But first A Spot of History: As mentioned
elsewhere in this blog, there were only 170 American men who were ever actively
involved in the CRB as administrative volunteers in Belgium and North France,
or in the New York, London and Rotterdam offices.
Decades
after the war (and after World War Two), many of these CRB delegates gave oral
histories to various libraries and
historical institutions about their time spent working for Herbert Hoover and the
CRB.
One of those
delegates was my grandfather, Milton M. Brown (who is also the reason for this
blog and my CRB work). Brown was interviewed back in the 1960s or early 1970s.
During his oral history, Brown recounted a tale about Hoover at the very start
of the relief work.
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| Hoover during the CRB Days, looking like a young Robert Redford. |
According to Brown, when the first relief shipment was ready to leave England for Rotterdam, Hoover went to the English War Department with clearance papers for the ship to get through the English blockade. The man at the window asked:
"What's in the ship?"
"Flour," Hoover replied.
"Where's it going?"
"To Belgium."
"But Belgium's under German occupation," the man said.
"That's why it's going there."
"Well, that's just why it's not," the clerk stated.
The next day Hoover was back at the same
window with the same papers and the same clerk was there.
"What did we tell you yesterday about
this flour shipment?" "There's no use making a fuss about it," Hoover explained. "The ship's now unloading at Rotterdam."
America's "shirt-sleeve diplomacy" had begun.
 |
| Modern rendition of America's "shirt-sleeve diplomacy" :) |
My
post: I hope my provocative Post
Title has drawn the attention of numerous people -- the more people to hear a confession, the better
it is for the soul (no matter how painful to the teller).
We probably all
know about "family stories" -- those usually humorous, many times embarrassing
tales of childhood or familyhood -- told so many times that each member can
recite them word-for-word. Jeff examples: Mom flinging peas at Dad (in love, of
course). Bill Hickey and Jeff tearing off roof shingles and throwing them like
freebies (if I were Dad, I would have killed me!). Dad being engaged to three
other women when he got engaged to Mom (Mom's response: "Oh, Vernon, don't
be ridiculous!").
The one
element that all such stories share is that they have a seed of truth to them. Beyond
the seed, however, is everything from hype and hyperbole, to lies and damn
lies. But all have been added for a good cause -- to make the story more fun
and exciting.
What's this
got to do with me and the CRB book?
Well, for 25
years, I've been telling one particular WWI story that I read about during my initial
research. It's a fascinating, funny tale that I've loved to tell and, from the
reactions I've received, others have enjoyed hearing it.
Sadly, much
of it is simply not true. And yet I've firmly believed what I've been saying
all these years.
How did I
come to believe totally in a story that was only partially true? Here's what I
think happened.
One of the
great things about fiction is that you don't have to be factually accurate -- thus the name fiction! During my research days 25 years ago -- on my way to writing my
historical novel -- I stumbled across the original story. It was pretty
good. But the creative writer in me must have seen how it could be such a
stronger story if only...
So I let my
inner storyteller out to play and he easily embellished the piece into a fine, funny tale. Once the new,
improved story was in Honor Bound, my
brain simply latched on to it as if it was the truth...the whole truth and
nothing but the truth!
How did I
discover my 25-year-old error?
Those who
have been following this blog already know that I've been reacquainting myself
with my 1980s research by typing up nearly 1,000 index cards (already done!)
and typing up numerous legal pages filled with my handwritten research notes
(deadline is January 31).
During these
processes, I've once again come across the original story. That's when I discovered that half of my
story for the last 25 years has simply been the product of my imagination.
What's the
story? It's the
wine story I tell in Post #5: How Do I Want To Be Like Bill O'Reilly?"
Quick
Summary of My Version: With German soldiers nearly at his door, a rich Belgian
takes all his wine and puts it in his ornamental lake. The next morning, just
before the Germans arrive, he awakes to find all the labels have floated to the
top of the lake. He quickly has all his servants gather up the labels and the
Germans never find the wine. After the war, he holds famous dinner parties
where no one knows exactly what they're drinking.
Quick
Summary of the Real Story: With German soldiers nearly at his door, a rich
Belgian takes most of his wine and puts it in his ornamental lake, leaving a
few thousand bottles of new wine to hopefully fool the Germans. The Germans
show up, aren't fooled by the new wine and start looking for the rest of the
stash. That's when they see the labels floating to the top of the lake. They
drain the lake and take the wine.
Why am I
confessing this in my blog? I need to remind myself that my approach to this
new CRB book -- a nonfiction historical narrative -- MUST be completely and
totally accurate. I can't let any embellishing aspects of storytelling get in
the way of the factual story.
That doesn't
mean my book is going to be a dry recitation of facts and figures. Quite the
contrary (if my plans are realized). But it will mean that anyone who reads my
book can be assured that everything in it actually did happen, the way it happened.
As Bill O'Reilly writes on the dust jacket
of his history book The Killing ofLincoln, the book "is history that reads like a thriller."
I learned
the importance of reporting accuracy in
my 35 years as a professional journalist and as the author of my first history
book, Stapleton International Airport:The First Fifty Years.
Now I've
just re-learned it.
I've also
decided that I will NOT re-read Honor
Bound as part of my reacquainting myself with my 1980s work, simply because it would be impossible for me to discern truth from fiction.
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