Covenant Betrayed: Revelations of the Sixties, the Best of Time; the Worst of Time: Book Three: Covenant Betrayed

CHAPTER 1

The empire feeds on war. War is necessary for expansion and colonial control.

Prairie Fire, Political Statement of the Weather Underground Hope and innocents was murdered in Chicago. The movement was stilled, shocked bewildered, and lost.

A virulent contagion swept the country, faster than a raging forest fire, unstoppable, jumping from city to city to countryside, infecting the young, the old, the bad, the good, the ugly with the germs of venomous hate, fanned by the government leaders and bureaucrats too ashamed to admit failure, too arrogant to feel suffering and pain, and too rigid to bend, too racist to love.

And this pestilence of Black Death, a plague on the minds, darker then the bowels of Calcutta, fed by pugnacious civic leaders, upstanding citizens, self righteous labor bosses and the cowardly clergy, the manipulated press, pontificate professors blind to the sweeping purulence, rotting the Nation to it’s core.

Chris too, was numbed and shocked, as he stared out the hospital window. His physical wounds healed, and now no longer bothered him, but his emotional psyche tortured him.

One moment, he wanted to run, run anywhere. He had to get out of the hospital. However, when he tried to move his body, it wouldn’t move. He knew he could move, he wasn’t paralyzed, but he had no strength, energy or desire to leave his bed. All the days, he stared out the window, watching the sunbeams shining through the slatted shades dance in the suspended air, going nowhere, just like him, frozen in time and space unable to move, trapped in his hollow empty dark body.

He closed his eyes, and invariably his thoughts floated back to Robin. He saw her face, her smile, felt her softness, and listened to her voice, a voice he no longer would hear, and a face with her smile that he no longer would see, and her touch he would no longer feel.

This only pained him more, despite his efforts to fight the memories, he wanted them. He wanted to relish them as long as he could for fear that he would forget, even though it tortured him to think about her. Even if he tried not to, invariably his thoughts turned to her. He was helpless, and hopelessly lost in his thoughts of her that would be with him, for eternity, forever, and forever.

Chris…Chris.., Phyllis gently shook him as he laid in the hospital bed staring out the window, Chris…Chris…I know…I know this is hard for you but … Phyllis wiped a tear from her eyes, tried to get his attention again, then quietly left the room. At the nurse’s desk she asked, When will the doctor let him out?

The nurse replied, He can go tomorrow morning. But the doctor wants him to be careful, so he won’t aggravate his fractured ribs.

Phyllis’ stomach knotted up on hearing the news. She had no idea what she was going to do with him. His despair frightened her. She didn’t know how to deal with it.

The nurse continued talking but she didn’t listen as she walked towards the elevator, The funeral director called and he wants to know what…

Phyllis walked out into the bright morning sunlight. She thought to herself as she listened to her footsteps grinding against the concrete, and the hustle of traffic around her, everybody going about their business, totally oblivious to the suffering one man is going through at this very minute. Only if they knew that life was transient, so precious so glorious.

Would they not yell at their bosses, or bosses yell at their employees, drivers honked their horns at the car in front of them because they didn’t speed away the split second the light turned green. Or yelled at the wife because she didn’t press a shirt, or her at him because he stopped off at the bar on the way home. Or at the kids, for being cranky and demanding. Only if they knew, she thought, how much they were missing, and how little time really is left in this transient life. That it’s not worth the aggravations and demands that we needlessly place on ourselves.

When she got home, Phyllis sat on the front steps under the shade of the trees, the birds chirped and flew about. Smokey crouched low in the tall grass, her tail twitched, her hunches sprung to jump. A squirrel scampered up and down the tree limbs.

Smokey jumped at a moth, missed, then sauntered over to Phyllis, rubbed her fur against her legs raised her tail and purred. Phyllis picked her up and petted her in her lap. Smokey searched for the right position, curled up, closed her eyes and snoozed, purring loudly.

Phyllis looked down the block and watched Jim walked unnoticed up the block. She wonder if she should tell him that she suspected that she was pregnant, but the closer he got, she felt that some other time would be more appropriate.

Hell she thought to herself. I must be pregnant, why am I fooling myself. It’s been over three months since I had a period… but then I have always been irregular…But hell, I should really go to the doctor to find for sure.

Her thoughts changed to Jim. She wondered what she would feel if it was him and not Robin. What it would be like being along, no longer sleeping next to his warm body, listening at nights to his breathing, feeling his kisses, his gentle caresses, listening to his bellicose rhetoric about the revolution, seeing his smile and hearing his voice, and taking care of him when he’s sick.

Suddenly Phyllis became overwhelmed, she knew she would be crushed too if she lost her loved one. Immediately she gently picked Smokey up, placed her on the ground, rushed over, hugged him tightly. Feeling his live warm body, relishing the precious moment of being in love.

Hey, what’s all this, Jim hugged her tightly and kissed her gently.

I just wanted to tell you that I love you. Phyllis said gently as she still held tightly to Jim who was somewhat bewildered, but then became fearful,

Chris..Chris’ all right isn’t he?

Phyllis broke her embrace, wiped the tears in her yes, Yeah, he’s fine…well, I mean he’s not…nothing wrong with him physically. The doctor says he can come home tomorrow.

Jim walked her up to the house holding her in his arms. Smokey came up and rubbed her body firmly against his leg and purred, Good…how is he today?

Still the same, he just stares out the window. Says nothing… Eats nothing. He’s really bad off.

I’ll go see him this afternoon…It’s gonna take time.

Jim, what am I going to do…the funeral home calls all the time. I don’t know what Chris’ plans are…her family. Where’s she going to be buried?…And Chris refuses to say anything?

I don’t know…She has no family…Just tell the funeral director to fuck off, he just wants to sell a fancy casket and all that shit…I’ll talk to Chris this afternoon. ‘Tell him that we’ll take care of everything, but we have to know if he wants her buried here… I think he would. Jim said as he reached the door.

Inside, he grabbed Phyllis hugged and kissed her, and reached his hand up the back side of her blouse, You shouldn’t attack me like that…so early in the morning, Jim said, God, I need you so much," he murmured softly as he kissed her and Phyllis responded to his amorous touches.

Phyllis was overwhelmed, I need you so much, she murmured to him, I need you close to me… Don’t leave me…ever…Promise?

The next day Phyllis and Jim went to pick Chris up from the hospital, but found that he had checked out earlier. Phyllis was worried, she frantically probed the nurse to find out when he left. and her heart sunk when she found out it was over two hours ago.

Jim…Jim…Where is he. Phyllis said frustrated as they left, If he left two hours ago, he should have come home before we left. Let’s go back, to make sure that the nurses did not mistaken him for someone else. Phyllis grabbed Jim’s arms and turned around and headed back to the hospital door.

Phyllis, the room was empty. Remember, we checked.

I know but they move people around all the time, Phyllis insisted, Come on. let’s go. She shouted at Jim who followed her reluctantly, but knew that she would not relent until she was sure Chris was out of the hospital.

Come on, her voice tense, We got to find him. He’s in no condition to be alone. He might do something …rash.

Phyllis choked on the words. She knew that he could be suicidal. She was frantic. Now that he was gone, she feared for him even more.

She dragged Jim all over the hospital, searching in empty rooms making sure that he had really left, and the more she did she realized that he no longer was a patient, thus the more fearful she got.

Jim, Jim, we got to find him…We got to find him, before…

All Jim could do was to follow her around in her frantic search. He knew he couldn’t reason with her. And all the afternoon they looked for him, checking back at the house from time to time to see if he had returned. He hadn’t.

The first thing Chris did when he got out of the hospital was to buy a pack of Winstons. And he stated to chain smoke them as he walked aimlessly along the sidewalk.

At first the smoke hitting his lungs, caused his head to swirl, his heart pounded and slight nausea crimped his appetite, but as his body got used to the nicotine, with each deep drag, his blur evaporated.

Chris just walked. Still a little sore from all the injuries, but not bothering him. It felt good to walk but he didn’t know where to go or what to do. He headed for home first, but couldn’t bring himself to enter the house. The memories pained him too much. He could not move his feet in that direction.

Instead, he ended up on the railroad track heading outside of town. All day he walked slowly, listening to the cars on the highway beside the tracks. He watched the yard engine, run up and down the track putting together a train of boxcars for some unknown journey. He watched the insects and birds fly around the weeds along the side of the track.

Late in the afternoon he reached the Big Muddy Bridge and he sat down on a large rock in the shade and watched an old man fishing along the shore with his son, helping him untangle his line and putting the bait on the hook. They never caught anything but to Chris seemed to enjoy fishing regardless.

He envied them. He wondered what fishing meant to them, must be something special, to stand out there all day tossing a line in the water and caring not at all whether or not they catch anything.

Night came and Chris slowly walked back to town. He listened to the sounds of the night, and his footsteps along the railroad ties, and on the gravel between them. He headed back to the house, but still could not bring himself to enter.

He saw the light on in Phyllis’ and Jim’s room. His and Robin’s were dark. Lenny and Karl must be home for their lights were also on. Chris just didn’t want to talk with or be with anyone. He wanted to be by himself. He still needed to be by himself, so he could hold on to the precious moments he had with Robin. Somehow, he knew that if he communicated with others, he would loose the special closeness he had and now needed.

Jim…Jim, I think we should call the police, Phyllis bounded into the living room, twisting her hands in anguish, Damn, I don’t know where he could be

Phyllis calm down. Chris can take care of himself," Jim reassured her.

But if you saw him the way he was. He might be thinking of doing something terrible to himself.

Phyllis, calm down…Come on sit down, relax, Jim reached up and pulled her down on the couch.

She sat on the edge, wired tense, and then immediately jumped up and paced around the room, I can’t just stay here. I have to look for him…At least then I’ll know that if something happened, I at least tried.

Immediately, she darted out of the house and Jim followed.

Phyllis…Phyllis, wait…wait…let me ask Karl if we can borrow his bus. He reached her halfway down the walk, and held her with his hands firmly on her shoulders, Now wait…Wait here…OK?

Chris didn’t know what time it was. He knew it was early morning. Few cars were on the streets. The night was still. He stood across from the Carbondale Funeral Home, and stared at the building what was lit by the lone parking lot light. All the windows were dark, not a sign of life prevailed.

Slowly he walked over and around the back. He went up to the back door and slowly turned the knob, and he discovered that the door was locked, he walked to the garage door, and found that he could slide it open, just enough for him to squeeze in.

Once inside he saw only blackness, and the light from the parking light shined through the opening on the floor. Gradually his eyes became adjusted and he could barely see a door against the back wall on the other side of the three long shinny black Cadillac limousines.

He inched his way over to the door, feeling his way along the car being careful not to make a sound. He really didn’t know why he was doing this, but he was. He just followed his footsteps. Something all day dove him here. He knew he had to come. He could not wait ’til morning. So he pushed forward, slowly and carefully.

He got to the door, and placing his hand on the cold door knob startled him. He was surprised that the knob turned and with a gentle tug, he heard a small click and a slight giving of the door. It was opened. He sensed it with his feel. Slowly he pressed it open but a deafening creak echoed throughout the hollow garage. Again he tried, this time gentler, and the door finally gave and opened, this time not making any sound.

Slowly he opened the door, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the small amount of light from the parking lot light. Quietly, one step at a time he walked in careful not to stumble over anything.

He had no idea where he was, what he was doing, or where he was going to look but slowly he crept down the hall, trying each door as he came to them some were locked, others opened into closets, one into a small chapel, another into an office, with a large desk.

Down at the end of the hall was a heavy metal door. Chris could feel the handle, but felt resistance when he tried to open it. Soon he realized that it was a sliding door which he gently opened keeping the sound down to a minimum. He walked in, immediately smelled a pungent odor, an odor which took some time to recognized, but finally realized that it was formaldehyde, the preservative that was used in biology lab for the specimens that he dissected.

Inside, he closed the door, fumbled for the light switch, found it and turned it on. The light blinded him, forcing him to squint.

After adjusting to the light, he looked around the quite room. In the center were three stainless steel tables, with a white plastic sheet covering three bodies. Against the wall was a deep porcelain sink. A shelf overhead, with bottles of fluids in them. And a bolt of string with the end strung out through the eyes of screws and the end hanged over the middle table.

Chris shivered, and walked over to the table in the center, paused and reached for the plastic sheet. He could not turn it over but suddenly he forced himself and he flipped the plastic over exposing the nude body of an old man with a shrunken unshaven face staring off into nowhere. He gently put the plastic over the corpse, and turned to the next one. And prepared to look again, fearful and knowing what he would find.

What are you doing here.

Chris bolted around to see a man in pajamas, with an ax handle in his hand, who repeated himself, backing up slightly, grasping the ax handle firmly, What are you doing here? he demanded, now that he realized that he had the dominate position.

Chris looked at him with a hurt look on his face, he realized now that it was the middle of the night and he was in the funeral home, I…I…

You just hold still, the man shouted as Chris moved towards him and he backed off some more, but still holding onto the ax handle.

I…I came to see, Chris looked at one of the covered corpses… I came to see…

The man let up on his ax handle some, Church… You’re…aren’t you Church. Yes, you must be Mr. Church, he gasped, somewhat ashamed, My God, why didn’t you call. I would’ve opened up for you. You scared the B’Jesus out of me and the Mrs.

I just wanted to see her, Robin Ginelli.

The man put down the ax handle, walked over and introduced himself and shook his hand, I’m Mr. Morrison… Been wanting to talk to you… I know it’s a shock, a terrible shock.

Which one is her, Chris impatiently interrupted.

He walked over and grabbed the plastic sheet, She’s here, the baby’s over there. He pointed to a box twice the size of a shoe box, on the counter, After the accident, she delivered a stillborn girl, just before she…

Chris walked to the box, took off the lid and looked at the tiny hands and fingers, and toes, which he instinctively counted. Her soft lips, just like Robins, Chris smiled to himself. The baby slept peacefully, had dark long brown hair, just like Robin, and a pug nose, and small ears. She was beautiful, perfect, but dead.

Then he walked back to the cold steel table where Robin laid. He grabbed the plastic and with great effort flung it back

The man took his arm to hold the now faint Chris. He looked at her for the longest time. First her peaceful face, eyes closed, her hair combed back, a large non

-bleeding gash on the side of her face, and bruises all over. Slowly he followed with his eyes all over her body, more bruises, and another non-bleeding gash in the abdomen, a four-inch string sutured gash in her neck.

That’s where we drained the blood, from the jugular, and added the fixative… Mr. Morrison said, She was a pretty lass wasn’t she?

Chris nodded.

We fixed her up quite good. Got most of the color back, we use that red solution, he pointed up on the shelf to a bottle that contained some red solution, What do you think, he offered quite proudly… Usually we like to put some clothes on’em, but I guess it’s all right since you’re here.

What’s that, Chris asked pointing at the gash in her abdomen, the accident?

No, we use a trocar to put fixative in the abdomen. It’s the state law. We have to do all this if we keep the bodies over 24 hours, so they…

He didn’t finished, but Chris knew what he meant. So they wouldn’t start to smell, he thought.

We use this metal contraption to keep the arms in place, he continued, pointed to the metal frame that held her arms half bent, over her chest, So when they…well so we can get a good shape. In time the body will … fix to that position.

Chris looked at her carefully. Before, he had a driving compulsion to see her. But now, he stared at a dead corpse. She looked like Robin, but her soul was gone. She was just a cold lifeless body, a shell. He had thought that he would want to kiss her but when he touched her arm, the coldness startled him. His feelings were not for the body, but for her soul and memory.

After another pause, he gently ran a finger across her arm, up her necks and over her frozen lips, and then up along her nose and over her eyebrows.

They say you wire the jaws shut, Chris blurted out, and glue the eyes shut?

Uncomfortable the man answered, Well it looks better that way. It’s easier on the families…I hope that meets with your satisfaction?

Chris took one step back, looked at the body one last time, and the last thing he saw as Mr. Morrison cover her back up was the black ink penciled name on her leg, Ginelli.

Once covered Chris took a deep breath. Mrs. Morrison, peaked into the room and whispered for her husband. He excused himself and Chris continued to look at the covered corpse. He then went over and folded back the plastic to take one last look at her face. He took a deep breath, covered her again and walked out into the hallway. There stood, Mr. Morrison, his wife, were just saying goodbye to a policemen. He turned around came to Chris and took his hand, I’m sorry…but we didn’t know it was you. Please forgive us.

Chris mumbled that he understood.

That night Chris completed his plans for Robin. Nothing fancy, just a cowboy funeral at Oak Lawn Cemetery, something simple and quick.

Chris still couldn’t go home and face the pain of memories back at the house. The thoughts of seeing her clothes, her brush, many of her precious things, overwhelmed him. He stood out front for five minutes, frozen, dog tired, his feet would not move. It was easier for him to walk away and that’s what he did.

The next day Phyllis and Jim borrowed Karl’s bus and looked again for Chris.

There he is!…There he is! Phyllis shouted at Jim to turn around the block, I saw him, up the side street.

Jim pulled around the block. Phyllis was so anxious to see him that she opened the door and lighted on the pavement before the bus completely stopped.

Chris…Chris…Chris..! she yelled as she ran towards the non responding slowly walking zombie.

Phyllis reached him, got his attention and hugged him, Chris…Oh Chris…We’ve been looking all over for you. The funeral director called and said that he talked to you.

Chris held Phyllis in his arms. It felt good to hold someone warm and alive, soft, a woman’s body, reminded him of Robin, and for a few fleeting seconds, he relished the thought. He was holding Robin, in his arms, she was alive, it was all a bad dream…But that was a transient feeling.

Chris…Come home. Come back with us. You need us…We need you…Please come home. Phyllis pleaded as she held him closely and maneuvered him to the waiting bus Come on. I know you want to be by yourself, but you can be by yourself back home. You need some sleep. Then you’ll feel better, Phyllis put Chris in the opened front door and she sat next to him as they drove home. Jim parked in front of the house, Chris stared and sat motionless.

Come on, let’s go home, Phyllis coached as she opened the door and led him like a zombie to the house, inside and into the living room where he sat down on the couch and stared ahead.

Chris took a deep breath. Got up. Phyllis followed him into the kitchen making sure that he wasn’t going to take off again, and watched as he got out a bottle of rum and went back to the couch. Slowly, the rest of the morning he sipped the rum until the half empty bottle was empty.

Chris…You need some rest, Phyllis coached him up, he staggered, and she guided him into the bedroom. The only thing he remembered was the colored beams of light shinning through the pane glass window which Robin loved so much.

Chris slept all day and throughout the night. The commotion upstairs didn’t even waken him. It did wake Phyllis and Jim.

What’s that? Jim shot up in bed, immediately looking at clock, seeing that it was three o’clock in the morning. Phyllis too shot up. Together they listen to the screaming, crashing, banging, and smashing furniture and broken glass.

Jim…Jim..What is it?

I don’t know, he got up put on his jeans, and darted upstairs. Phyllis followed. Jim at first pounded on the door, then opened it and peaked inside. Lenny…Karl…" he yelled.

In here, Lenny yelled.

Into the living room they walked and both saw the mess. Everything thrown about mixed with broken glass.

Be careful, Lenny cautioned as she held Richard, her brother tightly comforting him, keeping him from racing back and forth.

It’s the dreams he has, the nightmares. He gets them all the time, She turned to Richard and moaned into his ear, It’s all right…It’s all right.

Karl added, "Lenny talked him into going to school, and it seems to be a little too much stress. Hopefully he’ll get used to it. He’s so confused…

Jim and Phyllis returned after things quieted down. Chris still slept soundly, curled up in bed holding onto Robins pillow for a source of comfort and security, and warmth.

It was a sunny windy day, at Oak Lawn Cemetery.

Chris stood by the edge, with Phyllis, Jim, Karl and Lenny. As the preacher gave the short ceremony, Chris tossed a dozen roses one at a time on top of the casket. Mr. Morrison wanted Chris to bury Beverly Ann in a separate casket on top of Robins, but at the last minute, Chris instructed him to put her in Robin’s arms, which he did.

The wind blew threw his hair, and echoed as it blew in his ears thus he missed, most of the ceremony but that didn’t bother him. At the end, he reached over, got a fist full of dirt and tossed it onto the casket, it landed with a thud, and a certain finality. Then he turned away and walked by himself back to the car.

A few moment later the others followed. Phyllis turned to Jim, I wonder if he knows whose the other funeral’s for?

Jim looked across the cemetery, where about a hundred cars were parked along the gravel road, and another service progressed under a large canopy, with a large crowd and abundant flowers. It was the service for Robert Bishop, the two time convicted drunk driver whose died in the wreck with Robin.

Robert Bishop, the one who ran down the girl on the motorcycle last year, the one who for years has been known as Carbondale’s biggest slumlord. He, was in the hospital, brain dead, and he finally died.

I didn’t want to tell him, did you?

Phyllis took Jim’s arm and held it closely. A tear rolled down her cheek, No, I didn’t have the heart. He couldn’t handle it, knowing that he his alcohol content was over point 300 at the time he killed her.

Back at the car, Chris sat on the drivers side, turned on the radio, stared out the window as he listened.

"…Hubert Humphrey today said, ‘We ought to quit pretending that Major Daley did something wrong.’… The polls showed Richard Nixon with a strong led and many experts are wondering if the Vice President can repair the damaged done to the Democratic party, in time for the election…

In Los Angeles, the trail of Sirhan Sirhan for the killing of Robert Kennedy will begin tomorrow, defense attorneys are expected to plead not guilty and to base their defense on the insanity plea.

The New York teacher’s strikes that has affected over a million students is now in it’s second week and still there is no hope for a settlement…

In Oakland, California, defense attorneys hope to wrap up the defense portion of the Huey Newton murder trail. The leader of the Black Panther Party was arrested for the alleged murder of an Oakland policeman last fall when the officers stopped the car driven by Newton.

The Black Panthers have contended that this trail represents a systematic harassment of the Black Panther Party, and that an attack on Newton is an attack on all Blacks and poor alike. There are many questions that need to be answered,…Did Newton pull a gun out and shoot him or did the officer draw his gun and during the ensuing struggle shot himself, presumably with his own weapon, as claimed by the Panthers.

CHAPTER 2

One morning two butterflies play in front of our trench. They are brimstone-butterflies, with red spots on their yellow wings. What can they be looking for here? There is not a plant nor a flower for miles. They settle on the teeth of a skull. The birds too are just as carefree, they have long since accustomed themselves to the war. Every morning larks ascend from No Man’s Land. A year ago we watched theme nesting; the young one grew up too.

Erich Marie Remarque, All Quiet On The Western Front

Diek reread the letter he just received from Phyllis while he laid in his hospital bed.

Dear Diek,

I have no idea where you are. All I know is that you have been wounded and that you’re all right. What I don’t know is how bad you have been wounded, and that worries me terribly. I do so much hope that it’s not serious.

I worry so much about you and why don’t you ever write? Is something wrong? When I don’t hear from you, it tortures me so much. I always think the worst. The only way I get information is from Kathy who gets letters from Glenn. I can’t help but feel that something is bothering you…

I would love to hear from you. We all miss you terribly; we need to hear from you, especially Chris. He’s in a bad way. At the end of August, we went up to Chicago to protest the Chicago Democratic Convention. It was a nightmare. Maybe you heard about it. Well, anyway I don’t want to talk about that but on the way back Chris’ girl Robin was driving the blue bus, got in a wreck and died. I know you never met her, but I think I wrote to you about her.

She was a fresh young thing from New England, a joy to all of us, but Chris’ love. I never knew what love was ’til I saw them together. I envied them. They had something special, always happy together…now, as you can guess, Chris’ quite upset.

Well you know how he’s with girls, always falling for’em, and getting crushed when they broke up. This time, it looked like they would live together forever. If you knew how much he loved Robin, his pain now is a thousand times worse.

I can’t even get him to eat. He’s losing weight, his pants hang on his hips, and the bones are showing. He sits around the house all day, walks all over town all night, and the only way he can sleep is to drink himself into a stupor. I wish you could come for a visit. He needs you, and I think you can help him. I tried but so far had no luck. Please write…Please let me know how you’re doing.

Love Phyllis

P.S. you know that I’m living with Jim. I love him so much. I hope that some day both of you can become friends. I know both of you have your differences, but I also know that they can be worked out…Oh, yeah…I think I’m pregnant. I’m so happy. . Bye for now,…love again, pn

Diek folded up the letter and carefully stuffed it into the envelope, then he placed it in his side drawer.

Diek slowly recovered from his wounds, the worse was the compound fracture of his arm that was shattered with a bullet. All the other wounds including the bayonet wound that went clear through his shoulder, missed vital arteries, were healing nicely, and slowly he recuperated at Fort Hood Texas.

He didn’t talk to many people about his experiences. He began to wonder why? Was the war worth, the violence, the pain and suffering both side must be going through? Each day he listened to the radio, the unfamiliar news, the unfamiliar songs. He had a lot to catch up to. It seemed to him that life passed him by in Vietnam, he lost a year.

He had a lot of adjusting to do, especially after he read the long letter he got from Phyllis. Times were changing, too fast for him to comprehend. He needed time to think, to adjust, to get his head in shape, to sort the tangled feelings and thoughts he had. Chris, Phyllis, Jim, the people he knew back in Carbondale have changed.

He wasn’t sure that he would still feel comfortable with them. Maybe, it was he who changed, for the worst, he thought. Maybe they are right. He wished he knew. He wished that they were wrong. He lost too many friends to make it wrong. It just couldn’t be. The government wouldn’t do this to its young. They are the ones who should know, they are the experts.

Lieutenant…Lieutenant, the orderly shook Diek who was lounging on the chase chair on the patio, daydreaming.

Lieutenant…Lieutenant, it’s time to change your dressing…It’s Maddocks, C.J. sir.

Diek looked up, Oh…yeah… I was dozing. Diek got up and lifted his shoulder so C.J. could cut of his dressing and put on a new dressing.

Doc says you’re bustin’ out of here soon, in a few days. Bet you’ll be glad to get out of here, right, Sir?

Diek nodded that he would, and he watched as he carefully cut off the dressing.

They won’t be sending you back to Nam, Right?

No, Diek replied quietly. You’ve been there?

Yes sir, last year.

Diek looked at him, tried to detect his opinion about the war, but he was stone faced, You dropped your paper, Diek said as he leaned over to pick up a copy of the Stars and Stripes that had fallen on the floor. He started to thumb through it. Inside the paper another paper fell out, titled Fatigue Press.

What’s this, Diek said as he looked at it.

Shaken, C.J. dropped his scissors, Here, I’ll take that. It’s nothing. He reached for it but Diek held on to it. He read the headline, 43 court-martialed.

Sir, I would appreciate it if you pretended that you didn’t see it.

What is this anyway? Who are these?

It’s an underground paper for the grunts at Fort Hood. Those 43 were Black brothers arrested because they demonstrated against being sent to Chicago for the Democratic Convention…Look sir, I can get in big trouble if they find out I’m reading this.

Hey, C.J. don’t worry. I can keep a secret…Can I look through it?

Sure lieutenant…but keep a low profile. They just court-martialed the founder of the paper, found a few grains of grass in his pocket, gave him eight years of hard labor.

Diek looked through the paper casually, and C.J. worked on his dressing.

C.J. continued, The army’s coming down hard on the brothers. We don’t like it. In San Francisco at the Presidio, they sat down and sang ‘We shall overcome’ protesting prison conditions and they gave the brothers another seven to fifteen years. At LBJ’s in Vietnam they crammed seven hundred prisoners in a place built for 400. The shits really come down hard on the brothers, and the man beats him when he protests…this Vietnam shit’s gone on long enough if you don’t mind me saying so.

Diek was perturbed at the Corpsman, his attitude shocked him, LBJ?

Long Binh Jail, all the brothers are gettin’ killed, and they come back to this racist shit back home. Ain’t worth it, you know.

Aren’t you afraid, speaking out.., Diek said and was interrupted.

I got just two weeks to go, so I don’t care what the man says. I’m getting out, C.J. finished the dressing, There now, all fixed up… How about you lieutenant, how much time do you got?"

Two more years…Say, can I have this? Diek said looking at C.J.

"Sure man, but don’t let you’re CO see it… I keep it in the ‘Stars and Stripes’, that way they don’t bother you. You can have the ‘Stars and Stripes’ too. that’s all it’s good fer.

Say Lieutenant, sorry about the lecture, but I get carried away."

Diek looked at the Stars and Strips and read the headline.

Jackie Kennedy to marry Greek shipping magnet.

Diek said, Shit, this’s all I could read in Nam. I read it from cover to cover.

It’s not the real world. If you read the ‘Strips’, you’d think that the war was a John Wayne movie. Shiiiit, C.J. said, as he patted him on the shoulder.

Then said, Say lieutenant… I didn’t mean to bum you out, but you just looked like someone a grunt could talk to…you’re not like a lot of ’em. The officers…I guess that’s why I opened up. I would appreciate it if you keep this quite. I got two weeks, and I don’t want any delays.

Sure, C.J. Thanks.

I’ll be back tomorrow …for the new dressing. Oh, and if you ever get off base. If you’re interested in the Fatigue press, you might enjoy the Oleo Strut, it’s a coffee house in Kileen. All the army bases have’em.

The what? Diek asked.

The Oleo Strut. It’s an antiwar coffee house. All the Military Bases have’em. A place where you can sit, relax, talk to people, and have a good time away from this camp and the lifers, and stiff shirts. It’s named after the shock absorbers on a helicopter…Strange name isn’t it?

Diek waved him off, then tuned to the newspaper folded in the Stars and Stripes. He read it from cover to cover.

Soldiers all over Vietnam and in the states are reading a flood of underground newspapers, some produced by the antiwar forces, others by the local bases in the United States.

At first, he was shocked at the content, the anger, the frustration, and the vivid antiwar attitude of the writers and the many soldiers who are bucking the system. As well as ads for the numerous help organizations available for those wanting to desert.

This issue was filled with the court-martial of 43 Blacks who rebelled against going to Chicago. Also, a detailed account of the Democratic Convention. And about a planned march scheduled for September 28 to Take Back the Streets of Chicago and to reassert the right to demonstrate against he war in Chicago.

The article speculated on what kind of violence they may expect from the shoot to kill Mayor Dale, Lastly, he read an article about two Blacks marines from Camp Pendleton, California who got sentenced to six and ten years of hard labor for calling a meeting among the Black soldiers during the l967 Detroit riots. The topic, to discuss the morality of Blacks fighting in Vietnam, when the war appeared to be at home.

Diek was more confused then ever. Was this all crap… or was there really this much turmoil in the army and what would be the repercussions.

For the next few days, he continued to think to himself. Still confused, bewildered. Everything he once believed in was being assaulted, from all sides, even from his own Corpsmans.

And many others, Diek was surprised to learn many questioned the war, and the government. The dissatisfaction, the anger, frustration and bewilderment, was much stronger then when he left just a year ago it shocked his system.

Even he too, now seriously doubted his actions and beliefs. The hardest part was to accept that he was wrong, that the government was wrong. And that he and the government were responsible for mountains of pain and suffering.

No,No…It can’t be, his mind screamed. He shouted out in agony as he thought about everything, the reasons for war, the reasons for Vietnam…He just didn’t have the answers anymore, that was the worst part.

When he had a pass, a driving curiosity drove him to Kileen to check out the Oleo Strut Coffee House. When he found it, he wasn’t sure it was the right place. One of the front windows was boarded over, it looked deserted, but when he tried the door it opened and he entered the dimly lit, scanty and Salvation Army furnished coffee house. Folk music played over the record player. Only a few others were present, and Diek sat down by the front window.

A girl came over, with a note pad, Can I help you? She said smiling.

It felt good to see and smell and feel a smiling girl.

Coffee… just coffee, Diek answered.

She leaned over and whispered to him quietly, Sir, if it’s all right with you, we would like to you to sit away from the window. Last week, someone threw a rock through that one, she pointed to the boarded window…We don’t want you to get hurt."

Diek looked at the window, shivered, and thanked her, and got up and moved to another table against the back wall.

The girl brought the coffee, and gave it to him, I haven’t seen you around…from the Fort?

Yeah, just got out of the hospital, Diek said as he reached for the cream and poured it out, and out came curdled cream.

Oh…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Let me get you another cup. She took the cup and got a refill. Another person came over, Hi, I’m Milt, mind if I sit down?

No, he shook hands with him, Diek’s the name.

I just got out, how about you?

Still two to go…Say look, if you don’t mind, I think I would just as soon be by myself, Diek said upset, I just want to be by myself.

The man got up to excuse himself.

A…A…I’m sorry. I’m tense, sit down…please. Diek looked up at him and he sat down with him, took out a cigarette, lit it and offer one to Diek and he refused.

A guy named C.J. Maddock told me about this place.

C.J. yeah, good man, ‘Sends us a lot of soldiers, he looked over to the waitress, say Barbara, Diek here knows C.J.

Barbara brought the fresh coffee and cream over and Diek offered her a seat.

For the rest of the afternoon they talked about everything, but little about the war. Diek looked at the different well-worn underground newspapers, scattered on the tables.

One was Vietnam GI published by a Vietnam Vet from Chicago, another, the Bond, from the Berkeley area, and another one, Ultimate weapon, from Fort Dix, New Jersey, FTA" from Fort Knox and one from Fort Campbell, Kentucky.

Diek was surprised to find out that there was even a G.I. Press service, put out by the Student Mobe, which provided information and cartoons, for the each local paper to use.

Not only were there the Antiwar war army papers, but numerous left wing papers, the Militant, of the Socialist Workers Party, The Black Panther paper, Progressive Labor, many others antiwar papers like the Student Mobilizer put out by the Student Mobe.

Diek at first was shocked that they looked at the war from a different perspective. Nevertheless, he kept an open mind, and although at first he rejected many arguments, it became more difficult. His mind loosened, and new ideas challenged him. He was lost and confused.

Over the next few weeks, he felt more comfortable at the Oleo Strut then at the other bars and nightspots in Kileen, and slowly his mind unraveled his confusion and bewilderment.

Something was happening to him. He was changing. He knew it. To him, it was a positive step. He wasn’t sure where it would lead him but he felt comfortable in the direction he was heading.

That night he sat down and wrote a letter to Phyllis, telling her that he was happy for her, and that he hoped to come up for a visit, maybe at Christmas time. The more he thought about Phyllis’ letter, the news, and taking to Barbara at the coffee house, the more his thoughts cleared.

Sure, he had doubts when he went in the service, but it was always easy to rationalize them that it was his duty, he had a responsibility, and it was the right thing to do. Nevertheless, suddenly the heavy burden of justification no longer seemed important.

What was important, was to stop the killing, to end the war, to get out of Vietnam the best way they could. Yes, Diek’s suddenly felt relieved when he no longer had to justified the war, his actions, his governments actions. Yes, It was a beautiful feeling. A feeling he wanted to share with others, but except for C.J. and the people at the coffee house, he had to keep quiet his liberation.

No longer did he feel comfortable with the career officers, the ones still playing that game. No longer did he feel comfortable at the officer’s club, where they all hung out, and despite warnings from one of his superior that he had been seen at the coffee house, and that he should put a stop to it, didn’t bother him like it once would. He no longer cared. What was important was that the war ends.

He must help with ending the war. He didn’t know how. But, he knew that somehow he had to do something.

CHAPTER 3

He had the reputation of being the strictest disciplinarian in the camp, and was proud of it. He was a small undersized fellow with a foxy, waxed moustache, who had seen twelve years’ service and was in civil life a postman.

Erich Maria Remarque All Quiet On The Western Front.

Glenn trudged through the soggy murky red brown mud searching for Battalion headquarters at Danang. The rainy season began, it had just rained a downpour, and now the hot muggy sun bore down on him as he trudged onward looking for the driest areas to walk, non were found, only muddied planks, and boards laid out in makeshift paths.

Glenn’s year was almost up, and he was back where he started, Danang, his leave in Saigon, was too short. He wanted to get out of Vietnam on rest and recreation, but that wasn’t possible.

He wondered what would happen to him in the last month of his assignment. Diek now was safely back home and his thoughts of going home were mixed. He liked the marines. They made him tough, he withstood the pressures of combat, he now was a man.

He felt strong, powerful, confident, proud that he now passed the test of bravery. But, he would be going home in a month. He wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted, he missed Kathy. He thought about asking her to get married, but was afraid that she would say no.

The more he thought about the rejection, the insult, of a marine being turned down, insulted him and twisted his stomach with doubt. Damn, He thought, he wasn’t going to let that upset him. No, not now. He still had a job to do, and he would do it with marine pride.

Jets and helicopters flew over, trucks and jeeps droves up and down the muddy roads, splashing mud all over, and grinding engines whenever they got stuck in a mud hole, soldiers milled about many unkempt, sauntering around, giving whimpy salutes…

Yes, Danang had changed from when he first came. No longer did he receive the snappy salutes, no longer did the men take pride in moon shined boots, and pressed khakis.

Glenn found the battalion headquarters. On walking in he noticed that