60 Minutes

Tonight's 60 Minutes represented the culmination of my political career in fifth grade. While my teacher, who still manages to have employment, was busy harassing me (see below), I was blazing the trails of some of the most significant issues of our time.

First, along with my best friend, I organized a verbal protest in our dining hall against Chiquita bananas for environmental damage. Little did I know the company was allegedly in bed with bloodthirsty, drug-dealing warlords, too. According to tonight's 60 Minutes report, Chiquita paid Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia $2 million for "protection." As it turns out, we were not only eating bananas grown on land that might have once held a tropical rainforest; we were also eating bananas grown under the watchful eye of a barbarian horde. But no, I was being "too loud" in the dining hall, and had to "quiet down."

Second, I delivered an award-winning speech on the necessity of defending sharks, particularly from the shark fin soup industry. For this I received due consideration, but only because I crafted the words outside the classroom, away from the clutches of my teacher - a real Gradgrind, or Nurse Ratched. My speech's opening lines* continue to strike a nerve among those fortunate enough to listen, and I plan someday to recreate the speech in its entirety. This evening's 60 Minutes, however, will do for now, since it concluded the report with my overall argument: sharks deserve legal protection from violent fishermen. I should add that, in light of the want of a statute governing such barbaric behavior in international waters, one should be written post-haste.

If you want to see what a brilliant mind I was in the fifth grade, as opposed to today, then take a look at this evening's 60 Minutes.

Perhaps you will judge me better than did my teacher, who rather than rewarding me, threw me out of the classroom multiple times, discouraged outside reading, arranged a meeting between my parents and the lower school principal, and encouraged other students to ridicule me with impunity. Shame. SHAME!

* "Shark: nightmare of the deep, savage of the sea, maneater - these words ... "

Captain Thomas McEntee Martin, USMC (1931-1957)

Every Memorial Day, and on many other occasions, I make it a point to reflect on the life of my great uncle, who died in service to his country over 50 years ago.

We had a lot in common. Uncle Tommy, as my father and others called him, grew up in this very house in Norfolk, Virginia. Right now I am sitting at a computer eight feet below his old bedroom in the attic, which he shared with his brother, Uncle Teddy. It's really hot up there, and I have no clue how they managed. But they did, and they flourished. As boys, Tommy and Teddy were active and popular in my neighborhood, and their mother and my great grandmother, Fran Martin, actually wrote children's books loosely based on their adventures.

Unlike his older brother and sister, Uncle Tommy did not attend a public school. His mother insisted that private schools were inferior. But for some reason she made an exception for her youngest son and sent him to what would become my alma mater, Norfolk Academy, from which he graduated in 1950.

Uncle Tommy's senior yearbook, which he edited, is one of my greatest treasures. He was extremely popular at school, and faculty members and students paid him a great deal of compliments in the margins. Here are some of them:

If all the boys on the football team had your "guts," no one would have beaten us.

- John S. Kroll, Director of Athletics and History Teacher

All the best at Va. and I'll be reading a book under your byline someday I hope.

- Benjamin

Well Tom, your hard work shows good results. Hope you can, and I know you will, do just as good in the future.

- James

The best of everything to a wonderful guy - take good care of yourself, Tommy.

- Polly

Aside from these remarks (I think two people wrote in my yearbook), Uncle Tommy and I shared a few things in common from our Norfolk Academy years. We both served as vice president of the student council, and we both edited The Belfry, our school's newspaper. Under the guidance of Mr. James Smith Barron Jr., he and a few others founded the publication in 1947. Tommy was voted most likely to succeed; I was voted most likely to be on Saturday Night Live. And our basketball prospects both ended early - his in 1946, mine when I was born.

After graduation, Uncle Tommy continued his studies at the University of Virginia. But in 1950 duty called, and Uncle Tommy joined the U.S. Marine Corps as an aviator. He served with the First and Second Marine Air Wings in Korea, then returned to Virginia and embarked on a brilliant career as student, all while continuing to serve as a pilot in the Reserves. Remarkably, he became the first second year to become editor-in-chief of The Cavalier Daily, and he also served on the student council. Uncle Tommy was a talented journalist, and perhaps one of his best clips was an interview he conducted with William Faulkner, who shared a day with him in Charlottesville.

But on August 29, 1957, this promising young light was extinguished. Uncle Tommy was killed in a plane crash at the U.S. Marine Corps Air Station in El Toro, California. He never married, he never raised a family, and he never got the chance to develop into that famous writer he was destined to become. He gave his life to this country, so that it would remain strong and free; so that people like me, who don't have the same "guts" he displayed on the football field and in war, might enjoy our lives in peace and fulfill the dreams that fate denied him.

Welcome

My name is Jamie Deal. This might be yet another short-lived project of mine, but if it is not, I hope you enjoy my writing.