One of the many challenges I faced during the pre-prod of “a final peace” was the dearth of information regarding my uncle’s short tenure in the Navy (he was on ‘active’ duty for less than two years before he went AWOL). His decision to join had been made in desperation and was unplanned. Few in my family maintained any contact with him during that time period. I, therefore, had no one who could provide any account of Tommy’s experience or, why he decided to go AWOL after only 18 months on board.
From Tommy’s service records, I was able to get the name of his ship and the exact time period he was active. I found out that he had been assigned to the “USS Barbey”; a small frigate stationed in Long Beach, California. Through other online sources I was able to get a list of former shipmates who served on the Barbey at the same time. For weeks I sent emails to these men, asking if they had known Tom. The majority claimed they did not. Some thought they may have known him and asked for more information. But after two months of digging, I still had no one.
Gaps in a person’s history are not uncommon. If you think about it, it’s very difficult to account for a person’s every movement, even when you have a substantial pool of witnesses. For documentarians it is a reality that we struggle with, but frequently find ways to overcome. However, a 14-year gap in the history of a man who died when he was 35 is unacceptable. It is enough reason to question the viability of a project, which is where I found myself halfway through the pre-prod schedule. I had little to no information about Tommy’s adult life, beginning from the time he entered the Navy until his announcement that he had AIDS. I needed information on both if I was going to be able to finish my film.
The American Heritage Dictionary defines “serendipity” as, “The faculty of making fortunate and unexpected discoveries by accident.” The only problem I have with this definition is the phrase “by accident.” To me, “serendipity” is the result of putting yourself in the right place, at the right time. We can’t always know in advance how certain choices we make are going to influence and guide our future efforts, but every once in awhile things ‘connect’ in a way that really blows the mind.
My decision to move to Monterey had nothing to do with filmmaking. It had nothing to do with making a documentary about my uncle. When I made the decision to move, I was still committed to the idea of becoming a professional photographer. In other words, when I moved I had no desire, conscious or unconscious, to make “a final peace”.
After two months of failing to find anyone who would even admit to knowing my uncle while he was in the Navy, I received an email from Michael Bennett asking if I had a recent photo of Tommy. The only photos I had were taken 14 years after his discharge, but I sent them anyways. After a few days, I received the following response:
“Hi john I really don’t know where to begin, I saw your inquiry in the shipmates letters and emails. Yes I knew your uncle I knew him very well as a matter of fact. When he was in the Navy…I was one of his best friends…”
Michael went on to describe his relationship with Tom, and some of the things they had done together. Not only had I found someone who knew Tom, but I had found his “best friend”. At first, I was elated and then soon after, I felt humbled. Not only was Michael willing to give me an interview of his experiences with Tom, he also lived less than five miles from my home. He lived in the same city.
To this day I am still awed by the improbabilities inherent in this event.
It was after this that I started to wonder if perhaps the film had a more important reason for being than simply an undergraduate film student’s dreams. We recorded the interview nearly six months later. The information we received from Mike was like finding a big fat piece of a puzzle. We now had an understanding of what Tommy endured immediately after his abuse of Jason, and just before he disappeared into the fringe-sex-underground of San Francisco’s gay community. In many ways what we learned from Mike became metaphorical of the title, a final “piece”.
From Tommy’s service records, I was able to get the name of his ship and the exact time period he was active. I found out that he had been assigned to the “USS Barbey”; a small frigate stationed in Long Beach, California. Through other online sources I was able to get a list of former shipmates who served on the Barbey at the same time. For weeks I sent emails to these men, asking if they had known Tom. The majority claimed they did not. Some thought they may have known him and asked for more information. But after two months of digging, I still had no one.
Gaps in a person’s history are not uncommon. If you think about it, it’s very difficult to account for a person’s every movement, even when you have a substantial pool of witnesses. For documentarians it is a reality that we struggle with, but frequently find ways to overcome. However, a 14-year gap in the history of a man who died when he was 35 is unacceptable. It is enough reason to question the viability of a project, which is where I found myself halfway through the pre-prod schedule. I had little to no information about Tommy’s adult life, beginning from the time he entered the Navy until his announcement that he had AIDS. I needed information on both if I was going to be able to finish my film.
The American Heritage Dictionary defines “serendipity” as, “The faculty of making fortunate and unexpected discoveries by accident.” The only problem I have with this definition is the phrase “by accident.” To me, “serendipity” is the result of putting yourself in the right place, at the right time. We can’t always know in advance how certain choices we make are going to influence and guide our future efforts, but every once in awhile things ‘connect’ in a way that really blows the mind.
My decision to move to Monterey had nothing to do with filmmaking. It had nothing to do with making a documentary about my uncle. When I made the decision to move, I was still committed to the idea of becoming a professional photographer. In other words, when I moved I had no desire, conscious or unconscious, to make “a final peace”.
After two months of failing to find anyone who would even admit to knowing my uncle while he was in the Navy, I received an email from Michael Bennett asking if I had a recent photo of Tommy. The only photos I had were taken 14 years after his discharge, but I sent them anyways. After a few days, I received the following response:
“Hi john I really don’t know where to begin, I saw your inquiry in the shipmates letters and emails. Yes I knew your uncle I knew him very well as a matter of fact. When he was in the Navy…I was one of his best friends…”
Michael went on to describe his relationship with Tom, and some of the things they had done together. Not only had I found someone who knew Tom, but I had found his “best friend”. At first, I was elated and then soon after, I felt humbled. Not only was Michael willing to give me an interview of his experiences with Tom, he also lived less than five miles from my home. He lived in the same city.
To this day I am still awed by the improbabilities inherent in this event.
It was after this that I started to wonder if perhaps the film had a more important reason for being than simply an undergraduate film student’s dreams. We recorded the interview nearly six months later. The information we received from Mike was like finding a big fat piece of a puzzle. We now had an understanding of what Tommy endured immediately after his abuse of Jason, and just before he disappeared into the fringe-sex-underground of San Francisco’s gay community. In many ways what we learned from Mike became metaphorical of the title, a final “piece”.
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