An Integrity Found in Small Occasions
I’m on a listserv for my old American Studies professor from the University of Texas, Bill Stott. Bill is retired from academia now, living now as an expatriate in Chile, where he works as a journalist for an English-language newspaper and continues to keep his prostate cancer in check. His listserv is a sort of online literary salon that allows participants to meet some of many interesting people Bill has come across over the years.
Bill’s most recent post was about his friend, Fred Close, a filmmaker and historian who has just completed a biography of the woman known as Tokyo Rose. While the book itself looks interesting, I was more interested in a fragment of Fred’s writing that Bill included. Fred was writing about a bit of film from the epic television documentary, Victory at Sea. You can watch the clip referenced below on YouTube. The scene in question begins about the 2:30 mark.
“The magnificent NBC documentary series on the naval battles of World War II, Victory At Sea, includes an episode on the air war in which damaged American planes return to their carriers. The viewer watches one plane attempt to land, lose control and spin down the deck, smashing off its wing. Another hits, bounces, and flips over. In the middle of this series of shots, a plane arrives wobbling badly. Its pilot is obviously hurt. The plane crashes and skids across the deck to the farthest edge of the ship where it snags and hangs on the auxiliary fuel tank attached to the bottom of its fuselage.
“The propeller slashes into the edge of the carrier deck, breaking up the motor. The plane rocks back and forth, half on the ship, half off, and it is uncertain whether it will disappear over the side or not. The motor catches fire. Flames pour out from underneath, engulfing the fuel tank in heat and smoke. The pilot sits motionless in his cockpit. And now upon that huge deck appears the tiny figure of a man. He runs toward the burning plane. He does not hesitate. He leaps onto the wing, up above the flames, and he jerks at the pilot’s canopy.
“The plane is ready to explode, it is ready to fall into the sea, but the man does not weigh the risks. He intends to pull that pilot out.
“I tell you, your heart is in your throat as you watch. He is not John Wayne, hero of the movie. No script ordains that he will live. But he does not hesitate. He runs, and leaps upon the wing. Who is this man? Some rough carpenter, some auto mechanic, some nobody. But as God is my witness he’s a better man than I.
“What happens? We never know. The editor cuts the film with the man still pulling on the canopy. The story moves on to the next plane. The editor too has courage. He does not exploit this moment for a dramatic finish to his montage nor does he satisfy our sense of theater with a neat ending. The man on the wing is not a special case, just one sailor doing his duty.
“What prepared him for this action? I doubt he knew. Perhaps some modest act of bravery in peacetime, some sense of honor made manifest in high school, an integrity found in small occasions. The sailor with the courage to leap has receded among the shadows and his story remains obscure. The more urgent issue is: What are you doing now to prepare for the moments of testing in your future?”
I’ve often wondered what motivated that man to sprint toward a burning plan hanging precariously off the side of that carrier. It seems that a moment such as this defies preparation. Certainly the military trains incessantly to prepare for situations such as these so the reaction is automatic and not calculated. But is courage really a resource that can be developed and conserved?
My initial though was no, but now I am leaning toward yes. Perhaps it is an amalgam of experiences throughout a life – the integrity found in small occasions. Perhaps it is a sense of morality. But in our lives, we are constantly drawing the lines beyond which we will not cross. And as we draw these lines, we build a path for ourselves.
Although I’ve never met Fred, I think he’s right. Where are you drawing the lines in your life and are they building a path that will lead you through life’s trials? That is an urgent question.
