Down in My Heart

 (book review, Source weekly, early 2000s)

In the war years of 1942-1945, the man who would become Oregon's Poet Laureate and one of its most beloved writers, William Stafford, was interned in various labor camps as a conscientious objector for his refusal to join the U.S. Army. Down In My Heart is his account of those years, particularly his fellow conchies (conscientious objectors), their labors and moods as they build bridges, put out fires, and struggle to maintain what he calls their "landmarks", or ties to normal life.

Written as Stafford's Masters thesis at the University of Kansas, Down in My Heart was first published in 1947, and was reissued last year as part of OSU Press's Northwest Reprints series. It is an enduring book on several levels and will hopefully gain a wider appreciation with its inclusion in the fine Reprints series.

On the surface, the book is a witness to the c.o.'s life during World War II. Scorned by society and alienated from their families, moving from irrigation project to Forest Service camp like ghosts, trying mainly to stay invisible amongst the suspicious populace of the South and the West. Trying, often with a quiet heroism, to make friends of the trail bosses and camp directors who oversee them.  

In a larger sense, Down In My Heart is a remarkable struggle and triumph within Stafford himself. As his fellow c.o. George descends into a kind of blind rebellion, escaping from the camps to become imprisoned and embittered, Stafford maintains his purposeful vigil. Always looking for bridges rather than drawing lines. The result is a portrait of radicalness that is more poetic than capital P Political, a stubborn refusal to dehumanize or simplify either captor or captive, soldier or resister.

The reader looking for ideology or easy answers will be disappointed. In some ways, the spirit of Down In My Heart is old-fashioned, evoking as it does the discipline, humility, and loneliness of pre-Vietnam pacifists. There are no villains and the hero's creed is disarmingly respectful: when asked by the head of his draft board, a retired military man, where he had come by his objection to war, Stafford replies, "You were my Sunday School teacher, sir, when I was a child. You taught me not to kill. I never forgot."  

It's a testament to this book's endearing modesty that the above statement is found only in the introduction, recounted by the author's son long after Down In My Heart was written. As a historian, Stafford opens a small, forgotten window into the tribulations of an overlooked people and a difficult time. But this simple, powerful book is worth reading even if only to understand where Stafford, the poet, came by his skill at building bridges of all kinds.