Monuments Men and When Words Fail Me

On Tuesday I had something interesting penciled into the day planner. I went to lecture followed by a special screening of the Monuments Men movie. You may remember hearing about this George Clooney film when it hit the movie theaters last year. It’s about an actual event in history where men from around the world were charged with finding art works stolen and hidden by the Nazis during World War II. The daughter of one of the actual members of the Monuments Men was the guest lecturer---she was born and raised in a near-by town---and she shared her father’s personal stories, letters and photographs of the recoveries of the stolen art in which he took part. He helped catalog the thousands of pieces of art found in two salt mines and with trying to local their rightful owners.

It was a fascinating story and one the daughter didn’t fully appreciate until a friend called her one day to tell her that her father’s photo was in the latest Smithsonian Magazine. She went online, left a comment on the article and the next day she got an email from a man writing a book about the Monuments Men. He wanted to interview her and her mother and within a week, the author flew in from Texas with a camera crew and he left with some of the memorabilia that her father had kept in a box labeled, “Army Stuff. Do NOT throw out.” Fast forward: The book got optioned for the movie, she was an invited guest at the Michigan premier of the film, the local newspaper picked up the story and she began getting asked to speak to groups around the state.

Once a month I talk politics with a life-long friend of my husbands, or rather I should say we vent to one another. We’re both liberal democrats and as the next presidential election winds up we’ll talk more often. It’s been that way since Don lost his speech and before that it was my husband and his friend who’d have these political conversations. He’s my political ‘pigeonhole’ friend. If I want to talk dogs I call a certain pigeonhole friend and if I want to hear some family gossip, I call a sister-in-law who knows it all. If I want to talk books I’m up a creek without a paddle because no one I know reads for pleasure anymore. Online reviews are a good substitute for real conversations but after seeing what I did on Tuesday I would have loved having a pigeonhole art friend to talk Monuments Men and art with. I still can’t get over the fact that Hitler had left orders---should he die---to destroy all the art that he had his military steal and hide, and they did start that process. It boggles my mind that a person, even Hitler, could be that selfish and vindictive. So many of Europe’s finest treasures---pieces by the likes of Michelangelo, Monet, Rembrandt, Raphael, Vermeer, Leonardo de Vinci and so on---would have been lost forever if not for the quick actions of the 350 men who served in Monuments Men units. 

When my political friend calls we’re usually on the phone a good hour which is a long conversation in Jean’s World where, these days, I can easily go a week or two without talking to anyone except the cashier at the grocery store and the Starbucks speaker. During our most recent political call I realized (not for the first time) that my conversational skills are slipping. I’m not as quick with getting out my thoughts and words. I’m not forming easy comments to his statements like I used to be able to do. Part of that is because since last winter I’m not following the news as closely as I used to do but the other part has me worried. Why? Because I’ve noticed the same, not-as-quick-thing when I’m having shorter, more casual conversations with strangers and acquaintances. What’s going on in my brain? Am I getting rusty because I live alone? Is this just something that happens as we age? Because it’s embarrassing when the words don’t flow like they used to, do we start pulling back from even attempting casual conversations? Ohmygod, I hate thinking about all this!

If nothing more, I think I need to start talking out loud around the house. I don’t even talk to the dog as often as I used because I swear he reads my mind and I know I can read his. He only has a few thoughts inside there. “Give me a treat.” “Play with me.” “Let me outside.” “Let me inside.” “Did you see that rabbit?” “You’ve been in the chair long enough. Put on my song and let’s dance.” With the latter, I go to YouTube and when the music come out of my computer speakers, we take off doing obedience training and tricks as we ‘dance’ through the house. “No matter who you are, no matter where you go in life, you’re going to need someone to stand by you,” the street performer sings. Five and a half minutes later Levi the Mighty Schnauzer in my life is happy. And I’ve done my dog-mother bonding duty but lately I’m left wondering who will read my mind when I’m old and as wordless as my dog. Who will stand by me? ©

A footnote on Tuesday’s lecture: The woman who gave us such a wonderful view of her father didn’t take the speaker’s fee the senior hall pays out to the people we book. She asked that we donate it to the Monuments Men Foundation. How cool is that!