DITTY BOPS: WHY I WANT YOU TO CARE
Or: “Why am I seeing a creepy smashed mannequin face everywhere?”
“Smashed Face,” by Dr. Neil Chapman; poster design by Ryan Johnson. Background: “The Pile,” by Dr. Neil Chapman. All rights reserved.
Hello, Beautiful Human!
A lot of people are asking me whyyyyy I’m making them look at a creepy, smashed mannequin face right now. So you’re not alone if you’re thinking, “Um, it’s beautiful, but it’s disturbing,” or “there goes Nicole again,” or “yeah…what the $%^* is this exactly?”
The short story is that it’s about honoring and caring for my friend, in the best way I know how.
The long story is…well, the long story is the best way I know.
So…I invite you to listen.
Last August, I ventured to the wilds of Edmond, Oklahoma, to finally end the Covid-forced distance from my friend and colleague, Dr. Neil Chapman, and Dawna, his awesome wife. I’ve fluttered to Neil’s flame for a decade, energized by his care, and the challenging, provocative, and thoughtful dialogue on everything from politics to art to religion, including the many applications of comparative objective analysis. In short, Neil don’t do small talk. He’s a world-class photographer, retired professor, and artist-philosopher in the middle of an Oklahoma suburb who always listens to my whacked-out ideas with kindness and serious consideration, and I love that man through and through. He has helped to shape both my aesthetic, and my faith in humanity.
While the pandemic aged all of us in various ways, I wasn’t prepared for the difference Parkinson’s had made on Neil in such a short time. He was diagnosed in 2017, but I still expected the door to be opened by my tall, grumpy, swaggering friend, his kind eyes hiding some joke he was fixin’ to challenge me to figure out. Instead, while Neil was still very much himself, he greeted me with an energy that seemed (smaller) somehow - centered more inwards than out. His eyes were kind, but that mischievous glint was replaced by anger, an emotion I don’t recall seeing in him before.
Following him into their home, I saw the same gorgeous collection of Santa Clara pottery; the same beautiful silver prints of his work. But in his studio, taped to the walls and covering the surfaces, were documents. A LOT of documents, with military stamps all over them.
I vaguely knew Neil was a Veteran, but it wasn’t something he ever talked about. Now, as he paced around the room, moving from pile to pile of paper, he let it all come out. I stood, a bit gobsmacked, and listened.
“My claim to the VA was denied - because they can’t find my base.”
There’s a lot to unpack there, so let’s back up a bit.
I learned that, during the Vietnam War, Neil served in the United States Air Force, stationed at the top-secret 6924th Security Squadron in Ramasun, Thailand. There, he was a Code Interceptor, or “Ditty Bopper,” charged with listening, for 12 hours per day, to rapid-fire enemy Morse code and transcribing it on a manual typewriter. It was a mind-numbing job with enormous pressures, because one mistake or lapse of attention could literally mean the difference between life and death for troops on the ground. Suicide rates among Ditty Boppers was high for precisely that reason - you’re in a tiny room wearing headphones, unable to take a break unless someone else covers you, listening to harsh, sharp tones that are broken up by only the tiniest bits of silence. 12 hours a day, every day. Add a sprinkle of “if we’re compromised they’ll flatten the base,” and it adds up to a not-so-pleasant time.
As Neil explained this to me, he kept repeating,
“I went from being a California kid to a spy overnight, and for 3 years, it’s 12 hours a day of “di-di-di-dah, di-di-di-dah, di-di-di-dah, and now they’re telling me they can’t find my base?!”
Neil values intelligence and precision. He has incredible recall, respect for timelines and workflows, and an expertly-honed attention to detail.
Imagine his horror at now being at the mercy of the Department of Veterans’ Affairs because of an inexplicable series of oversights beyond his control.
As I looked at the pages and pages and pages of documents, I realized they all contained evidence to 1) help the VA find his base because they apparently lost it; and 2) support his claim of being exposed to Agent Orange. Never mind that the Gribble Report had done both of these things; never mind that the PACT Act would soon affirm presumptive exposure for those serving in Thailand during the Vietnam War.
I couldn’t believe this was even a thing - don’t we take care of our Veterans? Isn’t the Military our biggest budget item, with technology that can explode a beetle on a street sign from space? How can they misplace an entire base?!
It turns out that asking “why” is the surest path to madness.
Neil was shaking his head, disbelief and outrage making his eyes roll. Again he repeated “di-di-di-dah, di-di-di-dah, di-di-di-dah.” I latched onto the only thing I knew how to respond to, saying “Neil, that’s percussion!” (Which earned me a a withering look and, “well obviously. It’s a rhythmic pattern.”)
In Neil’s kitchen, not knowing what else to do, I texted James Metcalfe, the most accomplished and passionate percussionist I’ve ever met. “Have you ever worked with Morse Code?,” I asked. He responded immediately, expressing genuine glee at the idea.
Back to Neil, who was still hopped up with insulted anger, I asked him if he’d be interested in talking with James.
“To what end?” he replied.
“Oh, I dunno, ART, Neil.”
That moment was the tipping point. Neil sighed and said something to humor me, akin to “oh why not.” (Little did he know…)
As I was leaving, I said, “I keep going back to this idea of Morse Code. If you could say anything to the world right now, what would it be?” Of course, my idealistic civilian self was expecting sage ley lines of “love each other,” or “protect democracy at all costs.” Without missing a beat though, Neil responded with:
My name is Neil Chapman. I have Parkinson's disease. I was exposed to Dioxins Herbicidal Defoliants while serving in USAF Security Service in Thailand, 1973.
All my friend wanted was for someone to hear him - to believe him. Ditty Bops | The Art of Listening was born.
Neil (L) and James (R) have grown close over their shared love for music. James is the father of a soldier currently serving overseas.
I forwarded Neil’s statement to James, who went on a sleepless, artistic bender to find the strongest expression of Neil’s words through Morse Code-laced music. The result is hours of brilliant, haunting, wholly original compositions, created with manual typewriters, gongs, taiko, Taos drums, gamelan, raindrops and bird song, among a thousand other things. I can’t wait for you to hear them.
So. Because of the VA’s initial error (they did eventually find his base), Neil’s claim for compensation was kicked into appeal status, and, crucially, became mired in the now notorious Veterans Affairs Claims Backlog. As defined on their website, “VA's claims backlog…includes initial and supplemental claims for service-connected disabilities for Veterans and their survivors, Agent Orange-related claims, and pension claims for Veterans.” The backlog includes claims that are over 125 days old.
When we began this project, there were “only” about 152,000 other veterans’ claims in front of Neil. The PACT act, however, changed the game, and now…
The VA backlog is now up to 272,525 claims. Neil has been waiting for 3 years.
I can’t even wrap my head around this. It becomes even worse if you multiply each of those claims with a modest monthly benefit for disability. How much are they saving on Neil alone, for 36+ months of no compensation for a service-related disease? It’s too big to fathom, and though I feel too small and insignificant to make a difference, I’m also outraged by the gross neglect of people who sacrificed for my right to sit here and type this. Do I just throw up my hands and go “oh well, that’s awful, but whattya gonna do?”
So. Back to Neil.
In my dining room I have a framed and signed silver print from Neil’s highly-prized Mannequins Series One. Neil captured these images upon returning from Thailand; he stumbled into an old mannequin factory, and found subject matter that could help him make sense of the rampant violence in America.
As I nattered around in the wee hours, trying to find some way to make a meaningful bit of art from all I’d learned, I stopped in front of the print and was struck by the parallels. Are we treating our Veterans any better than these discarded figures? Could Neil have predicted he would become, in essence, one of his subjects?
“Dusted,” by Dr. Neil Chapman. All Rights Reserved
After months of seeking out and listening to dozens of Veterans, educating ourselves, and exploring creative possibilities, we’re now 2 weeks away from premiering the live performances of Ditty Bops (you should get your tickets NOW - they’re going fast).
From this one conversation with my friend, we’re at a point where 14 artists from all around OKC have come together to tell Neil’s story and raise awareness of the ridiculous, unfathomable oversight and mismanagement that have gotten us here. We invite our audiences to listen, unite in compassion, and advocate for an intervention in the backlog, because Neil, and all of our veterans, are our people, and this battle is our battle. Award-winning filmmaker Zachary Burns has captured a year’s worth of footage, and we’ll create a short documentary of the project to send to film festivals around the country. PLEASE COME. PLEASE CARE.
Do I think this will make a difference in the backlog? I’m going on the faith that I can’t know that. What I do know is that this effort alone - this investment of money, attention, and dialogue - is making a difference for people I care about. My brother Angel Little, a 100% disabled Veteran himself, has finally found a supportive environment to be fully himself, scars and all, with civilians who aren’t totally freaked out by his experiences, instead listening intently and embracing his expertise, perspective, and pain.
Angel Little, my brother, explaining why this tattered flag is “UNSAT”
If you have read this far, you are exactly who I am trying to reach, and I thank you. We are at a moment in time where the hustle is exhausting, and our attention spans are suffering from whiplash. It is hard to care about everything, so if you have read this far, you have given me, SPARK!, Neil, and Angel the gift (and it is a gift) of your attention. Our stories matter. Our people matter. You are making a difference simply by caring enough to read this story.
We may not be able to topple a dehumanizing bureaucracy…but perhaps, together, we can master the Art of Listening.
Top row, from Left: Chloe Jenson (Dance), Natasha Abu-Fadel (Dance), Brianna Clark (Dance), Paige Fischer (Dance), Nathaniel Tylor (Dance), Dr. Neil Chapman (Himself), James Metcalfe (Composition & Percussion), Angel Little (Spoken Word), Ryan Johnson (Poster Design), Tony Tee (Rap, Theater, and Vocals), Kiona Millirons (Visual Art). Bottom row: Zachary Burns (Filmmaker), Nicole Poole (Producer & Theater), Ian Cummings (Dance & Theater), Hui Cha Poos (Choreography). Not pictured: Pedro Pérez, Audio Engineering & Percussion
With Love,
Nicole
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IF YOU FEEL LIKE TAKING ACTION, HERE ARE THINGS YOU CAN DO RIGHT NOW:
BUY TICKETS TO DITTY BOPS. BRING FRIENDS.
TELL PEOPLE. LIKE AND SHARE OUR POSTS ON INSTAGRAM AND FACEBOOK.
HIRE A VETERAN
DO BUSINESS WITH A VETERAN-OWNED COMPANY.
VOLUNTEER WITH A VETERANS’ SERVICE ORGANIZATION
WRITE TO YOUR FEDERAL LEGISLATORS TO DEMAND INTERVENTION IN THE VA BACKLOG
DONATE TO SPARK! - THIS EFFORT IS EXPENSIVE AND WE NEED YOUR SUPPORT.