CHAPTER 23
August 1983—Chickenhawk was officially published.
A first copy came from Gerry by Federal Express. I opened the package. I’d seen the cover, I’d seen the jacket copy, but seeing my manuscript as a fresh-paper, wet-ink actual hardbound book gave me a shot of adrenaline. I put it on a bookshelf with some other books and waited for Patience to come back from shopping. When she got home, I pretended to be busy at the table, and said, “Hand me that dictionary, will you? You know, the one over there.” I pointed to the bookcase. She walked over, looking for the dictionary, and saw Chickenhawk. She squealed with delight, grabbed the book, and came over and punched me in the stomach. It was a happy moment.
I had the book in my hands, but it wasn’t yet in the stores. Viking had sent out review copies. Whether anyone would hear about it was now up to the reviewers.
Robert Wilson published the first review of Chickenhawk in USA Today. Wilson was impressed when I said, about the men in the burn ward I visited, “I saw 18-year-old boys with their faces burned away, bright pink skin stretched over strange, stunted noses. Had someone photographed the men there, twisted and deformed with featureless faces, by the hundreds, the war might have ended sooner. But probably not.” The cynicism of the last line struck Wilson and he went on to say, “If I sound just a little overwrought, I defy you to read this straightforward, in many ways under-wrought, narrative and feel any differently.”
These first reviews took my breath away. John Del Vecchio (author of The Thirteenth Valley) said in the Philadelphia Inquirer, “Chickenhawk had me trembling in my seat—fidgeting—wanting it to stop—wanting to get those guys up, off the LZs. Powerful scenes in this personal narrative… made me cry. By the time I was a third into this book, it had me.”
Larry Heinemann (author of Close Quarters) entitled his Chicago Sun-Times review, “hacking it in a Huey: a superb memoir of Vietnam.”
I had always imagined reviewers laughing at my feeble attempts to be a writer. This was amazing. And not one of these reviews mentioned my legal problems and that I was on my way to prison.
The man I figured would be my toughest reviewer, Towler (still known as Resler in the book), sent me a letter. Towler would know if I’d gotten it right. He’d also now know all about my secret life as a crook. The following is an extract of that letter:
I must say I was stunned in what I read in the last two chapters. I laughed and I cried throughout your book and I truly had a hollow, sickly feeling when I finished it.
I too had dreams that would wake me up at night in a cold sweat. I guess I would jump so much that occasionally Martie would have the bruises to show it. Fortunately, I was able to adjust, but then, I had my flying to come back to. You know, I have never been out of aviation since my first solo in flight school. I can’t imagine what I would have done if I was suddenly grounded.
What you have accomplished with Chickenhawk should make you justifiably proud. I know it can never make up for all the suffering you have endured both during and after Vietnam, but hopefully this book has been your therapy. You no longer need to house all those nightmares within. You’ve let it out for yourself to look at objectively and hopefully others will do the same for themselves when they read it.
I know I don’t have to tell you that someone else suffered, in her own way, right at your side through those many traumatic years and in many ways went through her own private war. I knew by our many conversations in Viet Nam just how much strength your love for Patience and your son provided you when our world seemed like a nightmare. I felt I knew Patience like a brother in Nam and in many ways I envied you. I would watch you read the same letters sometimes five or six times a day. You always carried one from her in your breast pocket.
I pray to God your appeal in court will have a favorable outcome. You’ve served your time and then some. I hope this country can accept that. I know you never had strong feelings toward the Almighty but I feel he let you survive for a reason, two of them being your loved ones, the next so that your story could be told. You have made yourself and all of us proud, so take strength in those who love you and your friends who respect you. You’ll always be a Hawk in my eyes.
The next day, Dan Bowling called to tell me the Supreme Court had refused to hear our appeal.
“Now what?” I said.
“The Bureau of Prisons will be in touch. Count on it. Could be a month. Could be a few days.”
Knox called me on the morning of August fourth. “I’m sure you don’t get the New York Times down there in the swamps.”
“I’ve heard some people saw one in Gainesville, couple years ago.”
“Great. You have just been reviewed by Christopher Lehmann-Haupt in the Times. And it’s a great review. Got a minute?”
“Sure.”
Knox read me the review.
Lehmann-Haupt started by calling Chickenhawk a “remarkable journal based on a year spent flying assault helicopters… in Vietnam.” He said, “So compelling are Mason’s technical details that only by subliminal degrees do we become aware of his mounting battle fatigue.” He ended the review this way: I wish I could close by quoting in full one of the scenes in which Mr. Mason demonstrates his use of detail… But each of these scenes is too long to be quoted in full. Besides, it is the even longer combat scenes that catch the real flavor of Chickenhawk. It is to combat that Bob Mason is always drawn, no matter how frightened he feels… And in that paradox lies the terror of his hypnotic narrative. It is combat that becomes his natural environment. Combat becomes the only habitat in which he feels alive. Combat possesses his dreams long after he has left the war. And in realizing this, he discovers that he has gone quite mad.
I was stunned. Lehmann-Haupt seemed to get it, and I was happy that I’d gotten through.
To illustrate the power of the Times, at noon the same day the review came out a producer from the Today Show called. She wanted to know if I could be on the show. I said I’d have to check with Judge Blatt, I’d let her know. By two o’clock, People magazine and Time magazine had called to arrange interviews. By late in the day, a clerk from Sol Blatt’s office called me to say that the judge had no objection to me traveling to New York since it was part of my work, but, the clerk stressed, when I was assigned a date to go to prison I had to report immediately, no matter what television show I was scheduled to be on.
Suddenly everybody knew I’d written a book. Almost none of them knew I was also going to jail. None of the reviews mentioned my pending incarceration. The Today Show people found out when I told the producer that my trip was subject to clearance by a judge.
Towler insisted on flying down from Michigan to help out while all this was going on. He wanted to see what I was going to wear on television. I showed him a blazer I had bought years before in New York. Storage in our cabin had spawned several colonies of mildew. “You can’t wear that on the Today show!” Jerry insisted.
“Why not? Most of the stains are on the pocket and on the back. I’ll be sitting down.”
“C’mon, take me into town. You need something to wear. I’m not going to let you embarrass helicopter pilots.”