Why, I am asked, did you write about a flyer? I had come across a letter in an advice column (and to my everlasting dismay I did not keep it as reference), about a nine year old boy whose mother had put him in a diaper for wetting the bed and made him play outside with it on. The image of that poor child surely subjected to humiliation nagged at me. In some strange way, though I wondered about and half sympathized with his mother’s exasperation, I had a distinct impression that the boy would either grow up to be a psychopath or an aviator.

I think it is human nature to want to be superior in some way to others; to be admired by a select group, by our peers, our family or the whole of humankind. There are several venues for this, but I thought what better arena than war to show one man’s alienation, connections, and ideals? If that child did not have unconditional mother’s love, then he could certainly channel his desires for accolades from the boxing crowd or handling the wild and barely manageable horses, then airplanes, excelling and being rewarded intrinsically through the promotions and admiration of others like him, even the “enemy”.

The characters; from my perspective

A question posed to me after someone has read the novel is “Why didn’t Rodger stay home with his family?” Being a romantic myself, I wanted him also to decide to stay stateside. But characters, even though created by an author, have verisimilitude, and must remain true to the reality in which they exist. Rodger Brown would not choose to stay stateside and forgo the only arena where he could prove to himself that he exists as a man.

I think it is much different for a woman. Not because she is softer or less capable, as Rodger’s wife Adele proved, but because biology defines her priorities. Pregnant women have a limited range of mobility. And I think once a woman bears a child, that sense of responsibility to make a perfect world then centers around a more personal sphere of family and home.

Ada, Rodger’s neighbor and mentor, is an example of a woman who defies convention on a minor scale. She’s discreet in her affairs, yet chooses to remain a widow as a protection against the prying eyes of the small town she resides. Her love for Rodger is maternal; yet underlying that is a sexual tension, a longing for a relationship, a connection with Rodger’s father, John. She is the most interesting character to me, for her voice is complex. She is nurturing, yet aloof from the world, somewhat like Snoopy of Peanuts, who loves mankind but can’t stand people.

Wouldn’t you love to hate Madeline? But if you are like me, I begrudgingly have to admit that I understand her. For one thing, Rodger must have been a precocious child and difficult to manage, having all the attributes of her husband that she found hard to tolerate. And I can imagine a jealousy of the father/son connection that precluded her involvement, even if she had the capacity of understand it. But on the other hand, Madeline is a product of the times and conventions that dictated quite clearly the hows, whys and wherefores of womanhood. She could not transcend them because those very conventions defined her.

Am I in FTHOG?

Am I a character in the novel? Yes; I am a bit in all of them and their experiences.

I was taking private flying lessons at the time of writing Forcing the Hand of God and had the great opportunity to have Colonel Jack Hayes as a flight instructor at Queen City Aviation. He flew in Korea and Viet Nam and had quite a reputation as an ace. He and I simulated some maneuvers in the Cessna 150, he let me interview him hours, and he read over the manuscript, helping me to flesh out the character and events. Larry Vogel, my good friend and primary flight instructor, loaned me videos of the P-38 with detailed narration of the instruments and actual flight scenes.

I also had the good fortune to be introduced to Bob Jarvis at the Hillman City Boxing gym who let me in the door and allowed me to participate in actually sparring. This was in 1982! Not when females went into the smelly, testosterone filled bastion of the boxing arena. I nearly wet my pants when Bob made me glove up and learn to dance a few steps. I remember pleading with him not to hit me in the face. He didn’t. Actually, the young man in the ring with me didn’t even touch me. But I sure did provide them all with more than a few laughs, especially when I tried jumping rope. I won’t mention those hard, heavy stuffed body bags that swing unexpectedly fast right into you when you punch one and stand to admire your perfectly executed right jab. Well, one learns to pick oneself up and go onto another lesson.