there's a story that went around my neighborhood of how my 7th grade girlfriend's father al had a high school acquaintance drafted to fight in the vietnam war and what he did about it. it wasn't a famous story by any means. certainly not one that he'd have ever told you. but it came out on its own when my parents temporarily got religion and ended up in the same social circle as that acquaintance, benny, back from the war in one piece and raising a family about a mile down the road from al.
as far as i know, they remain acquaintances, which is to say damn near strangers, same as they started off. i doubt that either of them minds terribly. i doubt they'd have much to say to each other beyond hello and how's the kids anyway. but, divide them now as it may, that didn't stop al the teenager from sending benny the soldier care packages and frequent letters all through vietnam, encouraging him to keep his head up, saying "yeah they call you babykiller back here, but don't listen to all that. it's not your war. you're only doing what you have to do, so do it well and come home right," or something along those lines. for years he did that! maybe it doesn't sound like much, but what'd you do without being told when you were 18 besides what you weren't supposed to do?
well benny listened and got back alive. they both grew old and al turned out to be a quiet, lumbering sort of guy who smuggled me handfuls of peanut m&ms for breakfast, driving me to school throughout the 9th and 10th grades. i had wild hair and obscene sideburns, corduroy bellbottoms, the kinda kid who makes adults itch to whisper their bygone narcotic preferences and glory stories from the revolution (david loved cocaine but i was always partial to grass. acid scared both of us to death, especially the time we got tear-gassed! ohh, but why am i telling you this? lemme show you how to work the baby monitor before we head out). but not al. his glory stories were his own, so much so that his daughter never heard of benny and the war until i did.
the john hughes revelation below brings that story to mind, not because it's about penpals, but because both stories are about people giving sincere charity with no thought of personal reward. people quietly going out of their way to do meaningful things on a small scale and never pausing for a pat on the back. passing on the coos of adoring women, opting out of glory, letting their guards down and just doing good for good's sake. what a load of character that takes. what a way to be. i'm so glad that this story surfaced.
Excerpt: For two years (1985-1987), John Hughes and I wrote letters back and forth. He told me - in long hand black felt tip pen on yellow legal paper - about life on a film set and about his family. I told him about boys, my relationship with my parents and things that happened to me in school. He laughed at my teenage slang and shared the 129 question Breakfast Club trivia test I wrote (with the help of my sister) with the cast, Ned Tanen (the film's producer) and DeDe Allen (the editor). He cheered me on when I found a way around the school administration's refusal to publish a "controversial" article I wrote for the school paper. And he consoled me when I complained that Mrs. Garstka didn't appreciate my writing.
"As for your English teacher…Do you like the way you write? Please yourself. I'm rather fond of writing. I actually regard it as fun. Do it frequently and see if you can't find the fun in it that I do."
He made me feel like what I said mattered.
"I can't tell you how much I like your comments about my movies. Nor can I tell you how helpful they are to me for future projects. I listen. Not to Hollywood. I listen to you. I make these movies for you. Really. No lie. There's a difference I think you understand."
READ: "Sincerely, John Hughes" by Alison Byrne Fields
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photo credit
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
