Very Gary

Letters & words from the mind and typewriter of Gary J. Kunich

I’m mad at Men’s Journal (with a hairy chest): A strongly worded blog

I normally love Men’s Journal — I mean, what’s not to like about Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, but they blew it on one article in this edition about some Army vets who tortured and killed a guy.

It’s possible Men’s Journal Magazine can take credit for my hairy chest.

This is totally unscientific, like everything I talk about, because I’m not a scientist. But, over the years, the magazine has made me feel more manly, and manliness must be connected to chest hairiness.

Author’s representation of his hairy chest. This photo has not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration.

Every issue has someone jumping from a helicopter to ski, or some other feat of reckless, derring-do, manly abandon. I’m never jumping out of a helicopter to ski, mind you, but the magazine always makes me feel like I could do it. It’s the ultimate men’s magazine, minus pictures of nekkid women.

Each issue is like a hypodermic needle shooting a combo of adrenaline, testosterone and Cialis directly into your heart. I should point out: In addition to not being a scientist, I am also not a medical doctor, and ergo, do not recommend you fill a hypodermic needle full of adrenaline, testosterone and Cialis and plunge it into your heart.

Seriously. That’s probably bad.

I’m mad but don’t want to cancel ’em

But read Men’s Journal? Sure, you should do that, even though I’m mad at them. Generally speaking, “Cancel Culture” sucks, no matter what political side is doing it and pretending they don’t. I’m not going to take my songs off Spotify to force Men’s Journal to write different articles.

Still mad enough, though, to pen a strongly worded blog about it. This is the only option as they don’t make it easy to contact them.

I’m talking about the article in the February/March edition, Pages 44 to 52, called, “Bloody Duty: Was the torture and killing of a German businessman by three U.S. Army vets a gruesome hit job? Or a simple shakedown gone horribly wrong?”

It is a really good article up until the last two paragraphs.

The article, “Blood Duty,” about three Army vets hired to shakedown a businessman — or worse — was a good read until the last two paragraphs, and the writers biased opinion added to the end of the story.

For those not running out to buy the mag right now, here’s the summary: Thomas Schwarz, a German living in the Netherlands, owed Lukas Fecker, a Swiss businessman, a lot of money. Fecker hired an Army vet by the name of Justin Causey to collect the money, or scare Fecker into paying it, or something worse. You with me so far?

Causey reaches out to two more Army vets – Jacob Mazeika and William Johnson, a sheriff’s deputy from Mississippi. Long story short, they screwed it up — or maybe this was the plan all along — and Schwarz ends up bound, tortured, and dead. The Army vets and Fecker are in prison, awaiting trial.

Good and bad in the military

I’m still not mad at this point. Let’s be honest. Not everyone who served in the military is a hero. Some are just bad people who do bad things who certainly aren’t owed 10 percent off next time they shop at Home Depot. I’ve run into a few of those heinous types. Two of the worst, I recall, were a lieutenant colonel court-martialed for molesting little boys, and a senior airman who took a razor to slash up a tattoo artist in France because the purple tattoo she got didn’t show up well on her skin.

I’m still not mad at this point. Let’s be honest. Not everyone who served in the military is a hero, and some are just bad people who do bad things who certainly aren’t owed 10 percent off next time they shop at Home Depot. I’ve run into a few of those heinous types in my 20-year Air Force career.

The military is a microcosm of society. There are a lot of really great people who serve and have served. And sometimes, some others are just plain bad, stupid or criminal — just like we have bad, stupid and criminal types who didn’t serve in the military.

“Bloody Duty” is a great read until the author writes:

If the three were actually there to execute a hit, how could three, well-trained American servicemen with experience in personal security be so inept in covering their tracks?

Let’s get real. Just because someone served in the military, doesn’t necessarily make them well trained in anything. We hope most people are well trained and do their jobs well. Some are good; some aren’t. Just because someone deploys to Afghanistan doesn’t make them personal security pros. And, just because you were in the military, and just because you work in private security, or any job for that matter, doesn’t mean you’re good. Yet, dumb, bad people find ways to find work and get paid, regardless of their background, every day.

Saving the worst for last

The last paragraph is even worse:

Each man’s training was in military force, using aggressive action and violence to defeat an enemy, rather than the law enforcement practice of de-escalation to maintain control of a situation. All of which hoists a red flag for the thousands of companies and individuals around the world currently using U.S. military members as hired guns.

In the words of the great, 21st century philosopher, Scoop Hansen, “That just chaps my ass.”

Yes, many people in uniform are trained in how to go to war and kill the enemy. We need people like this. We sleep securely at night knowing they are out there, doing things many of us could never do or wish to do.

Then, hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of them and others in military uniform go on to lead productive lives in successful careers — be it security, law enforcement, flying airplanes, maintenance, administrative, janitorial, hospitality, or high-level executive — and thousands of other jobs in between.

Schwarz didn’t die because these were incompetent, former soldiers trained to kill the enemy. Schwarz is dead because a criminal named Fecker hired a guy to do criminal things, and the guy he hired happened to be a veteran.

The author uses an awful big brush for his paint job, assuming all who served in the military are killers and can’t be trusted to be in jobs that require security. This job likely would have gone the same way had Fecker hired another team that never served in the military.

Shame on the writer, who probably never served in the military. Shame on the Men’s Journal editors for not questioning this ending and asking for something that makes a little more sense.

Dear Ellie: I wish you kindness

Ellie reading
Here we were reading “Green Eggs and Ham,” only two days before you turned 10 months old. You like to point at the pictures and turn the page.

Jan. 11, 2022

Dear Ellie:

You’re 10 months old today! How time flies and evaporates before my eyes. 

Uncle Steve and Ellie
Uncle Steve took you to the light show at State Fair a couple weeks before you were 10 months old. It was magical! Your face lit up in the biggest grin, Ellie.

A friend told me that’s how it works when you’re old like me. When you’re only 1, a year is 100 percent of your life. Seems much longer. That’s why, for you, it takes so much longer for Santa to visit each year. By the time you’re 5 –- a year will be 20 percent of your life. That’s a long time. 

I’m 53 –- it’s less than 2 percent of my overall life, so the brain makes you think those years go by much more quickly.

I wished I could slow them down; enjoy all the time I can with you.

I wished the same wishes when your Mama was a baby. But with jobs and life and responsibilities and getting kids ready in the morning, and rushing home to make dinner at night and homework and bedtime stories and brushing teeth and soccer games and baseball games and getting up and doing it again and again and again, it goes in a blur.

Most bad days are never as bad as you think. And the horrible, terrible thing you worry about today, won’t be a blip of consideration a year or 10 down the road. You’ll wonder why you were so worried.

I have a lot of wishes for you and me

There will be days in your life that seem unending because some terrible problem you are having. Your parents won’t understand. No one will understand.

My wish is that you know these moments happen to everyone. They, too, will pass.

Most bad days are never as bad as you think. The horrible, terrible thing you worry about today won’t be a blip of consideration a year or 10 down the road. You’ll wonder why you were so worried.

You don’t believe me now. Trust me.

My wish is you appreciate each day you have, your family and your friends. Never take them or the moments for granted. There are many magical memories to be made. 

Ellie as an elf
You dressed as Ellie the Elf the day after your first Christmas. This was a gift from your Aunt Magz, who is like a sister to your Mama. Thanks for the gift, Maggie!

Today I baby sat you while your Mom was at work saving lives as a nurse, and your Dad was sleeping after his night shift as a cop. You hit a new stage today, needing — demanding — constant stimulation and attention.

The cool thing about being me, is I see you every few days to a week, and can easily see the changes and stages of your life. Maybe this is God’s way of slowing down life again for me.

You won’t remember what we did today. 

I will. 

We played with all your toys. I lost count of the times I chased down a plastic ring or wooden block you threw across the room. We read lots of books. I think it was the 40th time for “Green Eggs and Ham,” but your favorite today was a book called, “Dance, Dance Baby.” 

Your Mom said that’s because she sings that book while reading it to you. I’m sure she’ll forever remember that and bring it up constantly. Moms have a way of doing that. My wish is you let her tell you those stories, again and again.

Gary and Ellie
Just one more picture of you and me, Ellie. This is how we looked on Christmas Day, just a couple weeks ago, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas on Facebook. I love your smile!

You won’t remember this part of your life. My wish is you remember the feeling you were cherished and loved, as you have been every day of your life. And as you grow up, I wish you will talk to your toys, love magic shows, play board games with your family and giggle with reckless abandon. Laughter is medicine for the soul.

My wish is you never forget that, you always chase your dreams and let nothing stop what you want to achieve.

But most of all, today my wish for you is to be kind to others. (Check back later. I’m bound to have other wishes, too. You are only 10 months old, after all).

Sadly, you will find mean people in this world. You may find bullies at school. Sometimes, kids are mean to other kids for no reason. I don’t know why. Don’t be that mean kid. Always treat people the way you want to be treated. 

And being kind to a friend or a stranger — just giving them a smile — could be the kind of kindness that saves their life, and you’ll never know it, because we never know what pains others are going through.

As you grow up, be kind and loving. I know you will.

I love you with all my heart.

– Grandpa …

No, wait … call me Grandpap. Or Pap-Pap. We’re still working on the name thing. 

Turning words into magic: Time to begin again … again …

The words are in my head, and I hope my jumble of letters, words and phrases turns into something that interests you.

It’s time to begin again … again.

Maybe this again will be the last again. 

Still have one of my original press passes from Stars and Stripes.

I’m a writer. Writers write. But again, if I write, will anyone care? 

They used to, once upon a long time ago.

I was a reporter for the European Stars & Stripes and the Kenosha News, with a lot of military newspapers in between. There were stories about injustices to military folks; former war zones; features on cool people like the Bosnian shoeshine guy who made a few bucks off GIs and their muddy boots; ski resorts and wineries of Europe; a day-in-the-life playing a store Santa; school board shenanigans; local politics and so many more. 

There’s been a lot of stories and a lot of columns since I started this gig 35 years ago.

Besides news and features, I lucked into a weekly gig at Stripes as their television columnist. I was not qualified to be a TV critic, but neither was I qualified to be a veterinarian and my dog hasn’t complained about the neutering job from that “how-to” book on Reddit. Let’s be honest, is there really any specialized training or certification one must go through to criticize TV or neuter dogs? OK, maybe one of those.

Tube Talk and beyond

“Tube Talk” was one part jokes and another part TV stuff. Still can’t believe they let me get away with some of the stuff I got away with in there.

“Tube Talk” was one-part smarmy jokes, Qs and As and prize giveaways, and info on upcoming TV shows on the Armed Forces Radio and Television Service. Take it from me, that was a really big deal overseas before God created NetFlix. Probably had more smarmy jokes than TV stuff. I even snuck in a joke about how watching too much TV would make you go blind and give you hairy palms. Not sure how the editors missed that one.

“Your TV column doesn’t have anything to do with TV,” my coworker, Sally Toomey, told me once.

“What’s your point?” I laughed. 

People liked it. I got paid. Win-win.

Years later at the Kenosha News, I talked editors into a weekly fitness column, as I searched for ways to get in shape, while still just a part-time reporter.

“Nobody just comes in and asks for a column two weeks after they start, and nobody gets a column like that,” another reporter said.

Apparently she tried and was told, “No.”

We called it “Finding Fitness.” It was one-part smarmy jokes, Qs and As and prize giveaways and some info on fitness from an everyday-guy-point-of-view.

People liked it again. I got paid again. Win-win again.

Well, not everybody. One column was about working out with dumbbells, which, I pointed out, weren’t NASCAR fans. NASCAR fans didn’t like that joke.

I can’t fix a car or build a house, but I can — and did — play a store Santa for a story in Stars and Stripes, and here’s the photo to prove it.

Writing is all I do

Look, I can’t fix a car or build a house. My dearly departed Dad — a 38-year cop — told me three months before he died, “I worked for a living. You write stories.”

That’s true. 

There have been thousands of stories since this gig started in 1986. Some were good. Some were even great.

And some of them sucked.

Hey, have you listened to all of Elvis’ movie songs? They still call him The King. I’m no king, but maybe there’s something in this brain that flows to my fingers that’s worth reading.

What a job. They actually paid me at Stripes to go skiing.

Writing hasn’t made me rich but wouldn’t trade it for anything. What I didn’t make in big bucks these last three decades was made up in the thrill of skiing the finest powder mountains, writing about castles and camping in Europe, or even doing a story on a local girl in Kenosha who was denied a proper education in the local school district. She was failing classes and the district was failing her, not following their own rules. After our story, they transferred her, provided her services and she graduated high school with honors.

Endearing, smart, funny, witty, straight forward, insightful, whatever … there were a lot of stories. The biggest reward is making someone laugh or hearing how my words made a difference for someone.

I loved it. I miss it. I want it back. 

Leaving a legacy

So we dance the dance of another blog again. 

Tried that before. Not many cared. Maybe it was the platform; maybe it was me. People smarter than me say most blogs should only be 500 words max. I’m already at a lot more than that here. That doesn’t seem to bother Matt LaBash who writes looooooooooooooong, but has quite a following at Slack Tide. But he is a funnier, better writer. His story about a Golden Corral brawl where Mama June was “three knuckles-deep into the sweet corn pudding,” or how he tied snakes killing his bluebirds to death in the family, is the stuff I’d give up a body party to write. Just not my fingers. That would defeat the purpose. Subscribe to both of us to compare.

“Endearing, smart, funny, witty, straight forward, insightful, whatever … lot of stories. The biggest reward is making someone laugh or hearing how my words made a difference for someone.”

Maybe it doesn’t matter if anyone reads my words right now. I’ll be dead someday. There are less days in front than behind. Maybe this will be something my kids and grandkids read to know me better. Maybe it will take their mind off the fact I buried their inheritance, and they’ll have to find it like a treasure, with clues in the blog. 

What will I write about? This seems like a good place to make a list:

  1. Fitness – “Finding Fitness” lasted three years and nine months until I left the paper for a PR gig. It even survived a new editor who wanted to kill it. Not a bad run. I’ve been fat and I’ve been skinny. Now I want to live to see my grandbaby, Ellie, grow. Definitely will have some fitness columns here.
  2. Letters to Ellie – A better father would already have a hundred letters written to his kids. Never followed through on that plan. I can do it with my grandbaby (who is adorable, by the way). I want her to know who she was before she will have memory of that time, and I want her to know me.
  3. Every-day-average-cool-people – Is that too many hyphens? Never an editor around when you need one. We all know these people. They have great stories to tell.
  4. Television — I took over “Tube Talk” from Stefan Alford when he left Stripes. We kept it running another two and a half years. So maybe. Certainly would be better than a weekly column on how to neuter your dog in the privacy of your own home.
  5. Anything. Everything. Nothing. – Nothing worked for Jerry Seinfeld. Anything works for other blog writers who do a little bit of everything. It will be me, about me and about others. A lot of random stuff about life, the world and living.
  6. Throwbacks – If there really were thousands of stories (there were), and if some of them were good, that would make a good Throwback Thursday post when there’s nothing else to write.
  7. Politics – Hmmm. Don’t know. That always pisses somebody off. So, yeah, probably some of that, too.

It’s a work in progress. I’m a complex onion with many layers. Or maybe I’m a greasy, deep-fried, blooming onion from Outback. Either way, that, too, has many layers. Hope you come along for the ride.

If you are reading this, I succeeded. If you didn’t give up reading 622 words ago, leave me a kind word. Tell me about your dog. Everybody loves dogs. 

Share me with your friends and leave some feedback, good or bad. I won’t even ask you to pay for it. Or maybe I will, you cheap bastards! 

Sorry. I should not call you names. That’s no way to build this relationship.

Time to stop talking, start doing and start making it happen again … again. 

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