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| Burton "Pat" Christenson, self portrait. Courtesy the family of BPC. |
In addition to his rifle, grenades, and a trench knife, he
carried a sketch pad.
Pat joined Easy Company of the 101st Airborne,
the elite fighting unit eventually nicknamed the Band of Brothers. He wanted to
do his duty and “get to the heart of the fighting,” he wrote in a letter home.
The young man emerged as the strongest of the strong. At
Camp Toccoa, where the men trained, Pat held the camp physical fitness record. A
remarkable feat, considering the strength, agility, and speed of the men he
competed against.
A true renaissance man, Pat also emerged as the unofficial artist
of the company. Pat had never studied art formally, but he loved to draw. The
art helped him cope, said his son in an interview with me. It helped him
process the unthinkable.
Pat parachuted into Normandy on D-Day. He fought in the mud
and blood of Operation Market Garden, and in the hunger and snow of Bastogne. He
filled page after page with detailed pencil sketches of the war.
Pat’s art is graphic, vivid. One sketch shows a soldier
clutching his hand over his eye. The soldier’s been hit by shrapnel, and blood
gushes around his hand and spills over his face. The soldier’s other eye is
open in shock. He’s aware of the horror that’s happened to him.
“Only those who were wounded severely,” Pat scrawled underneath
the sketch, “know the conflicting emotions and anxieties that race through a
person’s brain, if one is still conscious after being hit.”
He drew pictures of the fighting in Belgium. One shows a
man’s leg exploding, being hit from mortar fire, the picture a tribute to his
friends Bill Guarnere and Joe Toye, who both lost legs in Bastogne.
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| Courtesy the family of B.P. Christenson |
Pat was wounded more
than once, but he lived through the war. He came home in 1945 and went on
to lead a productive, community-minded life. He worked for the telephone
company in Oakland, California, and opened a gym on the side. Famed
body-builder Jack Lalane frequented Pat’s gym and became a friend.
Pat married and fathered three sons. He bought a big house
with a huge yard and built an elaborate wooden decking around an exquisite
ornamental garden, which he planted and shaped. Whenever the nightmares from
the war became too much, he paced around his backyard sanctuary in the moonglow
until he could sleep again.
Pat continued his artwork in various mediums. He built
birdhouses and made intricate wood carvings that were sold in gift shops in San
Francisco and Sausalito. He picked up pieces of cedar and pine in the Sierras
and carved figurines. Each year he handcrafted Christmas cards and sent them to
his war buddies.
He lived richly and lived well. His friends and community admired
and respected him. Eventually he succumbed to lung cancer, and Pat died at home
in 1999, his three sons near his side.
Pat Christenson’s
story is remarkable in many ways, but what can’t be missed is the important
place of art in this warrior’s life.
We men are often taught to bottle our feelings. Or we’re told
early that art is only for girls.
But inside every man is a deep-seated need to engage in art.
I’ve noticed a change, fortunately, in how everyday men are viewing
art. Manly art is making a big comeback. And I’m not talking about professional
art. I’m talking about the art we do for ourselves.
Among my friends, I know:
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An executive manager who sculpts industrial art
in his garage with a welding torch.
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A real estate agent who paints on the side. In
his portfolio are images of backyard trails he’s wandered in his youth.
·
An I.T. consultant who photographs sunsets, cityscapes,
and mountains in the snow.
·
A fireman who carves wooden boats.
Not all men go to war, but all men encounter challenges that
require a processing work. The healthier we are, the more we learn to recognize
and articulate our emotions. Art provides a vehicle for self-expression. We grab
our experiences and press them through a medium that reacts.
If you’re searching for a way to process what you’re going
through, you don’t need anybody’s permission to be an artist.
Every man is an
artist—permission’s already granted. It’s ingrained in the legacy of men like
Pat Christenson. Simply pull out a sketchpad, set up an easel, fire up a blowtorch,
or grab a lump of clay.
What happens next is up to you.
Question: In what ways is art part of your life?