Franz Schurmann: American Soul

1997.

I was a whip snap recent hire at Pacifc News Service. I wanted to write. I wanted to edit. I had that young, blind burn to succeed in my chosen profession, and wanted to do it all. I was "back from Asia," I liked to say to anyone who listened- (though it was really just a year and a half in South Korea, Cambodia and a few vacations in Japan and Thailand. I knew little more than zip about "Asia.")

Sandy Close, who hired me, set up a lunch with her husband, Franz Schurmann, and it seemed clear I was about to be measured. Measured, meaning, analyzed, plumbed, then, categorized, perhaps for job placement.

Reading his bio, I saw he had authored several works on foreign policy, most often focused on US- China relations, and original, historical analysis of US involvement in South East Asia. Furthermore, he was a professor emeritus of the Cal Berkeley History department, and spoke a dozen or so languages. This linguistist's talent enabled him to read the "ethnic press" in its original, non-translated drafts, pushing him closer to the 360 degree worldview which journalism often espouses, but rarely, if ever, strive for.

That his studies illuminated the ideas and practices of Communism from a non-jingoistic perspective, meant I was meeting one of the great portals of non-American political though in America. Here, I mused, was a person capable, actually, truly capable, if put in the right place, of changing US foreign policy in a radical direction, a direction from which the world could benefit.

At that time, I should add, I thought that such a goal- changing US foreign policy- was the only goal worth achieving in the United States.

How nice to be hired into a news agency with this visionary's values at its core, I thought. Bringing the voices of the the subaltern into mainstream news, understanding the impact domestic policy decisions could have on the world at large, educating Americans by re-inventing news, and having educated opinions impact future policy decisions. Seemed pretty clear to me then.

I came prepared; with a pen and a notebook. I toyed with the idea of bringing a hand-held voice recorder to capture the conversation. Imagine, though, that I would be sitting in front of a guy who had written extensively, reported and authored op-eds for all of the major publications, who wrote extensively about any topic that piqued his curiosity. Who would want this guy to think you were a wanna be reporter? Could be embarassing.

I imagined a DC guy, capable of walking in front of the Senate and edifying on North Korean military capacity and the effects closing US bases in Okinawa would have on Taiwanese independence.

Well, he certainly was that. But he lacked bombast. He radiated humility. He had wisdom.

When Franz and I met, across a plate of lo mein, he cupped an ear and leaned toward me- so that I would not necessarily adress his eyes, but his ear. A bit pulpy- with a wealth of hair sprouting from the interior, it seemed  a geological feature countoured by voices, music, opinions, poetry, facts.

And throughout the meal, that ear invited me to speak about a bit of everything. My mother, my religious values, how I saw plastic surgery in South Korea, what of the skeleton trade in Cambodia, and did I know about the Hmong general Vang Pao who lived somewhere outside of Fresno yet was planning a coup d'etat in Laos as we spoke?

Over the next two and a half years, I learned  the true definition of an American intellectual, plying every day people with questions that got at the subjective truths we each carried within, then tying them to the great currents of history, rather than the less palpable smoke of political agendas. He was  a vast respository for odd facts, quirky historical moments, revisionist paradigms, what ifs, why nots, and imagine ifs, which grew from a lifetime of searching for what historical certainties there were.

His often rambling and seemingly untethered ruminations ended with surpising conslusions that often reminded me of Huxley's analysis of history, which I misquote now:

 "A study of history shows only that human beings are always doomed to ignore the lessons of history and repeat mistakes. And that is the great truth one learns from the study of history."

If all of America was driven by such curiosity, what a magnificent nation we would be- searching for the artists, the visionaries, the silver lining, the most truth one can find. Catching it all through a willing ear trained to the vocubles of 12 languages!

The last time I spoke with Franz directly, was on a morning walk through the Sunset, by his home, which was his daily routine. He dubbed them these morning walks his "talks with God," where the rumination could contend with the daily grind of a news organization, where the ideas concretized from that cauldron of memory and text. I was 26, a new father, and he in his 70's, and that morning, we discussed Anthony Poshepny, the unlikely inspiration for Colonel Kurtz, Marlon Brando's character in Apocolypse Now- a CIA vet who lived a mere mile away from us at that moment who had amongst other things, recruited the hill tribe soldiers in Laos to take up the US cause, and who had orchestrated the Dalai Lama's "kidnapping" from Tibet.

I enjoyed the way we discussed the truth behind myth, the forces which shaped myth, the individual imperfections of those individuals who achieved mythological status in our culture, or in our lives. No doubt, Franz was one of those mythical people to those of us who spent time with him.

Sadly, Franz has left us, and is perhaps meandering the cosmos on a journey for the curious, a final talk with his God, that I would love to hear him discuss once again.

In the meantime, I will toast Franz, daily, and remain a devoted meanderer, chasing the newest incarnation of the curious which always seem to show itself at just the right moment to keep life wondrous.