Alex spent his final month at home in Greenwood Village giddy with the knowledge that he was army property already, halfway to becoming the man he had always wanted to be. Not only was he about to kick some serious terrorist ass, he was dating the love of his life and planned to marry her. He trained harder than ever for basic, played a last few hockey games, and took advantage of his remaining weeks of freedom to goof off in high style. Many of Littleton High School’s students drove to graduation in the BMWs and Mercedes they had been given as graduation presents; Alex drove his dad’s ride-on lawn mower. At a final party with his teammates for the Littleton Hawks, while the rest of them drank and smoked and played poker, bragging about the junior hockey teams they would be playing for in Canada next year, Alex charged into the kitchen stark naked and dove under the table to call in pretend airstrikes using his fist as a radio.
“We had a barbecue for Alex the day before he left,” Norm recalled near the end of our lunch. “It was sort of a happy/sad deal.”
By some quirk of army scheduling, the day before Alex left happened to be the Fourth of July. “Forty or fifty people came by. Some friends, some coaches, some teachers and administrators from his school who had all just taken to him.” Norm shrugged. “He was an easy kid to like. Anna and two of his best friends stayed up with him afterward. We watched a couple of movies. Four-thirty in the morning, I think it was, two guys in uniform came and got him. As soon as they showed up, Alex was gone within a minute. Maybe ten words exchanged. You know, ‘I’m Alex’s dad.’ ‘We’re here to pick up your son.’ They don’t give a flying fuck.”
It was a rare moment of bitterness from Norm. I asked him how it felt to have Alex gone.
“You know, it’s like anything else in life. So-and-so is going to die, because they’re a hundred years old and they have cancer, and you’re ready for it until it happens, and then you realize there’s no way you could be ready for it. Anna’s crying. His friends are bummed out. Everyone just goes their separate ways.”
I nodded. We chewed in silence for a second. The restaurant was empty now except for us and a few dusty shafts of late-afternoon light.
“How’s that?” Norm asked.
I thought he was asking about his story. The truth was that I was moved and astonished that Norm was talking to me like this, but I tried to answer with manly restraint. “Pretty sad,” I said.
“That calzone,” clarified Norm, looking uncomfortable.
“Oh,” I said. “It’s good.”
“I’ll tell you what, Ben. Of the people who go into the military, Alex was probably as well prepared mentally and physically as anybody ever is. He did his homework. He read voraciously. He knew what he was getting himself into. But”—Norm gave me a meaningful look—“he didn’t know what he was getting himself into.”
At the time of Alex’s enlistment, the army, confronted by the possibility of a longer-than-expected fight with an overstretched volunteer force, was studying the factors that helped and hindered recruitment via the USAREC Survey of New Army Recruits, a pink form that looked a little like an SAT booklet. Alex diligently filled in the bubbles with a number 2 pencil.
I enlisted because: (X) I wanted the adventure I will experience. ( ) I wanted the benefits I will receive. ( ) I wanted the skills I will learn. ( ) I wanted the pay I will earn. ( ) I wanted the money for education. ( ) I wanted the travel I will experience. (X) I wanted to serve my country.
From the statements above, which is the MOST important to you?
I wanted to serve my country.
From the statements above, which is the LEAST important to you?
I wanted the pay I will earn.
Typically, young people considering enlisting for military service experience some concerns or barriers to this decision. How significant were these concerns to your decision to enlist?
Religious or moral beliefs: Very unimportant.
Put education plans on hold: Very unimportant.
Loss of personal freedom: Very unimportant.
Fear of injury or death: Very unimportant.
Fear of basic training: Very unimportant.
Family obligations: Somewhat important.
Who was the LEAST supportive of your decision to join the ARMY? (Mark only one)
( ) Mother/stepmother. ( ) Father/stepfather. ( ) Athletic Coach. ( ) Teacher. ( ) Husband/wife. ( ) Boyfriend or girlfriend. ( ) Friend. ( ) Clergy member. (X) School Guidance Counselor. ( ) Sister/brother or stepsister/stepbrother. ( ) Extended family (i.e. grandparent, uncle/aunt, cousin).
I wasn’t at Alex’s farewell party. I was caught up in my own life, reading research papers on complexity theory in Berkeley, California, and spending my nights playing accordion with a group of grad school friends in the basement of our Oakland rental. Norm showed me a few pictures: Anna looking shell-shocked on the patio, Sam and Carly playing some kind of board game on the trampoline. It was incredible how young everyone was. Alex looked happy and playful, horsing around in the yard, throwing his arm over his buddies’ shoulders, holding a glass of water proudly up toward the camera. Norm had permitted the other graduates a beer or two from the garage refrigerator, but Alex was sticking to his training diet.
“He had a great personality,” Norm summed up with a shrug at the end of our lunch. “He was fun to be around. Just a gregarious kid.”
Even then, the blandness of his language unsettled me. It reminded me somehow of that flat suburban sunlight that suffused so many of my childhood memories. Who was my younger cousin really? What darkness, if any, lay under the cheerful smile of the boy in these photographs?
The culture of the Blum family is a patchwork affair. In hacking off his Jewish roots, Al Senior endowed his descendants with the opportunity and the onus of making their own myths. Some of us have found them in sports, others in science, others in war, but there are times when it seems to me that some vestigial connection to an unconscious substrate of Jewish lore must remain. The best model I have found for the way the extended Blum family came to interpret what happened to Alex is the ancient Jewish legend of the golem.
According to Talmudic lore, the first one was Adam himself, who spent an hour as gathered dust, an hour as form, and an hour as golem, Hebrew for “unshaped mass,” before God infused him with a soul. Later golems, constructed by mere rabbis, never got that far. The best known is the sixteenth-century Golem of Prague, sculpted from river clay by Rabbi Judah Loew to guard the Jewish quarter from attack. The legend is told in different ways. Sometimes the name of God is written on paper and slipped into the golem’s mouth. Sometimes the Hebrew word emet, or “truth,” is carved onto its forehead. Regardless, language is what fills the golem with its mute, unquestioning half-life. Like Frankenstein, Skynet, or the Predator and Reaper drones that now buzz over conflict zones around the world, the golem represents action without agency, force without conscience, a lurch and a boom and no one there to blame. Inevitably it goes astray. In the end the rabbi manages to pull the slip of paper from its mouth or to erase the first character of the word from its forehead, turning emet, “truth,” into met, “dead,” and the golem collapses into a pile of inanimate mud.
Our own golem was dissolved by an other-than-honorable discharge from the U.S. Army in early 2007, while Alex was still