Herman and I have been on the road for two weeks. First in Florida, now in Arkansas, I have been visiting dear friends and making presentations at several community venues. It has been at the same time, pleasant, enlightening, and occasionally frustrating.
Never entirely comfortable with public speaking, I have surprised myself by how much I enjoy sharing my enthusiasm about the Ritchie Boys and my experiences writing Immigrant Soldier. On the first day of November, I arrived in Punta Gorda, Florida, where Ricki, my friend for over 30 years, now has a second home near her daughter and grandchildren. The weather was hotter than California, and definitely more humid–what I would call 2 showers a day weather (maybe 3?). But Ricki’s hospitality was impeccable and the meals at local restaurants divine. I have fallen in love with Stone Crab claws!
My first presentation was at the small, but very good, Military Heritage Museum in Punta Gorda. A conference room with over 50 chairs set out was available for the talk. I had the use of a projector and screen so I could show my recently created PowerPoint. Kim, the director of the museum, was enthusiastic about the possibility of a large audience. Slowly, the seats started to fill, until an audience of about 15 waited patiently for me to begin.
After Kim introduced me, I was pleased to see the men and women were interested in what I had to say.One man even interjected with questions that added to the presentation, but led to points I would address later, so after the 3rd interruption, I asked him to wait until the Q & A at the end. Another man in the back, head nodding in agreement to my statements and hand jotting down notes, turned out to be a writer for a local newspaper. At the end of the presentation, he asked me a few questions and took a photo of me holding my book. Later the newspaper article that appeared was complimentary, but riddled with inaccuracies and, disappointingly, did not mention the title Immigrant Soldier.
The next day Ricki and I drove to the Fort Myers Beach American Legion Post. The commander proudly showed us the military history display he had in glass cases in the foyer and the PR emails he had sent out to “thousands” of vets in the three surrounding counties. The spacious dining room where I was to speak had a dance floor, stage, and a neat buffet area set up for the baby-back rib dinner to be served later. There was a full media center with a computer on the stage and the commander plugged in my thumb-drive and powered up a large flat screen on the wall that would show my PowerPoint. I began to get excited that I might be speaking to a room full of people.
Right on time, two men appeared who wanted to buy Immigrant Soldier even before they heard the talk, so Ricki, my financial assistant, got to work. As the minutes ticked by, no one else appeared. With such a small group, 3 men including the commander, we sat around one of the round dining tables, facing the flat screen, for a comfortable, chatty presentation. Ricki was ensconced on the stage, clicking the mouse to advance the PowerPoint when I remembered to wave my hand at her. It was actually quite fun–they were a great audience and, after I finished, the sales were brisk. Several volunteers even came from the kitchen where they were preparing dinner to buy books. One lady bought six copies as Christmas gifts. “All my family are history buffs,” she told me. The commander, who was disappointed with the turn out, told us, “This time of year we average 80 to 100 people for dinner on ribs night, but in January and February, when the ‘Snow Birds’ arrive from up North, we often serve upwards of 300 dinners. You should come back in winter.”
Ricki and I left the event laughing and shaking our heads– the smallest audience and the largest number of books sold in one place since launch day.
Four days later, I arrived in Arkansas, the cold, crisp air and chilly nights a welcome relief after Florida. My friend, Denise, who I have known for over 25 years, moved to the Hot Springs area about five years ago. She, like Ricki, had been able to meet Herman in his Long Island home way back when my project began. They have both heard him share his stories as I diligently taped them for my work and thus have a special interest in Immigrant Soldier.
The speaking engagement Denise set up for me at the Desoto Women’s Club in Hot Springs Village started the whole idea of this book tour to the South East. My second morning in Arkansas we went to the venue, an elegant country club surrounded by the green rolling hills of a golf course. It was Veterans’ Day, an auspicious date for making a presentation about the Ritchie Boys. I was to speak prior to the luncheon and had been provided with a podium and a microphone. The room was filled with over 60 well-dressed and welcoming ladies, their Southern hospitality evident.
Somewhat spoiled by my PowerPoint and thrown back to handwritten notes on index cards, I shared background about my writing journey and information about the Ritchie Boys. During the Q & A at the end, Denise (like Ricki at Fort Myers) drew from me several stories she had heard from Herman with her own ears and had found particularly engaging. When the talk was over, the women lined up to buy the book, keeping Denise busy as the current financial assistant. She passed me stacks of books to sign and I could hardly keep up. Amazingly, sales topped those of Fort Myers Beach.
Denise and I had to eat lunch quickly and get back on the road to head to a place near Little Rock where I had a 3 pm presentation at the VFW post. In spite of rain and twisting country roads, we made it in plenty of time. The directions from the commander had been excellent and we found the post with its huge American Flag on the façade and a real helicopter perched on top of a tall stanchion in the front lot.
As soon as I entered the building, I knew this would be a different audience from the morning. At a table near the door, a pleasant looking man in denim overalls greeted me with a smile and “Howdy.” The main room was a dark, smoke-filled bar where groups of men and women sat enjoying beers and talking. Another room with more tables offered an ample buffet lunch presented in foil trays. A large man in a blue polo shirt welcomed me and showed me a deserted dining room where I would speak. There was a scuffed dance floor, a dusty sound system, Formica topped tables with metal chairs and a remembrance wall with photos of post members. In spite of the mementos, including a symbolic table to commemorate POW/MIAs which I recognized as in the same tradition as one I had seen at Fort Myers Beach, the room had an air of disuse. Denise and arranged my books and bookmarks on one of the tables and waited.
Soon the Vets started to file into the room and make themselves comfortable near where I had set up. They seemed to have been herded to the room by the large man in blue, but they smiled at me and waited silently. I started by letting them know how honored I was to be able to talk to them on this special day to tell them the story of WWII Veterans who had been unlikely heroes. I tried vainly to modify my talk for this different audience. Several men on one side seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, but there was a noticeable impatience among others. When I was about half finished, the audience began to excuse themselves and melt away, the pull of the shuffle-board tournament starting in the buffet room too strong to withstand. Three of the vets, including the man in the blue Polo shirt, lingered. We chatted about their days in the Army and Navy and my son’s experience in the Marines. And they each bought a book. 
I was happy to have been able to visit the VFW. Though the group may not have been avid readers or potential customers, I hope I showed them that their service to our country was appreciated and that their stories are worth telling. Perhaps some of their stories will be in a book one day too.
Early next week, before I return home, I have one more veterans’ organization to speak with. I am happy to have been able to share my uncle’s story with such a variety of people so far from California and Long Island where Herman spent most of his life.
If you have an organization that might like to have me speak about the Ritchie Boys, the process of turning a true story into a novel, what it is like to self-publish, or have a readers’ discussion of the book, I would love to hear from you. Our country is vast and I love to travel.
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