Author Bio

ONE WRITER’S JOURNEY
A PASSION FOR HISTORY AND ITS RELEVANCE

Only a virtuous people are capable of freedom – BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

My name is Steve Chicoine and my passion is history – studying history, researching history, writing history and speaking on history. I am far more interested in the common man & woman, the forgotten or overlooked to whom we owe so much. Therein lies the real story. Whether dealing with War & Peace or Race, Gender & Class, history helps us to understand life – how we got here and how what happens might impact our future. We also understand what those before us overcame and accomplished so that we honor their memory. It is important to separate myth from reality. The Founding Fathers were not perfect. There are many heroes among the common men & women, but we are all flawed mortals. Those, who study history, have the proper perspective on mankind.

I am the author of four scholarly books on history, five books for young readers on the history and culture of foreign lands (with his photographs) and three novels. I also have published several scholarly articles in academic journals. I am a long-time member of the Authors Guild (since 1996). I have a number of book projects in various stages, as well as a couple of screenplays. Some of my screenplays are registered with the Writers Guild of America, West.

My initial exposure to history was family – the rich legacy of my Grandpa Edgar Chicoine, descended from the earliest French settlers in North America in the early 1600s, and my Grandpa Cornelius DeNardis, descended from medieval and Renaissance southern Italians and Basque. Grandpa DeNardis spent a year in prison as a teen for his participation in a human right demonstration. Soldiers opened fire, killing seven and injuring many more men, women and children at Roccagorga on January 6,1913. Mass arrests of the non-violent demonstrators followed. The young Socialist Benito Mussolini, then editor of Avanti!, gained considerable notice for his inflammatory reporting of the Roccagorga massacre. When grandfather returned home from prison, his mother handed him a ticket on a ship to America. He did not return to Italy until after the end of the Second World War and Mussolini’s death. My first ever interviews were countless hours, visiting with my grandfathers. 

My first great historical read was a children’s biography of Andrew Jackson. I was eight years old. I read Homer’s The Iliad, a gift from a beloved teacher, when I was nine years old. I frequented Decatur’s old Carnegie Library (long gone, destroyed by foolish city leaders), knew every librarian well, worked my way through volumes. Robert Louis Stevenson and Jules Verne were important. My adventures through books ignited the fire in me to travel. 

I walked the Parthenon, the ruins of the Palace of Knossos on Crete, the Temple of Delphi, Alexander’s city of Merv, crusaders castles in Israel, Moscow’s Red Square, Beijing’s Tiananmen Square, flew across the face of Mount Everest, climbed to the summit of Vesuvius and walked for miles through Pompeii. 

I once spent the better part of a week traveling the countryside in Normandy. My initial intent was to visit some ancestral sites. I can trace at least one of my lines to Vikings that settled Normandy. I ended up also studying William the Conqueror and the World War II landings and breakout. General George Patton admired and carefully studied William and his use of terrain. I later walked the battlefield in England at Hastings, where William won one of the great battles of history in 1066. I traveled to Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan, on that country’s border with Iran. While I delved into the past, I experienced the present. The Turkmen had just the week before torn down Lenin’s statue in Ashgabat’s main square. Had Moscow bureaucrats been more compliant, I would have been there in time to photograph that event. The border with Iran had just been opened and Ashgabat was filled with wild Iranian youth, many of whom seemed hostile. It was an interesting time. I remember a wonderful conversation with a young man in front of the statue of the eighteenth century Turkmen spiritual leader and philosophical poet Makhtumkuli. I had read of Makhtumkuli, recognized his importance and read his poetry. The young Turkmen was amazed that anyone other than a Turkmen knew of the poet or cared about him. I managed after several days in Ashgabat to convince a guide to take me to Geok Tepe, the site of Skobelev’s greatest victory over the Turkmen in 1881 – an historic site that was off-limits.

I explored the alleyways of Bukhara in Uzbekistan and the spectacular mosques of Samarkand in Uzbekistan.

I was in Moscow for the attempted coup on Yelstin when they attacked the White House in Moscow. I had dinner on more than one occasion with KGB generals in the course of doing book research. The Russian soul is deep and nationalism is not limited to their military. I attended the Easter Vigil services (standing for six hours long) at the great Russian monastery of Trinity Lavra at Sergiyev Posad, followed by a several hours-long breakfast with the high priests.

On one occasion, I was invited to an academic institution to see the original manuscript of the autobiography of Avvakum Petrov, one of the most venerated historical figures of Russia. Avvakum (1620-1682) was not a man of power, a czar or a famous soldier or even a nobleman. He was a man of God. He strongly opposed Patriarch Nikon and his reforms of the Russian Orthodox Church intended to align the church with the czar. The state persecuted the opposition, who became known as the Old Believers. Avvakum spent the last fourteen years of his life imprisoned in a pit. There he wrote what many consider to be one of the great masterpieces of Russian literature, first printed in 1861.

I traveled across China on two month-long trips. One to Xinjiang in China’s Wild West and one to  Tibet. The Uighur people in Xinjiang and the Tibetan people in their historic Tibetan homeland struggle to maintain their culture within the P.R.C. I was fortunate to see not only China, but also Xinjiang and Tibet before the hordes of tourists and Han settlers changed everything. Such experiences are never forgotten.

Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to not speak. Not to act is to act   –
DIETTRICH BONHOEFFER

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I began writing when I was seven or so. I still have the unpublished and unimpressive manuscripts.
 

I have done extensive historical research on numerous occasions at the Hoover Institution on War and Peace on the Stanford University campus and at the National Archives in Washington, D.C. I have also worked in such famous institutions as the British National Archives at Kew Gardens, the Russian State Library (formerly, Lenin State Library) in Moscow, the Russian Central State Military Historical Archives in Moscow and Yad Vashem Archives in Jerusalem. I have been fascinated by history for as long as I can remember. 

I grew up in Decatur, Illinois. I was blessed with beautiful parents, Duane and Beatrice, very intelligent people of principle, who brought up their children in the faith and taught us compassion for the disadvantaged in our hometown and in our nation. We boycotted grapes for many years in support of Cesar Chavez and the United Farm Workers labor union. I had the good fortune to have twelve years of a Catholic education, the value of which I did not fully appreciate at the time. We read Dostoevsky, whom I greatly admire and value. Later in life, after spending considerable time in Russia, I was motivated to re-read Dostoevsky and to dig much deeper into his works and their significance. I remember reading Graham Greene. There were many other authors and writings, which influenced me.

I was fortunate to come to know a young parish priest in our downtown Catholic parish of St. Patrick’s. I was not yet sixteen years old. Father Ron Trojcak was a brilliant young man, who introduced me and my teen friends Gary Baldwin and Tim McFadden to the deep spiritual insight of Thomas Merton. That was lifechanging and continues to be so as I regularly read and re-read Merton. Years later, looking back on our group sessions, I realize that Trojcak was helping us to engage in critical thinking on complex, important issues of the day. Father Trojcak was among the leaders of the Civil Rights Movement in my hometown of Decatur. Unfortunately, some wealthy and influential community leaders convinced the diocese to remove Father Trojcak from Decatur in 1968. I never saw him again, but I did locate him in Toronto decades later. We had some wonderful phone conversations before his passing in 2018. Ron Trojcak epitomized compassion, active love. He never wavered from aiding those in need. He adopted three young African immigrants and supported them. He supported many people and organizations. Father Trojcak’s memorial service was a vast, diverse throng of people, whose life he impacted. 

My parents emphasized reading, scholastic excellence and critical thinking. 

Dad was a dirt-poor kid during the Depression. The United States Navy identified him and sent him to Ivy League Columbia University in New York City. Dad was assigned to Naval Reserve Midshipmen’s School, better known as the now-famous V-12 Officers Training Program during the Second World War. Columbia was the flagship school of the nationwide program, educating the best and the brightest for either the continued war effort or the post-war Cold War. Dad studied under some of the top science and engineering professors in the world. Several of them played very important roles in the United States Government’s Manhattan Project. Among those at Columbia was Enrico Fermi, who did not return to Fascist Italy in 1939 after receiving the Nobel Prize for Science in Stockholm (Fermi’s wife was Jewish). He joined Harold Urey, 1934 Nobel Prize laureate, at Columbia. The engineering department at Columbia University was in Pupin Hall. Professor John Dunning and associates split the uranium atom in the basement of Pupin Hall. That was a major event in the development of the atomic bomb that ended the Second World War. It was only years later that it was revealed that top secret research was being done in the basement of Pupin Hall. The young officers-in-training had no idea. Dad met a pretty Latina named Beatrice DeNardis at a dance in a Catholic Church in Midtown Manhattan. They married and settled in Decatur. 

I remember the day I was riding in the car with my father on the outskirts of Decatur. We passed a billboard along the road. I commented, “I didn’t know Martin Luther King was a Communist.” My father’s head jerked and he pulled the car off to the side of the road. He calmly asked me what made me say that. I told him the billboard clearly stated that in bold letters. He asked what I saw. I told him it was a lot of people sitting on folding chairs. And I recognized Dr. King. Then my father asked me how I knew that the people in the photo were attending a class on Communism. Of course, I was stumped. That was but one of so many lessons in critical thinking. Dad was in no hurry. We sat in the car and discussed how one needed to think, to be open-minded, to be receptive, to gather what information one could, to question the source of the information and to evaluate the pros and cons and reflect. That lesson made me a better man and a better American. 

I earned an undergraduate degree from the University of Illinois. I never understood why I did graduate level research and took all graduate level courses in my senior year on campus and did not receive a master’s degree. I applied to Stanford University for graduate study. I was accepted but with no financial aid. So, instead, I commenced graduate study at University of Oregon. In 1972, the pungent, earthy scent of marijuana was everywhere in Eugene, Oregon. I was not a good fit for Eugene. The library was lacking. So I wrote a letter to Giancarlo Facca, a renowned international scientist who had published some classic papers on the early geothermal industry. I managed to find his mailing address in one of his papers in a scientific journal. He responded by mailing me a large envelope with a preprint of every important scientific paper he had ever written. I was ecstatic and read every one. We corresponded. Not long after we met, I received a letter from him asking me to call him. He liked my passion for learning and was interested in knowing if I would like to move to the San Francisco Bay area and work for him as a geological assistant. I had never been to California and that alone was intriguing. I didn't have any money, but he arranged for a plane ticket to be waiting for me at the airline counter. He picked me up at Oakland airport upon my arrival. I wasn't sure what to think on first impression. He was a burly bear of a man and seemed a bit gruff. He spoke with a heavy Italian accent. He was not dressed well. He had a lit cigarette in his hand at all times from which ashes often feel onto his shirt or jacket. I climbed into his late-model Chevy and we headed off. We drove through the not so attractive part of Oakland. I began to wonder what kind of a mistake I had made. Then Giancarlo turned east and we climbed into the Berkeley Hills. Once across, it was apparent that Orinda and Moraga were very high-end communities. Eventually we arrived at Giancarlo’s home in Lafayette. The house was breathtaking. Henry Kaiser built the sprawling mansion for his mistress who later became his wife. It was contemporary with a fabulous view down the hill to the Roman portico set on a beautiful swimming pool. The property was lined by eucalyptus trees. The main floor was all slate and there was a stairway up over a rock garden through which a waterfall flowed. Giancarlo offered me a job. I jumped at the opportunity and moved to the Bay Area. I did a lot of geological field work, which was great fun. I also soon found myself a part of Giancarlo’s intellectual circle, a group that met in the afternoon in the main living area of his home. There were Berkeley professors, one of whom was a Nobel Prize recipient (nuclear physicist Emilio Segrè), scientists working with the United Nations, European oil executives and more.  We sat in a circle of leather chairs and discussed the state of the world over cognac (my first ever exposure). I was determined to return to graduate school and accepted a fellowship to Colorado School of Mines. When I told Giancarlo, he expressed surprise, knowing that I wanted to go to Stanford. I told him I could not afford more schooling without a fellowship. I was determined to remain debt-free. I did acknowledge I would like to do graduate study at Stanford. Giancarlo reached around, grabbed his phone, dialed a number, had a very brief conversation, then hung up. He told me to go to Stanford in the morning and meet Professor Hank Ramey, head of the Department of Petroleum Engineering at Stanford. The next day I met the man, who would become my thesis advisor. Hank offered me a Chevron Fellowship. 

Giancarlo had been a prominent member of Partito Azione (The Action Party), an anti-fascist, republican party in Mussolini’s Italy. The members of this group included many of the intellectuals of Italy. Giancarlo fled to the mountains from Florence after his local activities raised his profile. As a geologist, he knew the mountains well. He led a partisan band but passed through the German lines to the Allies after his supposed allies, Communist partisans, failed to kill him in their third ambush. Giancarlo became an operative of the OSS and made three night jumps into German-occupied Italy during the Second World War. I am in the process of completing his life story.

I lived and worked in Houston for twenty-five years. I volunteered with various nonprofit agencies, mostly working with disadvantaged youth, tutoring and mentoring. I served on several Boards. I had many profound experiences.

I am a follower of Jesus Christ. I strive to live according to The Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7). Compassion, active love to address the suffering and needs of others, is a key element of this teaching. We are all flawed mortals. It is a mistake to assess Christianity by how Christians live, but by how Jesus lived while on this earth and by the words of Jesus.

Dostoevsky wrote extensively on compassion as active love (versus non-active empathy) in his wonderful philosophical novel The Brothers Karamazov. The Sermon on the Mount greatly influenced Leo Tolstoy, both in his writings and in the dramatic change he made in his way of life. Tolstoy recognized the Beatitudes from the Sermon as the essence of the Bible, as do I. The Sermon on the Mount is the central theme in Tolstoy’s The Kingdom of God Is Within You (1894). His book echoes the radical call of Jesus for all to cease violence. Tolstoy rejected state authority. His conscience was his and his alone. The Kingdom of God Is Within You profoundly influenced the Indian activist Mahatma Gandhi. 

Tolstoy’s revelation and Gandhi’s subsequent revelation affected many others, including Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. They also impacted me. I have no doubt that far too many people are distorting the message of Jesus from the Bible to serve their own purposes. The Beatitudes in the Sermon on the Mount are the essence of Christ’s message.

I am a member of an active Christian community. However, in essence, I consider myself a Christian anarchist. I read and embrace Roman Catholic philosophy – short of anything resembling fascist leaning – as well as the rich philosophy of classical Russian literature. And much more. I reject the prosperity gospel of the Right in America.  

I believe that there is still a great deal of wisdom in Personalism, a system of thought, which recognizes and emphasizes the importance of the person. God created each person in His image and likeness, thus making a person a spiritual being of unique worth. God is real and a person and each of us can have a personal relationship with God. Personalism rejects the collectivism of Marxism and Fascism, as well as the materialism and individualism of extreme Capitalism. God did not create the person to serve either the State or a corporation. Cardinal Wojtyla of Poland, who became Pope John Paul II in 1978 (and died in 2005) emphasized personalism. His term as pope was a call to holiness and personal responsibility. Personalism recognizes not only the unique value of the person, but also the dignity of free choice, which God conferred on the person. Pope John Paul II extended his personalistic perspective to calling for persons to interact with others and to serve others. In this way, every person contributed to community, to the common good. He also emphasized that each person had a unique set of gifts and unique worth and potential. The personalist Emmanuel Mounier formed Esprit in France in 1932. He influenced Jacques Maritain, who, in turn, influenced Peter Maurin. Maurin moved to New York City, where he met Dorothy Day. In 1933, Maurin and Day co-founded the Catholic Worker Movement. In my days in Houston, I volunteered at Casa Juan Diego, founded in 1980 by Catholic Workers Mark and Louise Zwick in Houston. 

Among my many adventures overseas was an eventful month in Tibet in 1989. I was eyewitness to a mass demonstration by Tibetans in Lhasa on March 5. That was the 30th anniversary of the 1959 Tibetan uprising, the last hope of independence. Police and government security officers swept in and escalated the situation. The city erupted. The crowd overturned police cars and set them on fire. Several Westerners taking photographs were beaten and dragged into the police station. The crowd attacked the police station, freed the prisoners and set the police station on fire. The sound of exploding gas tanks and gunshots filled the air. For a month, I watched the security officers replaced by green PRC soldiers, then older, veteran soldiers then by huge special forces warriors with the look and demeanor of Genghis Khan. I was eyewitness to totalitarian suppression. I had nightmares for several months. I became active in the International Campaign for Tibet. As a result, we came to know each other. I received an urgent request for assistance in July 1995. His Holiness The Dalai Lama of Tibet was coming to Houston. The International Campaign for Tibet in Washington, D.C. was frantic. No advance work had been done for the visit. The only preparations were on the social scene. His Holiness was again to stay at the home of society people in Houston, who were jockeying for position. The campaign was desperate for financial support and forced to accept the position of catering to the wealthy. Yet, while the campaign needed money, His Holiness sought to meet the people of Houston. I spent three solid days with The Dalai Lama during his stay. That was a heady experience. I arranged a breakfast at which I introduced His Holiness to a number of my friends in the Houston community, who were involved in community services, law enforcement and government. Richard Gere flirted with my girlfriend (now my wife). She and I sat at the head table with His Holiness at a huge banquet I arranged through the Asia Society. I was a Board member. The highlight of the three-day whirlwind experience was discussing with His Holiness our mutual respect for Thomas Merton. Inspirational and memorable.

Freedom is not the right to do what we want, but what we ought. Let us have faith that right makes might and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it  – ABRAHAM LINCOLN