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By Tom Demerly for tomdemerly.com

Well, Hugh Hefner is dead. And that was inevitable I suppose. Jokes about him not “going to a better place” than his gaudy Playboy mansion surrounded by girls a fourth his age are inevitable. But there is more to the story.

People will remember Hefner as one of two bookends; bawdy womanizing robber-baron publicist who exploited women for financial gain and furthered sexist views of women as objects, or gender equality activist and media evolutionary who empowered a generation and gender, legitimized sexual media and celebrated sexuality at the dawn of the sexual revolution.

Those are two deeply contrasted narratives, and they are both accurate.

Two weeks ago, a friend of mine posted a photo of herself in a suggestive pose topless on Facebook. She is a mother, an academic, works in a high level executive position and frequently shares photos of her son on the same timeline. My first thought was, “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea to post such a suggestive photo. It may send the wrong message.”

But then I realized, if a man posted a selfie in boxers, flexing his bicep for the camera with a big bed slightly blurry in the background and a woman dozing peacefully sans pajamas it would somehow be… at least slightly, more acceptable. “What a guy!” we may think, sheepishly hitting the “Like” button and telling ourselves, “Well, that guy, he’s a player…” While tinged with a dash of shame and sexism this guy’s sexualized selfie depicting his conquest would still, to this day, be at least somewhat more passable than a woman doing exactly the same.

And then it occurred to me, “Actually, I am the one who is wrong”. My friend’s sexy selfie on Facebook was just fine. It did not detract from her credibility as an executive, it did not color her moral character as a mother- she has proven her mettle as a mother time and again. It did not detract from her in any way. It only added. Because if a man can celebrate his sexual prowess and abundance, a woman can too. And Hugh Hefner legitimized that notion in popular media.

Hefner also objectified women as ornaments. For many, it lead to their ruin. Marilyn Monroe, Shannon Tweed and Anna Nicole Smith were some of the most dramatic train wrecks that Hefner facilitated. Hefner’s penchant for partying at least conspicuously legitimized substance abuse, another loose thread in the moral fabric of our last half century. As a nation, we facilitated it by elevating his publications to, at their peak, a massive media empire. So, say what you want, but we are collectively no better.

For a full accounting of Hugh Hefner’s life click on this photo of him and his associates.

I learned about sex, or at least the physical difference between genders, from a Playboy magazine in a wood shed four blocks from here in my friend Alan Larrazza’s back yard. Even as a pre-teen, Al was a player. Handsome and athletic, the girls swooned over him. I was fat and had acne. The pages of Al’s girlie magazine would be the only boobs I would see until my late teens. There is no doubt those magazines shaped my concept of what is physically attractive. And they did so for millions of men.

I am not exactly certain how today’s adolescent learns about sex and sexuality. Online adult media has become cheaper, more lurid and instantly accessible. You don’t have to ask behind the counter anymore. It’s all out there for free at the speed of an internet connection. As a result, sex has become arguably better, more open, less secretive. Your next-door neighbor’s sexual exploits would likely be remarkable to you, and perhaps yours to them. That definitely is different than five decades ago. Women can ask for sex now, and talk about it. Men who broadcast it are seen more as compensating for some inadequacy now. So, some reciprocal parity has been achieved in the post-Hefner era.

Perhaps in the final summation it is worth acknowledging Hugh Hefner was a character who worked the American system masterfully, to the good and to the detriment. Today his media empire continues, now lead by a woman. That itself is testament to the wild contrasts that are our vastly schizophrenic American Dream.

 

 

Author Tom Demerly felt immensely awkward as his girlfriend made him take a photo with Playmate of the Year.

 

 

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By Tom Demerly.

It is beautiful here. Just breathtakingly beautiful. Symmetrically rolling, high hills wear layers of green trees. Between them brilliant, sparkling rivers flow. Majestic bridges cross them, and on them drive trucks and cars. There are farms and churches in the valleys. And this is one of the most beautiful places in all of America.

This happened very recently, and I cannot tell you where I am, but this story is entirely true.

It’s race day. A long adventure race that will take competitors in canoes, on mountain bikes and on foot over challenging terrain for 30-hours non-stop. It’s a tough one, double the length of an Ironman triathlon. To make it tougher, athletes carry all their gear on their backs and have to navigate the course using map and compass.

At the start athletes line up on top of a green grassy rise that slopes down to a crystal river shimmering in the early morning sunrise. Conditions are perfect. People are ready to go, canoes lining the river.

Not many spectators here. Just a few family and race volunteers who followed the athlete buses out to the course. Until today, the location of the start remained secret.

A race volunteer fumbles with the portable P.A. system and an iPod, trying to que up the National Anthem as athletes fidget with bulging anticipation to just get this race going. The scratchy speakers thump and hum, but no anthem. The darn thing isn’t working.

One voice, booming with authority, in the center of the line of athletes and toward the back, where a team leader would position himself to oversee his team and steer the canoe, that one voice rises up.

“Ohh, say can you see…?”

And all other voices are joined in by the end of the next line.

“Through the dawn’s early light, what so proudly we hailed, at the twilight’s last gleaming?”

Nearly every person in the race, every team, every member, every volunteer joins in the singing of our National Anthem. Some don’t exactly know the words, they may be young and never learned them, or they may be my age and it’s been a long time since 5th grade, but they fumble through it the way they heard it at a baseball game or on TV or at their kid’s hockey tournament. It sounds pretty good, and it unites the people who, for the next thirty hours will do battle with rough terrain and long distances all the way to the finish.

But the man who started this triumphant chorus will never see that finish line. He will die on the course a few hours from now of natural causes. He was a father, husband, son, Army Ranger, combat veteran and fine man. The people who were with him just before a serious heart problem took him said his last remarks were something like, “It is just so beautiful out here.”

And it was.

One man rose the chorus of our national anthem that race morning. He understood the meaning of that anthem. He knew that to deny our anthem, or our flag, is to deny the things we hold dearest: freedom of speech, liberty, courage. The man who began singing the anthem protected the protester, preserved freedom of speech and expression, risked his life in battle for those ideals and educated himself about the depth and value of their meaning.

He knew what our anthem truly means. It was the last song he ever sang.

I can still clearly hear that last line;

“For the land of the free! And the home… of the… brave!”

Our National Anthem unites us in the principles we hold dearest, it does not divide us along the gritty arguments that punctuate democracy. We argue and protest and disagree and debate because of the ideals celebrated in our anthem.

So, if you are a dissenter, a protester, a contrarian, then sing your anthem louder still. The country it celebrates guarantees your right to voice your opinion. The bombs bursting in air did so to protect your opinion and liberate your will. They will undoubtedly do so again as history’s tragic precedent teaches us.

To not sing our anthem is to cower and live in shadow and ignorance. It is not understanding what those verses stand for. Not standing or singing during the National Anthem is not a protest, it is a misunderstanding of the significance of that song that espouses our basic principles of liberty and free speech.

Not standing does not celebrate our freedom to protest. It only acknowledges our growing vulnerability to ignorance.

 

 

By Tom Demerly.

Lt. Col. Eric Schultz, USAF. 1973-2017.

During the last 72 hours, I’ve written three articles read around the world about the death of U.S. Air Force Lt. Col. Eric Schultz. They talk about his career, and they guess at his mission at the time of his death.

But they say nothing about the man himself, Lt. Col. Eric Schultz.

During my research one photo continued to come up. The photo you see here of Lt. Col. Eric Schultz, USAF. It is on hundreds of articles written about him around the world in many languages. He is seated in the cockpit of a U.S. Air Force F-35A Lightning II, the Air Force’s newest, most advanced aircraft. I’ve seen that photo a lot over the last few days, but tonight was the first opportunity I had to spend some time looking at it carefully.

Who was Lt. Col. Eric Schultz and what does his life and passing mean to Americans and people around the world? I never met him, at least not that I know of, but I will try to explain what I have learned about him over the last few days to you.

Lt. Col. Schultz earned six degrees including a PhD in aerospace engineering. He had difficulty becoming a pilot because of his eyesight early on, but he did not let that stop him.

Based on what I’ve learned, Schultz never stopped, never gave up. Or, if he did give up once or twice as any human being occasionally does, he gathered himself from whatever setback he had, like his vision preventing the Air Force from initially taking him as a pilot, and then he got back to work. Schultz typified, in every way that I have read, the American ideal. Fortitude, integrity, selfless service, courage and more.

In his final role in the U.S. Air Force Lt. Col. Schultz effectively disappeared from normal life. No Facebook page, no LinkedIn page, no Instagram, no Pinterest. He took a job that required him to live and work quietly and honorably well behind the scenes in a role that could sell a million books and pack theaters with its story. But Schultz did all this silently, humbly, with integrity and honor and commitment to something he believed was greater than himself; his country.

However cliché it is to say, Lt. Col. Eric Schultz had The Right Stuff. A modern-day Chuck Yeager or Neil Armstrong who worked behind the veil of national security doing things we’d likely all find hard to believe. It is an irony of military service and the fickle nature of history that the greatest heroes often remain anonymous. Such is the case with Eric Schultz.

In short, Lt. Col. Eric Schultz was a hero and a role model. He is the American ideal. A man made of his own accord, with clear vision of his goals and steadfast resolve to achieve them. His goals were selfless and difficult. Schultz’s service benefitted the Air Force in ways we will likely never read about. His work spanned the globe, took him to war and cemented our ongoing peace at home that we enjoy today.

When internet banter criticizes the cost of a defense program or spins a wild conspiracy theory about the government, it does so on the parchment of a free press that Lt. Col. Eric Schultz silently protected. The delicate balance of peace here within our borders is insulated only by the tireless and quiet toil of the few people like Lt. Col. Schultz. We live and think and speak freely because of their vigilance and dedication. If for one instant you doubt this consider the building pressure that presses inward against our lives from countries like North Korea, Iraq, Afghanistan, Somalia, Syria and too many more to list. They remain at bay preserving our frail, precious bubble of freedom because of the very few people like Lt. Col. Eric Schultz.

I’m privileged to meet and work with the women and men of our Air Force, Navy, Marines, Army, Coast Guard and Homeland Security and our intelligence agencies frequently in my job. It is the best part of my job. They elevate me, hold me to a higher standard that I know I can never match. They make me believe in heroes and know that they exist. And they remind me that the simple liberties we so commonly take for granted like weaving tales of possible secret projects in hidden deserts are so tremendously precious, and so incredibly frail. I make it a point to shake the hand of a pilot or a Marine or an aircrew member or a maintainer or a soldier or a sailor when I meet them. I hold their hand tight for a moment, hoping that some of what they have will somehow pass over to me. I have heroes, and they are mine.

I am thankful for heroes like Lt. Col. Eric Schultz, and dreadfully empty when we acknowledge their loss. Their passing weakens the fabric of our nation, makes us vulnerable until someone else steps up to try to stand their place on the wall.