The Living and the Dead

A good psychological portrait of McNamara is augmented by some questionable supporting material.

During a long section, the author attempts to make a hero out of a self-immolating lunatic, which seriously makes me question the author's judgment.

This is not a disaster by any means, but it is less than what I was hoping for.

Overall, I would rate this work 3.5 stars.

The psychological portrait of McNamara provides some interesting insights into his character and mindset. However, the inclusion of the questionable supporting material detracts from the overall quality of the work.

The attempt to glorify a self-immolating lunatic seems out of place and undermines the credibility of the author's analysis.

Despite these flaws, the work still has some redeeming qualities and is worth reading for those interested in the subject matter.

However, it fails to fully meet my expectations and leaves room for improvement.

A very disjointed book indeed... It clearly needs re-editing.

While a significant portion of the blame for the countless wasted lives can be attributed to this particular man, it is important to note that it took the extensive involvement of a great many others to prosecute this war.

And the end result is a country that has been severely damaged. Despite this, it still welcomes tourists from every corner of the globe. I, for one, feel a great deal of embarrassment about this situation.

It is disheartening to see the consequences of such actions and the state in which the country now finds itself.

Perhaps with time and proper efforts, some semblance of restoration and healing can take place. But for now, the scars remain, a painful reminder of the past.

Paul Hendrickson was extremely tenacious in his pursuit of capturing the story of Robert McNamara and the profound impact his policies had on countless lives during the Vietnam War.

He went to great lengths, from painstakingly tracking down the family of Norman Morrison, who made the ultimate sacrifice by self-immolating in front of the Pentagon to protest the war, to engaging in intense back-and-forth letters with the former Secretary of Defense himself.

Hendrickson's unwavering dedication and passion were not in vain. His work resulted in a brilliant, comprehensive, and deeply personal account that encompasses all those involved.

It's crucial to understand that this book is not a typical biographical work that presents only straight facts. Instead, it is rich with Hendrickson's own personal reflections, which add an extra layer of depth to the narrative.

His questions and his quest to understand McNamara's mindset seemed to mirror the thoughts of the public during that tumultuous war.

Importantly, he never tried to sway the reader's opinion but rather presented the subjects in their entirety, allowing us to form our own judgments.

Overall, this is one of the finest books I've ever read, and I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone who is familiar with the facts and statistics of the Vietnam War but lacks an understanding of the personal struggles of the people on all sides.

In 1995, Robert McNamara published what was regarded as his admission of guilt for his role in the Vietnam War. The war had ended 20 years prior, yet there was a fierce outpouring of anger and disbelief directed at him. Editorials criticized him harshly, crowds protested outside the bookstores where he signed copies, and cartoons made fun of him. I was young, just out of high school, and not particularly politically aware at the time. However, one cartoon struck me and has stayed with me ever since. It shows McNamara standing in front of the Vietnam memorial with a copy of his book, and a single caption from the wall says, “You’re more than 30 years and 58,000 lives too late Bob”.

Who is this man who, even 20 years later, could evoke such emotions? In “The Living and the Dead”, Paul Hendrickson attempts to understand McNamara through the lens of different lives affected by the war. We learn about an Army nurse who returns home and discovers that the “stuff” dropped on her likely led to her tumors. We hear about a chopper pilot who had to rescue his comrades from a hail of gunfire. We also learn about McNamara’s son, a walnut farmer in California, who loves his father but cannot condone his actions.

And then there is McNamara himself. Always elusive, sometimes engaging, sometimes blatantly deceptive. If the reader expects to understand McNamara better after reading this book, they will be disappointed. One gets the sense that the author himself feels the same disappointment and frustration. How many faces did this man have? Was he a secret dove in the government who tried to guide the country out of a disastrous war? (In his 1995 book, McNamara makes this very argument.) There are dozens of internal memos dating back to 1965 that show he believed the war could not be won. He even gave speeches where he said things like in 1966:

“Security is not military hardware though it may include it. Security is not military force though it may involve it. Security is not traditional military activity though it may encompass it. Who is man? All the evidence of history suggests that man is indeed a rational animal but with a near-infinite capacity for folly. His history seems largely a halting, but persistent, effort to raise his reason above his animality. He draws blueprints for Utopia. But never quite gets it built. In the end, he plugs away obstinately with the only building material really ever at hand: his own part-comic, part-tragic, part-cussed, but part-glorious nature.”

These are certainly not the words of a war hawk. Or consider his statement in front of the Senate Foreign Relations committee about 59 “targets” drawn up for attack in North Vietnam by the Joint Chiefs of Staff:

“The loyalist reported to the Stennis committee (formally the Preparedness Investigating Subcommittee of the Senate Armed Services Committee) that the so-called steel factories of the north weren’t steel factories at all but rather hapless little operations producing on the order of 5,000 tons of pig iron a month. In his words, I would have lost that in the back room of what I considered a relatively small pig iron production capacity in River Rouge. He reported that there were two battery plants on the Chiefs recommended target list, and how these battery plants put out 600 tons of wet cells per year. A service station would supply that was his dismissal, which may or may not have been accurate. Have to be a pretty big station. A machine shop with 96,000 square feet? We wouldn’t even call it a machine shop in this country. A motor pool of 39,000 square feet? (You probably have on your farms barns bigger than that.) A vehicle repair shop of 48,000 square feet? (Any garage on any one of the side streets of Alexandria [Virginia] has more than that.) A warehouse of 94,000 square feet? (It wouldn’t fill in the corner of a Sears, Roebuck district warehouse.)”

Are these the words of a man committed to a war? And yet he continued to publicly insist that the war could be won right up until his resignation in 1968. Even after he was free from any sense of loyalty he may have felt to the government to put a positive spin on a war he privately knew was disastrous, he remained silent until 1995. What are we to make of this man? I will admit that there were moments in this book where I hated this man. This man whose lack of courage and lies led to the deaths of thousands of men who should never have died.

Yet at the same time, there were moments where I felt truly sorry for him. I could sense the anguish within him as he broke down both mentally and physically. There is a moment near the end of McNamara’s tenure when President Johnson presents him with a medal. McNamara accepts it and begins a speech where he talks about not being able to express his pride in receiving this award. He speaks of “….what lies in my heart”.

Lies in my heart. When he says these words, there is a moment, a brief moment, where he perhaps realizes the dual meaning of these words. He chokes up for a moment and seems like he won’t be able to continue. But then he does. The moment has passed.

Is McNamara the man who realizes what he has done? Or is he the man who will continue to stubbornly remain silent about his feelings regarding a war that was killing thousands of young men? This book is at times maddening, frustrating, and yet fascinating. Not only in the author’s attempts to determine who McNamara was but also in its startlingly inventive writing style. Instead of using straightforward reportage, Hendrickson’s book reads at times like a Shakespearian tragedy. A lyrical and infinitely sad book about hubris and the sorrow it caused.

This is a captivating book that delves into the complex persona of Robert McNamara and his internal struggle regarding the Vietnam War.

As Kennedy's Secretary of Defense, he oversaw the initial military efforts in Vietnam and later continued under Johnson. However, his disillusionment set in when he realized the war was unwinnable.

Surprisingly, it wasn't the Tet Offensive or other factors that convinced him of the war's futility. Instead, it was after the North Vietnamese regular forces showed their mettle in the Ia Drang Valley in 1965.

Despite this realization, McNamara continued to prosecute the war without expressing doubts, a decision that Hendrickson sharply condemns.

The book has an anti-McNamara tone, with Hendrickson repeatedly using the word "lies" to describe his actions.

Hendrickson also presents the stories of five people whose lives were deeply affected by the war, effectively demonstrating the human cost.

While the book may have a polemic feel at times, it ultimately becomes a deeply moving work that leaves the reader with a sense of acute sadness for all those involved.

Whether one views it as a biography or journalism, it is a powerful exploration of a significant chapter in American history.

No kidding, as I get closer to losing my own health and life, I am increasingly drawn to the natural recreational areas around my boyhood home in northern Michigan. The actual town I was born in holds little appeal, as the residents have almost destroyed it, and there's no reason to visit the house where my family spent better years. However, the Huron National Forest, the historic Ausable River, Sand Lake, and The Point bring back pleasant and luscious memories. In the early seventies, during high school, I escaped to these places to get away from being a dutiful son and diligent student, to be private when I wanted, and to believe I'd go to better places than the small town I felt trapped in. Recreational drugs helped me escape, and being part of the "freak flag" seemed possible. The Vietnam War was in full swing, and there was little known about it except for the pictures of body bags and the wounded. In 1972, there was little chance of escaping it. School rivalries in high school sports were a diversion. Our greatest rivals were in Oscoda, and their teams always seemed to have gifted black athletes. My school, Tawas Area, was all-white, and we worked hard to maintain dominance, but Oscoda presented a challenge. By high school, I gave up on sports and turned to a Silvertone electric guitar. Vietnam continued to lurk in the background, and in 1972, I was part of the last lottery draft. The "last draft" was scary, as I was still in high school and wondered if I'd be called to serve instead of following my plan to escape. I arranged a date with a girl from Oscoda on the day of the draft, but forgot to listen to my fate. I later realized she wasn't interested in my situation, and I left. My draft number was high, 346, and I knew I wouldn't have to choose between serving and running to Canada. I had been torn, as my father was a WWII veteran, but I never knew what I would have done. I use an analogy when discussing this, comparing it to 9/11. I don't know if I would have been brave or scared. I hate bullies, like Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney. I believe George W. Bush was a decent man who got caught up in the wrong politics. I was always afraid of the Vietnam War and never supported it. But something changed when I discovered Paul Hendrickson's books. I read about McNamara, even though I didn't want to. A few years ago, my wife and I saw Errol Morris's film on McNamara. The film was good, but the topic wasn't something I wanted to know more about. I have a brother-in-law who was a helicopter pilot in Vietnam and was in a deadly crash. He survived but was physically broken. He went on to have a remarkable career as a carpenter and builder. Hendrickson's book on McNamara and five other people connected to the Vietnam War is a dandy. He brings the text alive with personal stories and is relentless in his research. The book took ten years to make. Besides the detailed history, I took away a Gandhi-like acceptance of all those involved in the war. There's no bitterness or anger, as shown by my brother-in-law's determination. Even McNamara went on with his life. I also noticed that Hendrickson's books always have a titillating reference to sex, which I find interesting. After Hendrickson's book was published, Joan Braden wrote her own memoir. The fact that all three involved in the affair were indifferent is interesting to me. I can't wait for Hendrickson's next book on Frank Lloyd Wright.

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I'm not necessarily a person who is fond of war books, nor am I a reader of political history. My husband recommended this book to my stepson as the best book he's ever read. The three of us enjoy having long dinners on the weekends and engaging in conversations, so I decided to read it to be a part of those conversations.

Early on, I had doubts that it could truly be the best book ever. However, I quickly recognized it to be a very engaging book, which was quite a surprise considering it's about policy development and the Vietnam War. As I delved deeper into the book, it became almost impossible to put down.

And here's the part that makes it truly compelling. The amount of research that the author has done is simply remarkable, and the humanity that he unearths in each character is marvelous. It has been the source of really great conversations, not only about the policy of the Vietnam War but mostly about the psychology of the souls in the story.

I find myself in agreement with the other reviewers. The author is not a fan of McNamara. Throughout the book, you can clearly see his personal struggle with objectivity. But I do believe that, in the end, he does his very best to set that aside so that the reader can draw her own conclusions, which I believe I have done.

Hendrickson's book about McNamara is a remarkable piece of work.

It intricately weaves together the lives of five individuals who were deeply affected by the former Secretary of Defense's actions during the prosecution of the Vietnam War.

The author has demonstrated a profound knowledge of the war's dire specifics, presenting a detailed and comprehensive account.

This book is highly suitable for use in a course, especially when combined with other relevant works such as TTTC and Home Before Morning.

Hendrickson's extensive use of the archives of the LBJ Library and Museum adds further credibility and depth to the narrative.

It provides readers with a unique perspective on the events and their impact on the lives of those involved.

Overall, this book is a valuable addition to the literature on the Vietnam War and offers valuable insights into a complex and controversial period in history.