A story about the 60's...that is if you can stand another story from an old fart!

[Raven]

I was married in 1969. Five months after I was married my husband was sent to Vietnam. I lived with college friends in Washington DC while I finished up Graduate School at GW University. Our apartment was not far from the National Mall which was the site of many demonstrations of both anti-war groups and pro-war groups.

One Saturday there was a demonstration scheduled for the "Honor America" organization. This was a pro-war group (in case you didn't guess). I happened to be down at a service station in my neighborhood picking up my car which had been in for repairs. People were coming back from this particular demonstration who had parked their cars at this particular station. I was standing, waiting for my car to come around when a family approached me...Mom, Dad, Aunt Uncle, kids...at this point you should know that I was 23, had long hair and was wearing jeans (clean ones). The father looked at me with utter disgust on his face and sneered "You are just the kind of people we're demonstrating against!" Really, he said that to me. Somehow I managed to collect myself and told him "And you are the people my husband has been sent to Vietnam to "protect"? I guess this country has made a grave mistake." Fortunately, my car came and I could leave.

There is a lesson somewhere in this and it has something to do with ignorant, hateful people who represent the triumph of ideology over intelligence.

Some things never change, do they?

[placton]

1. I remember when wearing a pair of

"elephant bells" constituted license for those kinds of comments to many I met back in them dim dark - and wonderful and hopefilled - days.

[RagAss]

2. My lesson from the 60's... A little less MLK and a little more Malcom X !

[tularetom]

3. Heres one from an even older fart.

I was at SFO airport to pickup my brother coming in from Hawaii after service in the Navy in Vietnam. As we exited the terminal we saw a scroungy looking hippie sitting on the curb waiting fro a ride. Two soldiers came by grabbed the hippie/s back pack and started to play keep away with it. I wanted to go help the guy but my brother, in Navy uniform, did not want to get involved. As it turned out it was a moot point. An old Chevy panel truck pulled up and three great big hairy biker/mountain man looking guys jumped out and started whaling on those soldiers. At that point we started to go to help the soldiers but the cops were heading for the fight and the hippies saw them coming jumped in the truck and hauled ass before the cops could stop them. Those soldiers were pretty well fucked up.

I always tell this story to people who want to feed me some bullshit about people spitting on soldiers back in the Vietnam day.

[safeinOhio]

4. Just a few weeks ago I was talking to a guy about my age

He was talking about all the abuse the returning soldiers got from Nam. Of course I had long hair back then so I disagreed and said I saw more abuse aimed at hippies. He said not from soldiers, only Bubba types. I said not from soldiers? How about 4 dead in Ohio.

[MineralMan]

5. I was in the USAF from 65-69. Since the airlines gave guys in

uniform a 50% discount if they were in uniform, I traveled in uniform a lot. I was never treated badly by anyone, anywhere. Lots of people wanted to chat, though. I'm sure the stuff happened, but never to me in that time, either here or outside the US.

[barbtries]

6. at least you had the presence of mind

to respond appropriately. what an asshole.

[msedano]

7. kindness of strangers

I was married in August 1968, drafted in time for Thanksgiving that year, but got it postponed until January 1969. What a wretched holiday season, me doing push-ups her worrying I'd get my ass shot up in Vietnam.

During AIT at Ft. Ord, where my wife had moved to be near her newlywed hubbie, we'd take weekends up to San Juan Bautista, a California Mission village. The Almaden Wineries had a tasting room there. The barkeep would allow two small sample glasses and that's it. When he saw me with my short hair he figured me for a GI. He smiled, placed a full bottle in front of us, and walked away. He did that every weekend we showed up. One of those visits we'd drunk our jolly selves high and were hungry. In the village we smelled barbeque. I tracked down the place next to a bar. I counted my change--I never had money naturally--and had just enough for one plate. I stepped up to the woman selling tickets and laid down my coins. She swept it up and handed it back to me, told me there was no charge for two plates and all we could eat if we wanted more. Gente made room for us at a picnic table and we ate and they sang songs for us.

Best irony of the 60s for me. The night before I reported for induction, my friends and I were cruising Santa Barbara. Around midnight, when I didn't take off fast enough from a stop sign for a beat up pickup truck, the cowboy hat in my rearview mirror rammed my vehicle hard, then sped around us screaming "fuck you four F". I laughed hysterically but my friends were pissed. My wife cried.

As it happened, my orders sent me to Korea, wonder of wonders. There's a story behind that, for another time.

http://readraza.com/hawk/index.htm

[Gregorian]

8. So much of this has to do with how we're raised.

We're little sponges when we're young. We just soak up what we're told. However, a few of us realize that it is responsible to think for ourselves. Whereas, many just lazily hang on to whatever they were taught.

And it's partly genetic, and partly gained through our socialization growing up. But still, there is no excuse.

Furthermore, as we've doubled in size on this planet, a few times over, we have to yet even more so be responsible. Our space is getting smaller and smaller, which lend to this kind of rat in a maze mentality.

But there are those who seem to want to brush over life with some kind of mental glaze, so that they can simply put everything in it's place, and just forget that there is a real world out there. To hell with Iraqis, I've got a Lexus and an electric can opener.

Well at least we know this kind of thing didn't start yesterday. Pontius Pilate didn't want to see Jesus killed. The crowd wanted it. Somehow it seems like an apt comparison to the attitudes of today.

You know, I think Americans have it too easy. Were we struggling to survive, there wouldn't be as much of this willingness to discount the lives of other people. We might even work with our enemies just to survive.

Back in the early 70's I decided to grow a beard. I remember one day walking out my door and having a carload of guys tell me to go back to Iran. Ha. I'm a California kid.

[Contrary1]

9. Here's another story:

Back in 1968, when I was campaigning for Robert Kennedy, I met a very nice young man who happened to be black. We ran into each other a lot after our first meeting, mainly downtown, where we passed out brochures and bumper stickers.

One night I got distracted, and missed the last bus that would take me near to my home. He offered me a ride, and I gladly accepted. Thirty minutes later, I pointed out my house to him. He stopped at the end of my driveway, and asked me to get out there, so that my neighbors would not get the "wrong idea". I argued, he refused to back down.

Finally, I said to him "Well, I am not getting out of this car, until you pull up to my door, so if you are worried about someone getting the wrong idea, we best not stay parked here too long."

He relented. A couple weeks later, Bobby died, and we never saw each other again.