Walking With Heroes

by Janis Patterson

As writers, we all interact with heroes every day, whatever genre we write. Be they shirtless cowboys with rippling abs or smart, street-wise detectives or canny FBI agents or sweet ditzy career women dusted with flour or bits of yarn. Books need heroes.

So does real life. As you probably know, earlier this month The Husband and I went to the NRA convention in Atlanta, and it was a simply splendid experience. And we did meet real life heroes. All kept their shirts on, and there was no sign of flour or bits of yarn, but they were indubitably heroes.

We got to hear Oliver North give a moving invocation at the Hank Williams, Jr. concert, and hear Lee Greenwood sing “I’m Proud to Be an American” live. Maybe Greenwood isn’t a real life hero – I don’t know – but his song is a paean to hero-dom.

On a more personal level, I got to speak for a far-too-short sliver of time with Sheriff David Clarke, who is a lovely and gracious man. I spent almost a quarter of an hour (waiting for The Husband to show up from some mysterious wandering) with two simply lovely men who were on Chris Kyle’s sniper team. (I’m sure there is a more militarily-correct term than team, but I don’t know it.) Both of them were friendly and gracious and very funny. Until our talk turned to Chris Kyle; then all three of us became somber, as we should have. We Americans lost a symbol; they lost a friend.

There were WWII and Korea and Viet Nam and Middle East veterans there; some wore their medals and embroidered hats proclaiming their affiliations, but some didn’t and I discovered their histories while simply chatting with them. (Yes, The Husband is right when he says I talk to EVERYBODY.) Some of these gentlemen were in scooters and some walked proudly on their own. Some had canes and some were in wheelchairs propelled by younger people, all of whom looked proud of their job.

These veterans were once young men, some scarcely older than children, who marched off into hell to protect our country and our way of life… and their loved ones. To a one they counted themselves lucky. After all, they came back to enjoy the life they had sacrificed so much to protect, while so many of their comrades did not.

These heroes did not need ‘safe spaces’ or riot like spoilt brats because things haven’t gone the way they thought things should or demand that the world be changed to suit their whims. They did what they had to do and then came home to build lives and fortunes both big and small and enjoy what they had earned.

Talking with them was a privilege, and one I shall remember forever.

The hero who most remains in my mind, however, is Norris Jernigan. A slightly built man, he served with the US Army Air Corps, 393^rd Bomb Squadron, 509^th Composite Group. He was an Intelligence Specialist whose function was to prepare information for bombing missions – maps, aerial photographs, etc – that the officers would use in the flight crew briefings. He’s one of the few men left (I think 2? Maybe 3?) who worked on the Enola Gay missions. A true hero.

Mr. Jernigan is quiet and soft spoken; he wrote a book and was answering questions about his service, but reservedly, without boasting or self-aggrandizement. I was honored to stand in the presence of a man whose skill and ability helped end WWII quickly instead of having it drag on and on with a horrendous loss of American lives.

The Husband (an amateur military historian) and I stayed in Mr. Jernigan’s booth for a while as they discussed various aspects of the war. Mr. Jernigan may be elderly now, but his courage has not wavered – when time came for us to leave, he reached over and kissed me… with The Husband not three feet away! It was a most pleasurable kiss, too.

Kissed by a genuine hero – that’s nice.

The Ethics of Murder

by Janis Patterson

I’ll admit it – I’m terrible. When people ask me what I do, I smile sweetly, give them my best grandmotherly twinkle and say in soft, mellifluous tones, “I kill people.” It’s a great shtick, makes them remember me and gives me an opening to talk about my writing and books.

But the act of killing is not lighthearted and shouldn’t be taken lightly. As mystery writers we are very dangerous people. We know how to get rid of people in so many ways it’s a wonder that anyone ever talks to us, let alone comes to visit. Still we continue to research and study and learn about ways to kill people, all the while trying to improve our books and our craft. What we must never forget is that there are people out there who care nothing about books or craft – they are interested in killing. For real.

But I can hear someone saying, “If we can find the information, why can’t they? Why should we be made responsible?”

Yes, they could find the same information, but the question is, would they? Perhaps they’re too stupid. Perhaps they’re too lazy or it’s too much work. Perhaps … any number of reasons. Maybe they will anyway. I’m just saying that mystery writers have an obligation not to help them.

So how do we have a story? Well, a lot of things are in our collective consciousness. Anyone knows that a gun or a knife will kill. Using one of them is generally pretty simple. Poisons are more problematic. We all know that arsenic kills, but as writers we don’t have to give out the product and brand name and how to get the arsenic out of it. We can outline a murder, but leave out a crucial step or two. We’re writing entertainment, not training manuals.

This is definitely a self-policing step, and sometimes we have to exercise self-control to use it. A couple of years ago The Husband and I went to the national NRA convention. (Fascinating and great fun!) Once there, a gun manufacturer was enthralled that I wrote mysteries and was most helpful about answering a couple of questions I had. Then he started telling me things – a few I’ve used in the intervening years – and one thing that absolutely horrified me.

This man told me how to commit a murder with a fairly large bullet and yet leave no ballistic trace. No rifling on the projectile. A completely clean and untraceable bullet. I found that fascinating, but I’ll never use it. It’s too simple and can be done by anyone – and leave no trace by which the murderer can be found. He was absolutely gleeful and was hinting about having his name in the book as a reference source. I thanked him for the information, told him I would never use it, and begged him not to tell anyone else. He was startled, but after I explained that such information could be used by criminals, I think he understood. How odd that he couldn’t see that for himself, but other people’s thought processes are often strange and inexplicable things.

Have I ever used this handy tidbit? No. Have I thought about it? Oh, yes – it’s one of my favorite fantasies. A book about an unprecedented and untraceable way of shooting someone and – if you’re the slightest bit smart – getting away with it. Boy, that’s a formula for an Edgar if I ever heard one.

But fantasies are nothing but between-the-ears dreams and of harm to no one. I have accepted my dream Edgar for that unwritten book several times, and enjoyed it thoroughly each time. If I were to use such a device in a real book, however, I would be on tenterhooks fearing to hear that it had been used in reality, and that I could not bear. It would make me at best an accomplice, at worst… well, something horrible that I don’t want to be. That’s why I’ll never use that tantalizing bit of information in a book – and why all mystery writers should be very careful what they write.