On an otherwise normal operating day at the Los Angeles Army Induction Center, parents and
girlfriends hugged and kissed their love ones (draftees) good bye while two secret service
agents debriefed me in the commander's office. My lips would remain sealed and as a member
of a very exclusive club my guardian angels would protect me from compromising situations.
Consequently, my military stay at Fort Hood, Texas was to a certain extent bloodless, but
as body bags returned to the states, containing once happy-go-lucky boys, my attitude,
belief and understanding of the Government was reshaped forever.
I was also beginning to sense a little dissatisfaction among the
troops, but nothing could have prepared me for the most revealing event to come. Knowing
that my time on active duty would expire at the end of the summer of 1967, I requested
that a cyst on my tailbone be surgically removed. That way I wouldn't have to deal with it
when I returned to a real life.
While recovering after surgery in a hospital ward with several other
soldiers, I saw and heard plenty of war stories, enough to fill a small book. And I was in
a room with men who had some hopeful prospects for a useful life. You know, a little
shrapnel in the groin, steel plate in the head, but otherwise they would become guaranteed
factory rebuilt Americans.
One day we were informed that LBJ (the President) was coming to place a
Purple Heart or some other medal on a "vegetable" as they were called then. I
could not understand why everyone was ordered to stay in their rooms for the period of
time that the President would be there. Armed Military Police were stationed everywhere
throughout the hospital. Remember, as a kid from the fifties, I had visions of Dwight D.
Eisenhower shaking hands with the troops and asking that famous question "Where are
you from son?" To my surprise, from the time the President of the United States
arrived until he left, and he left quickly, almost-every patient hollered at the top of
his lungs every obscenity known to man. My world was fracturing right before me. As much
as I disagreed with the government's policy, I could never even imagine shouting
"Fuck You, Mother Fucker" to our commander in chief. There was no question in my
mind, that if these wounded men were armed, they would have brought down the President in
a hail of gunfire. If this scene was repeated with any frequency, surely even our mentally
disadvantaged President would eventually come to realize that he was the most hated man in
America. Of one thing we all could be sure, America was really hurting, and nothing would
ever be the same again.
So in August of 1967, the kid from Happy Days" (before the TV
show) returned to civilian life, with a whole new attitude. Back in sunny California, I
enrolled in college and began to enjoy the young girls in their rebellious new
"mini" skirts. My military experience made it extremely difficult for me to
relate intellectually to any of the other students, probably because they were yet to go
where I had already been. Though most of my time was submerged in studies, I couldn't help
but become aware of the discord which had taken control of the streets of America.
By 1968, a bitter sweet cocktail, with it's main ingredients being
violence and rioting, had become a favorite, especially among those who were susceptible
to being drafted. Any single American event that transpired in '68 would today command
international attention, and all of the year's events, when assembled and measured as one
moment in time, appeared prophetically as the prelude to the collapse of the great
American Empire.
Laced together with everyday occurrences, such as students literally
taking over their universities, demonstrations performed by tens of thousands, riots and
other violent confrontations, certain outstanding incidents would give new meaning to
"my country tis of thee": On April 4th, "the great black hope", Dr.
Martin Luther King was gunned down in public, followed by riots in 125 American cities. On
June 6th, presidential hopeful for all, Robert F. Kennedy, was publicly gunned down in a
hotel kitchen. August 26th began the most violent political exercise in American history
when the Democratic National Convention produced the bloodiest riots in Chicago's legacy.
Fortunately, the Platos and Socrates of our government were quick to access the root
causes of such civil disorder, thus on October 24th the Legislature increased the
penalties for manufacture, sale or distribution of LSD (the preferred drug of Hippies).
Next on the film schedule was a communal scene on a large ranch in
Oceanside, California. What better place could there be for the new Christ to procure his
disciples? Though communes were common place in other parts of the world, it wasn't until
the "hippies" appeared in the western United States, that large groups of people
living together became attractive in America. The Establishment and media declared that
such antisocial behavior was the beginning of the decline of our great Western
Civilization. Imagine, men and women bathing together, nude in a river and even sharing
their daily bread.
Mark brought along some of his "hippie" friends for extras,
which proved to be interesting. I had already listened to some music created by them,
which sounded somewhat different. I especially remember "The Eyes of a Dreamer"
written and sung by one Charles Manson, a relatively unknown pied piper of sorts. Mark
directed my attention to the significance of the lyrics, as though they held great
profound meanings.
That night we all stayed over in the main ranch house which was my first experience
attending a "hippie" slumber party. I must say it actually was great fun. In
town, I had bought a large quantity of food and the girls prepared a wonderful feast.
Around the large open hearth fireplace we sang, told yarns and attentively listened to two
small children, who came with Mark and friends. These kids expressed a homespun
understanding of life in a very intellectual manner that I would not soon forget.
