Ordinary heroes

Last night, I spent two hours in the vestibule of a downtown Portland church, listening to eight men spill their guts. With honesty, emotion and vulnerability that mesmerized an audience of about 200, they spoke of their experiences in the military, including deployments in Iraq, Afghanistan, Kosovo and Vietnam. I'm grateful to each one of them, for I know I'm richer for the experience.

"Telling, Portland" presents eight military veterans telling their individual stories on stage. The script was shaped during interviews with members of the Portland State University Student Veteran Association and Saturday's performance was the middle of a three-day run at First Congregational United Church in the Park Blocks. My talented colleague, Julie Sullivan, previewed the production in a piece in The Oregonian, "Stagecraft born of warcraft."

Epiphany might be too strong a word, but seeing and hearing these men discuss the Before, During and After of their experiences -- good, bad and ugly -- gave me a sharper understanding of what it is that induced our son Jordan to enlist in the Army and spurred me to better imagine what he's going through and how he might change during his service to country.

The cast members represent the Army, Navy, Marines and Oregon National Guard and range in age from mid-20s to late 50s (actually, the Vietnam vet might be in his early 60s) and all but the older guy attend Portland State. The group included a Latino, a Native American (Cherokee) and one dude who's half-Iranian, who lives in a diverse neighborhood where each day he sees people of Middle Eastern descent who dress and look exactly like those he hates for having killed his buddies. (He's trying to get over his hatred for the sake of his two young children he's raising as a single father...)

Listening to these guys talk, it became clear that despite their serving in different branches, their shared military experience is a bond like no other -- something I will never know as someone who escaped the draft during Vietnam. For these guys, the camaraderie that comes from enduring the same physical training, from going on patrol together, from surviving and readjusting to modern U.S. society is plainly evident.

As one speaks, the others nod knowingly, at mention of drinking binges, of keeping loved ones in the dark about everyday dangers they faced, of black humor ("A big part of combat is joking about your own death") and of the anger they feel when clueless civilians invariably ask, "Did you kill anyone in Iraq (or Afghanistan)?" As if answering the question would allow that person to understand anything about the veteran's experiences and feelings.

I don't want to suggest that hearing any of this was new. I simply want to note that, unlike professional actors playing a part, the comments took on greater weight coming from regular joes who'd lived these experiences.

In fact, that's what impressed me most about the evening. The realization that these guys were so ordinary, typically coming from small towns and standing up there in T-shirts and jeans, polo shirts and sneakers. One wore eyeglasses, a couple had tattoos, a couple had goatees and mustaches, and all had short haircuts. None would stand out in a crowd.

Some clearly were more comfortable than others speaking their lines; but even as I strained to hear one cast member, I appreciated his courage -- both for serving his country in dangerous conditions and for telling his story on stage.

It was a powerful experience. Ultimately, I came away with a deeper reservoir of respect for these ordinary men, made stronger by their willingness to do what so many of us run from. Ordinary heroes, each and every one.

Find out more about The Telling Project, which produced the Portland show.