time of his death.

Bobby Kennedy remains a compelling figure in contemporary American history, arguably as much for what might have been than what he actually left as a political legacy. His years as Attorney General--for most of that time during his brother John's presidency--were not without significance during the early Civil Rights period, the fight against organized crime, and the Cuban Missile Crisis. Afterward, his election to the U.S. Senate from the State of New York, and his eventual opposition to the Vietnam War, propelled RFK into the national limelight as a likely presidential aspirant. But it was when Kennedy's life suddenly ended while closing in on what may have been an eventual national-election showdown with Richard Nixon, that left millions of Americans wondering what had been lost.

While the figure of Robert F. Kennedy has appeared over the years in fictionalized films and books, I feature Kennedy's final campaign in my new historical novel Shall Never See So Much. RFK is seen through the eyes of Kate Flanagan, who accepts a position on Kennedy's staff and thereafter participates in the Indiana, Oregon, and California primaries.

Kate is present at L.A.'s Ambassador Hotel on the June night when the campaign tragically expires with its candidate.

Shall Never See So Much takes the reader through the first six months of 1968. Kate Flanagan's brother, Tom, is a young Marine officer serving in Vietnam. Their relationship is strained over their differences concerning the war and the growing national divisiveness surrounding it. Kate sees Kennedy's hesitation to enter into the '68 presidential fray, and the lack of unanimity even among his closest advisers. She later sees how RFK gets in it to win, Kennedy-style, once the decision is finally made. And she is among the many left aching and dumbfounded at the end.

While my novel Shall Never See So Much was not specifically written as a commemoration of Robert Kennedy, it does seem to raise the question, "What if?"

New Career, New Novel

My new novel Shall Never See So Much was released in March, 2010. The title comes from a line in King Lear, and I now find myself even further indebted to Mr. Shakespeare. But c'mon, he's Wm. Shakespeare and a ton of people are indebted to him. We should all be so lucky, us writing types.

I began writing over 25 years ago, and published Bent, But Not Broken through a small Southeast publisher. It was a military novel, written on a manual typewriter, at night after returning home from my day job. The sales were better than average. I was twice on television and did a few interviews and book signings. And while the reviews were good, I could see that the royalties would not displace my earnings as an established business manager. So I faced a watershed moment, where the irresistible pull of writing is resisted by the inexorable push of monthly mortgage payments. What to do? Do my kids go uneducated? Unwashed and unclothed? Unfed, for crying out loud?

I signaled for a timeout. And after due consideration and consultation, I decided to continue building a business career.

But the writing still called.

And called.

And never stopped calling.

Borrowing a phrase from MacArthur, "I have returned," albeit a bit later than originally planned. I decided to retire from the corporate world and return to writing, to a gig I am having the time of my life pursuing. It's not exactly the way I envisioned it would unfold, but my career change is welcomed with open arms.

Begging to differ with F. Scott Fitzgerald that "There are no second acts in American lives."