CHAPTER FIVE
Compassion
"Our human compassion binds us the one to the other¡ªnot in pity or patronizingly, but as human beings who have learnt how to turn our common suffering into hope for the future."
¡ªNELSON MANDELA
Through the small plexiglass window, I could see the armed soldier standing guard outside our room. I knew that there was another soldier positioned at the other door and five to ten more manning key positions around the dining facility. While Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan was reasonably secure, the insider threat from a potential suicide bomber was always a possibility.
Inside the room, there were trays of food on fold-up tables situated in a long rectangle to allow the twenty generals to eat while listening to the commander of the U.S. Central Command, General John Abizaid. As the only one-star admiral in the group and one of the junior officers, I sat at the far end of the rectangle as Abizaid began to talk. It was an impromptu Commanders' Conference and we had just started to discuss the strategy for the following year. These were high-level, important, life-altering discussions that would have a dramatic effect on the future of U.S. forces in the war.
As I wolfed down my burger and ranch-style beans, I tried to keep an eye on Abizaid as he talked. A remarkable officer, Abizaid had that swagger and sense of confidence that come from being in command most of his adult life. He did not suffer fools gladly, and while his exterior demeanor was always professional, he had a lighter side that occasionally came forth. But these were serious times and Abizaid was in the middle of a serious discussion. Sitting at the head of the long table, he was pointing to various officers as each man spoke about his unit's role in the overall strategy.
Just as I was finishing off my burger, I saw the door to the room ease open and Abizaid's military aide cautiously entered. The general was in the midst of making an important point when the aide sidled up beside him. Not wanting to interrupt the general, the aide stood quietly off his right shoulder. Finally, Abizaid stopped and turned to him.
"What? What is it?"
Clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say, the aide whispered into Abizaid's ear.
"What? Now?"
"Yes sir. He's right outside," the aide responded.
"Who is this guy again?"
The aide whispered once more.
"All right. Let him in," Abizaid said, visibly annoyed.
Moments later, the door to the dining room swung open and in walked a man in civilian clothes: clearly out of place in Bagram. Surveying the room, the civilian looked stunned to see so many generals. In a bit of a panic, he blurted out, "Who's in charge here? Who can I talk to?"
Around the table the generals laughed softly. Abizaid, now with a smile on his face, said, "Well, I guess I am. What can I do for you?"
"Are you the big guy?" the civilian asked.
Once again there were a few muffled laughs.
"It depends. What do you need?"
The civilian moved to the head of the table and stood beside Abizaid. It was clear that he was uncomfortable and working hard not to show it.
"Well. I'm Gary Sinise. I'm an actor."
Everyone in the room looked at one another. They had been at war for a while, and the actor's name and face weren't ringing a lot of bells.
"I played Lieutenant Dan in the movie Forrest Gump."
Now heads were nodding. Oh yes. We know this guy. He was good in the role. Very good!
"What can I do for you, Mr. Sinise?" Abizaid asked.
"Well, General, I need a C-130 aircraft. Can you get me one?"
A few more stifled laughs.
"Maybe," Abizaid said, a sly grin breaking across his face. "What do you need it for?"
"General, I have ten pallets of school supplies that I want to give to the children of Afghanistan, and I don't have any way of getting the pallets to them."
Abizaid's eyes widened a bit. "Where did you get these supplies?" he asked.
"I bought them, sir. It's part of an effort called Operation International Children."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Sinise, let me get this straight. You bought school supplies for the children of Afghanistan and you came all the way here to deliver them?"
Sinise looked perplexed. "Well, yes sir. The kids need the supplies. I thought I could help."
"You do know that we're in the middle of a war. This isn't exactly a safe place for a civilian."
Sinise looked around the room at the men in camouflage uniforms. "Yes sir. I know. But the kids need the school supplies or we will have an entire generation of Afghans who don't have a proper education."
The laughs in the room had turned to smiles.
"Well, I'll tell you what, Mr. Sinise. I'll see what I can do about that C-130," Abizaid said.
"Thank you, General. And I'm sorry to interrupt."
"No problem, Mr. Sinise. It was a welcome interruption."
Abizaid stood, smiled widely, and shook hands with Sinise. They took some quick photos and then Sinise departed.
As the door swung closed and Gary Sinise left, the entire tenor of the room changed.
It is easy to get jaded by war. You grow callous at the injustice, the pain, the lost lives, and the lost futures. You tell yourself that you can't weep for every dying soul; you can't hurt for the assorted wrongs in the world. So you place the discomfort of war deep inside yourself and you surround it with every emotional barricade you can. You never want those feelings of pity and disappointment to come out, because if they do, they will crush the warrior in you; they will take away your edge and your determination to defeat the enemy. But every now and then you see an act of kindness and charity that makes you long for the days when you didn't have to hide your sympathy, your mercy, or your sadness, where you could cheer for the do-gooders, smile at the little acts of humanity, and be proud of the merciful. Within hours, Gary Sinise got his C-130 and the supplies made their way to hundreds of Afghan children.
A few years later as I was visiting one of my wounded soldiers at Walter Reed, I walked into the room and there was Gary Sinise with his daughter. He had arrived, unannounced, with no fanfare, bearing gifts for a soldier he didn't know. Over the course of the next decade, everywhere I went, Gary had been there and left his mark, caring for soldiers and their families. Through his foundation and Lt. Dan Band, he has raised millions of dollars to help the wounded and the families of the fallen. What makes his actions so special is the sincerity of his giving and his unbridled compassion. Every handshake is a bond of friendship. Every hug is a promise of support. Every smile is genuine. The influence of one man and his deep wellspring of charity and goodwill changed the lives of so very many.
When I was a boy, my mother was always fond of telling me the story of the North Platte Canteen. North Platte was a small town in rural Nebraska, a rest stop on the Union Pacific Railroad carrying soldiers from the West Coast to the troopships heading for Europe during World War II. One day a young woman decided to make some sandwiches for the soldiers on the train. Her act of kindness was so well received that before long all of North Platte turned out to provide food, gifts, cards, letters, a dance or two, money, anything to help the soldiers on their way to war. Over the next four years, the townsfolk cared for over six million soldiers, and every soldier remembered the thoughtfulness of the people of North Platte. Imagine the effect that kindness had on the war effort.
I witnessed great acts of compassion almost daily during my time in uniform and beyond: members of the Red Cross helping the victims of the 2008 earthquake in Pakistan and the 2013 typhoon that leveled the Philippines; doctors volunteering their time to care for the wounded in Yemen; charity groups providing food to the destitute in the Congo; neighbors holding vigils for fallen heroes across America; passengers cheering the arrival of an Honor Flight in Washington; a thousand acts of kindness from soldiers to Afghan and Iraqi villagers; people of every social status, color, and creed helping others during the devastation of Hurricane Harvey¡ªall acts, great or small, meant to convey our common humanity, a recognition that we are all worthy of some respect, some outpouring of love.
Science tells us that certain acts of giving cause the brain to secrete a hormone that generates feelings of well-being. But we don't really need science to tell us that doing charitable acts makes us feel good about ourselves. Since childhood, most of us have known that "it is better to give than to receive." But why? Why? Because¡­ it is embedded in our humanity. The fact is, no society can long survive unless there exist strong bonds between individuals, families, communities, states, and nations: neighbors helping neighbors, communities coming together in times of need, each act strengthening the fabric of society, and by doing so, allowing for the survival of the species. If we lose our sense of charity, of kindness, of compassion, if we become hardened to the troubles of others, then we will not survive long.
For some the desire to give is strong. They feel the pain of others. They have empathy for the lost and unfortunate. They are naturally caring people. We all know someone like that. But most of us must search for the desire to be kind. Life can make us selfish, skew our priorities toward work, wealth, and image. Our character, the qualities that make us most human, most able to fit well into society, can be diminished by the trappings of modernity. Fortunately, the fix is easy: one dollar for the homeless, one hour at a soup kitchen, one dinner for the church bazaar, one thank-you for the returning soldiers, one small act of kindness to forge your character, strengthen your soul, and keep you connected to the rest of the world.
The Hero Code
I will be kind and compassionate to at least one person every single day and expect nothing in return.
CHAPTER SIX
Perseverance
"I have never had to face anything that could overwhelm the native optimism and stubborn perseverance I was blessed with."
¡ªJUSTICE SONIA SOTOMAYOR
The man in the rumpled white lab coat looked like an Einsteinian character out of central casting. His long gray hair was unkempt, he hadn't shaved in several days, and he had that faraway look that told me he was thinking deeply about something important.
"Jim, Jim," I said, trying to break his concentration.
Hearing my voice, he smiled and reached out his hand.
"Oh, Chancellor. Good to see you. How have you been?"
Dr. Jim Allison always seemed to be in a good mood and always seemed to be ruminating about the next great breakthrough in science. As we stood in the ballroom of the hotel waiting for Allison to give a lunchtime presentation, I leaned in close so others around us couldn't hear.
"Well, Jim, I've got some bad news." I paused. "I received word from the Dallas Morning News that they chose someone else as their 2015 Texan of the Year. I'm really sorry. After all you have accomplished in medicine, I thought you clearly deserved it."
"Oh, don't be sorry!" he said. "Your nominating letter was great. And guess what!" Allison smiled like a teenager with a new car. "Willie Nelson's band called me. They saw your letter in the paper and the part about me playing the harmonica."