Covenant Betrayed: Revelations of the Sixties, the Best of Time; the Worst of Time: Book Two: Despair and Dessent

CHAPTER 1

In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persists.

We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties or democratic process. We should take nothing for granted. Only an alert and knowledgeable citizenry can compel the proper meshing of the huge industrial and military machinery of defense with our peaceful methods and goals, so that security and liberty may prosper together.

Dwight D. Eisenhower… Farewell address to the American people 1/17/61

Spring blossomed in Southern Illinois. 1966

The campus was alive, the young women did what they have always done, prune their hair, select new outfits to wear, careful to make sure that they were sexy but not over solicitous, wearing the latest style, but not too far ahead of the norm. The mini shirt now had invaded all strata of S.I.U. culture. Last fall, only a few ventured forward with the new style, but as Spring bloomed, it seemed that even the more conservative Baptists types had taken up the style.

Not only had the mini skirt arrived at Carbondale, but so did the more stylist vinyl craze. Everybody wore vinyl, vinyl skirts, vinyl hats, vinyl coats, vinyl wide pastel colored watch bands, not to mention high vinyl boots, all in bright yellows, oranges, and reds.

And to compliment the vinyl, and the mini skirts, were the textured panty hose, and the buffeted hairstyle was replaced by long hair, sometimes ironed on a ironing board to make it straight, and the long large wired bizarre earrings, small and delicate was out.

Men’s style changed too, many wore their hair longer, a symbol of protest perhaps, to distinguish them from the hard recruits going to Vietnam. Some wore, bellbottom pants, although that style has not reached the popularity of mini skirts. Even Chris’ style of jeans, work shirts, and army surplus coats and Navy pea jackets became popular.

Blacks no longer conked their hair by treating it with acids to remove the kinks. Tight curled black hair no longer was a symbol of shame, no longer did they want to imitate whites with greased down slick straight hair.

The same with the short trimmed cut style which denoted servitude to the whites, as if say to say to the white man, that I’m not going to cause any trouble, was replaced with a more natural look, longer hair, which had a bushy appearance, a proud appearance, as if saying, I like my natural curly hair, I’m not ashamed of it, and I’m proud to be Black.

Both Black females and males, let their hair grow naturally, in a bush, no longer were they going to attempt to look like Whitey, no longer were they going to torture themselves with harsh chemicals to straighten the natural beautiful curls God gave them. They were proud, they strutted about campus, determined to demand the respect they deserved.

The clean crisp crew cut, sweater and slacks fraternity Joe college ivy league look finally went by the wayside, replaced by originality, colors and styles, each individual and unique.

No longer the pressed pleated skirts and sweetened Coeds and Ivy Leagued males were the norm. Students, tired different ideas, breaking out from the humdrums of the do as you’re told Eisenhower pleated and pressed fifties, which dictated how one should dress, look and act.

The mentality of, "I should join a fraternity if I want to be a big man on campus, not only should I join, but I should join the right fraternity or sorority.

That was no longer the norm. More students opted not to be a frat rat, it restricted the growing independence, the growing freedom, the increasing awareness, the quality of life.

No longer did students want to fit into a mold, stamped out collages with white shirts and IBM blue suits, they wanted to be themselves, to accept others as individuals, not clones, not repetitious Xeroxed photocopied, all alike, all thinking and doing the same thing, all taking the same business classes, because that’s where’s the money is being made, all dating the right fraternity boy or sorority girl, and even better, the right fraternity brother dating the right sorority sister, the perfect clone, to produce perfect babies, who like themselves will join the right sororities, the right fraternity, dress in the right clothes, eat the rights foods, and go to the right college, get the right business degrees and make the right money, all the time shutting out the world around them, shutting out the suffering, the wars, the hunger, the starving, the exploitation, the thief from the have nots; why, because that’s the American way. It’s right, God Damnit!

S.I.U. like the rest of the country, was in the middle of the Pop revolution, Batman, played its second year on Television, Marvel comics with the Incredible Hulk, Iron Man, the Submariner, Spiderman, and Thor defended justice and the right way, so did the old standbys, Superman, Superboy, and Supergirl.

Andy Warhol, and Roy Lichtenstein became famous for painted Brillo pad boxes, and blown up poster size pictures of Sunday’s comic heroes. A new age of Dadaism was upon us, founded in a war just as the first school, founded in the darker days of World War One, in l916. The Max Ernst’s, the Man Ray’s, the Dali’s, the Marcel Duchamp’s and others replaced by the Warhol’s and Lichtenstein’s.

Although the antiwar protests grew and more Congressmen, Senators, reporters expressed doubt and concern about the war, Washington leaders and the Generals echoed optimism, seeing victory around the corner, only a little more time is needed.

Although they talked of peace, they no longer really seeked a serious peace with the Vietcong. No, the government, talked of peace and negotiations, secretly planned for victory. The 260,000 troops in Vietnam, and more to arrive, the many victories in the field, the increased troop commitment, the increased bombing, appeared to have broke the enemies back.

The major Vietcong drive, to split the country in half, had been thwarted, the kill ratio pleased LBJ, and the generals. America’s arrogant attitude that the United States was invincible was prevalent. After all, we had the money, the troops, the weapons, from the modern M-16 rifles to the M-60’s, mortars and artillery units, even tanks, and of course the choppers, jets and bombers.

The helicopters could arrive at a distant outpost in minutes, and many times when Americans came under superior ground attacks, the superior fire power of the helicopters with their blasting cannons, and rapid arrival time to bring in new troops and to take out the wounded operated with high efficiency, resulting in the numerous Vietcong defeats.

And of course the massive air raids into North Vietnam, using sophisticated bombs, such as heat seeking missiles to horn in on the exhaust of the enemy’s trucks, sophisticated methods to avoid counterattacks from the anti aircraft guns, MIG attacks, and SAM missiles. And the B-52 bombing raids in Vietcong strongholds in South Vietnam, the Iron Triangle area and in the Mekong delta.

All this proved to the commanders, the generals and the government that the United States was on the verge of Victory. Light was at the end of the tunnel.

To support this claim, many government reports boosted that the Vietcong desertion rates increased from thirteen a day in January, l966 to 80 a day in March.

Interrogations of the Vietcong reported that in some areas they were so desperate, that they were drafting fifteen years olds. The Vietcong taxes have increased ten times, there’s compulsory conscription of all males between the ages of 17 and 45. In addition, the many Vietcong long time Vietcong sanctuaries in the Iron Triangle, and in the Mekong delta, were no longer safe from South Vietnamese and the United States attacks.

On the home front the government successfully branded the protesters as traitors, stabbing the boys in the back. The public anticipated victory, the number one song on the radio, The Ballad of the Green Berets glorified war, exulted it’s glamour.

The call for increased draft not only increased opposition to the war and forced many to question the government’s policy; but it also, intimidated many from demonstrating, for fear of being reclassified 1-A.

Poor grades now meant that they could be drafted; the student no longer was safe from Vietnam. No longer a sanctuary of cowardice. Many scrambled to bone up for the tests to be offered in May and June, hoping to keep their deferments. Some scrambled to join the Coast Guard or the National Guard, positions now reserved for the Nation’s favorite sons. Unless your dad was a Congressman, or knew the right important people, getting a position was hopeless. Heaven’s forbid, can’t have the sons of the war makers fighting in Vietnam.

Some people had been arrested for selling forged Air Force reserve and National Guard papers, at the cost of 5000 dollars. Others sought the Peace Corp, and Vista the local peace corps, which although didn’t exclude them from the draft, at least postponed it, hopefully until this thing was over.

Many although uninterested, entered graduate school, rather than take the risk of being drafted, some got their wives pregnant, since children still constituted a deferment. It seemed that the government didn’t want married men especially ones with children in the army, because if they got killed it would cost the government too much to take care of the dependents until they reached their 18th birthday.

They learned that costly lesson from the Korean War… Kill a dad in war, and you are stuck with taking care of their kids.

Some just resigned themselves to getting drafted, going to Nam, so they got drunk every night, often ’til they passed out.

But if one listened carefully, he could hear a low rumble, not a roar, only a low rumble, disquieting but not threatening. Something was happening in the spring of l966.

The young dressed differently, their attitude changed, no longer did they listen to their parents, or the older generation that professed to have all the answers. They suspected a fraud, the only answers the young got, was to shut up, do as you’re told, go to Vietnam, kill and get killed, for God and Country. A message some, not many, gradually questioned.

But gradually more rejected the thoughts of the elderly, the so-called wise statesmen, the reason was simple, they told lies, half truths, and distortions. It didn’t add up. It didn’t make sense. Many grappled with the whys, wanting to believe, wanting to obey the leaders, wanting to follow, wanting to be good, but something was wrong… Why? What for… What are they talking about? Really saying? It doesn’t add up.

The reasons, arguments, facts, figures, computers, said one things but reality was something else. They discovered the secret, the fraud, they didn’t have the answers, only pretended that they did. They didn’t know, yet they demanded and expected obedience.

Yes, the small minority gradually grew, 2,000 marched in Carbondale in March, compared with a less than a handful the year before. The same all over the country, more and more marched to end the war in Vietnam. Last year, it was to negotiate, now it was to pull out, get out, not tomorrow, not next year, but now, today, this minute, regardless of the consequences. This small minority became more vocal, demanding, militant, some shocking the country, burned their draft cards, in defiance. Others encouraged draft evasion, to break t law, two committed suicide by immolation.

The young questioned the worn out ideas that no longer worked in a modern world, the stupidity of continuing a war in which one could not win, a war that was criminal, and it was criminal not to act in defiance, and they did, marched in the streets. Rumbling roared on March 26, l966 and vowed to continue.

Everybody questioned everything: school policy, sex, ideas, protocol, dress, established institutions, did they justified their existence? Were they relevant?

The movies changed, T.V changed, and music changed the most, expressing new ideas. The Rolling Stones expressed it the best, I can’t get any satisfaction.

New names appeared in the news, The Socialist Workers Party. The W.E.B. Du Bois Club, the Progressive Labor Party. SDS, SNCC, YSA and many others. It was a time to explore new ideas, the old ones didn’t work.

The rumbling not only affected the young Whites but the Blacks, SNCC organized Blacks in Lowndes county, Alabama which, was 80% Black, to register voters to vote and to elect a slate of Black candidates. They proudly called themselves, The Panther Party, cuz they were Black and Proud.

The solution to police brutality was to elect a Black sheriff; a Black tax assessor so they could have better roads, and schools. The Panther Party aim was to show the Blacks that they could do it themselves. They didn’t need Whitey to help them, they were capable of managing their own destiny. They had self-pride, the overwhelming feeling of inferiority, now a thing of the past, no longer forced down their throats by the whites.

They read and learned from Malcolm X who told them that although the white man caused the problems of Black drunkenness, prostitution, drugs, that it was the Black man himself who had to correct these problems. Moreover, he challenged the young, all Blacks to give up integration, forget about living in the white man’s world, he could only be free when he developed self-pride, and then use it to rebuild the Black culture.

There were rumblings in Vietnam. Despite the kill ratio of 5:l, the government still estimated 240,000 Vietcong and North Vietnamese in South Vietnam. The Air raids blew up many trucks, but arms still somehow arrived in the South. Vietcong strongholds once over-ran had to be reconquered a second and third time.

An average of 100 Americans a week now died, Secretary of Defense McNamara interrogated by the Senate Foreign Relations Committees reported on logistical breakdown in Vietnam, resulting in the men in the field not getting the needed supplies. The government had to buy back 5000, 750 pounds bombs at 21 dollars apiece from a West German scrap dealer, who paid only a dollar and seventy cents apiece, a few years earlier, Also, McNamara tried to explain the purpose of sending 142,000 cans of hair spray to the PX’s in Vietnam.

In Vietnam, The play Musical Chairs … the second act opened.

Premier Ky, in February was embraced by LBJ at the Honolulu conference. Feeling the support of the United States, he stalled the promised democratic elections, cracked down on dissidents, now the very fabric of the government was in jeopardy of collapsing, the worst disorder in three, years.

In March, Ky fired General Nguyen Chanh Thi, commander of I corps, the Northern region of South Vietnam. In the early part of April 2000 Students marched to the Saigon radio station and had a sit in. In Hue, 5000 soldiers with strong Buddhist support protesting Thi’s ouster, marched and demanded Ky’s ouster. The strong North Vietnam Catholic refugees demanded that Ky resist concessions to the Buddhist. Three thousand students marched in Dalat to protest. Dock and civil servants struck in Danang, gangs of youths raged through Saigon, while the police looked on.

Then General Thi, seceded from South Vietnam, and took over Hue and Danang. Ambassador Lodge loaned Ky planes and pilots to fly 4,000 South Vietnamese troops to liberate Danang, only to be stopped from igniting a civil war by the marine commander at Danang.

Now Buddhist, demanding the return to civilian government marched in Hue, this time denouncing the United States for it’s help to Ky, shouting slogans and carrying banner, saying Down with the CIA… End Foreign Domination of Our Country…. Down with U.S. obstruction… Stop interfering with the Vietnamese people.

GI’s and American workers were attacked by the demonstrators.

In response to all this Ky sent his third in command, Major General Pham Xuan Chieu to Hue to settle the disturbance, but he himself was taken hostage, but was later saved by the very man that Ky ousted Gen. Nguyen Chanh Thi.

A week later, after the aborted attempt to retake Danang, Ky relented to the demands of Trich Tri Quang. The Buddhist leader who already helped in the disposal of the last six South Vietnamese governments, now the leader of the civilian government movement and called together the ten man ruling junta, to call for a political congress of appointed representatives to draft a constitution.

Ky this time pledged to hold elections as soon as possible, and on signing the agreement, 20,000 Buddhist marched in Saigon celebrating the victory.

This in reality represented only a temporary solution to a country that historically feared outside intervention, which often meant enslavement, and now many of the intellectuals, professors, and students feared the same today with the increasing United States presence and control of the war.

CHAPTER 2

When we marched into the rice paddies on that damp March afternoon, we carried, along with our packs and rifles, the implicit convictions that the Vietcong could be quickly beaten. We kept the packs and rifles; the convictions, we lost.

Philip Caputo Rumors of War

Chris hated funerals, weddings? Yes, he loved them. He would go to any wedding, but funerals he hated. The time to honor someone was when he lived not dead. Funerals were so morbid, but with the social pressure to attend them, you’d end up going anyway, probably most of the people attending felt the same.

The organist played the funeral dirge, slowly and sadly, in the dimly lit Westboro Baptist Church. People slowly walked in sitting on either side of aisle, not to close to the front at first, but after the middle and back filled, they were forced to fill the front seats, all except the ones reserved for the family, roped off with a big thick red felt rope.

The family entered and the ushers seated them in the front pew and immediately in front of them, the ominous American flag covered oak casket silently stood alone, surrounded and smothered by flowers, the fragrance permeated the small proud church, serving the middle class and the poor. The military honor guard stood at attention, not even a suggestion of a movement, stiff, proud, like lead toy soldiers, Little Boy Blue played with. The scene brought a moist tear to his eyes.

Some of the mourners wiped their eyes with a handkerchief, others whimpered, and Chris wondered why he ever ended up here in the hollow room of sadness and misery. However, Lenny needed someone, so he, Jim and Phyllis sat near the back of the church.

Chris at first didn’t recognize Jim when he picked him up at Millies in his mom’s Buick. He was dressed to the tee, in a Brook Brothers conservative blue pin stripe suit, vest and silk tie, he was all neatly pruned and proper. The suit must’ve been a hold over from high school, he had never seen Jim so dressed up and neat. Often he tried to look as common as possible, he rejected the wealth that he and his family had.

Phyllis wore a conservative dark blue dress, and likewise did Lenny, and the best Chris could do was to rush down to Penney’s and buy a pair of slacks and a clean white dress shirt. The cost skinned his budget, it was near the end of the school year, funds were short, but he wanted to look at least presentable. Still, he hated to be there but protocol even affected Chris, so he spent the bucks.

The church was packed, Richard Leroy Price, Junior, was the first American from Southern Illinois to die in South Vietnam. The papers gave it much publicity, many local chieftains from the city council, the major, the chief of police and his men, all showed, some wore the badge of loyalty, a Support Our Boys button and an American flag pin on their lapels.

Not only did Chris feel uncomfortable because of his general dislike of funerals, but also he sensed that he was in hostile territory. People whispered into each other ears, and discretely looked back and sometimes pointed at them sitting in the pew. One man scurried around, talked to people and then Chris saw him go to Richard Senior. He bent down, whispered in his ear, Chris sensed a low rumble, a rumble that couldn’t be heard, but he knew was present, gossip flurried.

Richard Senior looked back directly at them and nodded to the man, then turned to his wife who looked, she shrieked, then whimpered aloud.

Now everybody looked, Chris knew, they spotted the enemy. He twisted and curled, wanted to jump up and leave, but he knew that if he did he would be the enemy, the enemy of Richard Junior, a man he respected, and a man who died in a stupid war started by stupid people.

The whole congregation stared daggers, which pierced his heart, no longer did they discreetly look and point, now they raged stared and hated. An occasional comment was muttered, It’s shocking… Poor Louise.. this is horrible… They should be ashamed.

Jim, Phyllis and Lenny, squirmed too, they wanted to leave, but froze. They had to stay. If they left they couldn’t live with themselves. They didn’t kill Richard, their hearts ached and screamed, it wasn’t them, it was the very people who stared shockingly at them, the ones who allowed the war to continue, the ones who refused to learn the truth about the war, the mistakes the government made. So, though nervous, and distraught, each agreed, though not communicating that agreement to each other, all knew and felt the same thing, that was to stick it out, despite the pressure and stress.

The glib smooth walking bald headed man who talked to Richard Senior went over to the police chief, whispered into his ear, and slowly they both got up and floated down the aisle straight towards them. The congregation looked on approvingly.

Lenny’s heart thumped, she and the others knew. She braced herself, took a slow deep breath, tightened her muscles, and waited as they approached in slow motion. Time stopped.

The squared jawed police chief stood firmly behind the man as he bent over and whispered something in Chris’ ear. He pretended not to hear, he was determined to make it as difficult for them as possible.

Sir, the man whispered again this time in a low voice, which could be heard all over the church. Lenny cringed, and tightened her grip and twisted the moist handkerchief she held in her hand. Sir, the Price family requests that all of you depart… Immediately… Except for Miss Price,… The family wishes her to sit with them.

Everybody in the church looked at them. Chris felt rebellious replied, Why? as if to challenge him.

He moved closer, as did the police chief. Phyllis, the diplomat, jumped up, kicked Chris in the leg, and grabbed Jim by the collar, she whispered to the man, Shhhh shhh. We’re going. She bent over, hugged Lenny, wiped a tear forming on the edge of her eye, then kissed her, Lenny, We love you…. We’ll see you later. OK?

Lenny grabbed her arms and tugged at her shaking her head no, her face wrinkled as she was about to cry but trying to hold back, but Phyllis with added strength and with one heave broke loose with great mental pain. Jim got up, put his hand on her shoulder, and began to ease passed her to get to the outside aisle. Chris leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, got up to leave. A tear flowed from his eye. He didn’t care to wipe it away. Slowly they walked out of the church.

Lenny, still in the pew, now alone, refused the beckon of the man and the police chief. As Chris opened the back door, bright white sunlight flashed and awoke throughout the dimly lit church.

Lenny remained seated, soon, the brightness quickly turned to darkness and depression, she wiped her tears took the beckoned hand, got up, walked to the aisle. As the man led her up to the front pew, she stopped, froze, stared at the dark cold casket, the mourners all looked at her, her mind couldn’t move her legs forward. She was paralyzed.

She tried again, but couldn’t despite the man’s assistance, tears flowed, she didn’t care to wipe them or to hide them, she felt his arm around her forcing her forward, her muscles tighten, she stumbled, only to be caught in his arms. Finally, she took a deep breath, flexed her muscles, determined her mind, turned around, and walked, now her muscles obeyed her brain, with remarkable coordination, even surprising Lenny. The police chief grabbed her, the mourners mumbled and gasped. Louise cried out to Lenny, then collapsed.

Quickly Lenny now determined, fought off the man and the police chief, kneed the bald man in the nuts, kicked the chief in the chins, making it known the she meant business. She was leaving. With tears flowing, she flung open the door, let in the late spring bright crisp morning sunlight, and left closing the door behind her, leaving the mourners entombed forever in their ignorance.

Look! There’s Lenny, Phyllis pointed as she looked back to the church. Jim turned off the engine, Chris opened the door, ran to get her, held her in his protective arms, soothed her sobs, and walked her to the car.

Inside, Lenny’s weak frail body slumped into Chris’ chest. Jim revved up the engines, and took off. At first they drove around, nobody said nothing, finally they ended up at the Oakland Cemetery, driving around on the narrow gravel roads which carved up the cemetery into sections. At one end, a green canopy flopped in the wind and covered a freshly dug grave. Dirt piled up on the side covered up by a white sheet.

Soldiers disembarked from a army green painted bus, they assembled in front of the grave, checked their M-1rifles, their mirrored shined helmets reflected in the sun. The sergeant barked orders to the men dressed in spiffy uniforms, with polished boots, and they men aligned up in a double line.

Jim stopped the car, near but not to close to the gravesite. They sat there, no one said anything, all watched as the cars with their lights on arrived, first the limousine, then the hearse, then the rest of the cars. Gradually, the people filed out and gathered around the grave. Pastor Williams took out his Bible and read from it.

Lenny got out of the car, and the others followed and all watched in silence. No one could hear pastor Williams, but they knew what he said. The army men raised their rifles, fired 21 times, one by one they fired their rifles into the air the loud cracking blasts rang out and echoed across the land, and afterwards, the American flag was folded and given to Louise. She smothered and crushed it tightly to her breasts that once fed her baby.

She bowed her head and cried into it and remembered the joy, the happiness, the thrill of holding little fragile Richard Jr., the first time in the hospital, a feeling only a mother could understand.

The mourners slowly walked back to theirs cars, some pointed towards Jim’s car, but that didn’t concern them now. Jim revved up the motor and slowly drove away. Looking back Lenny saw the mourners hugging her mom. She wanted to hug her also, but not now, someday maybe, she thought, they would be friends again. She hoped so. Her father? No, never, she hated him for what he did to Richard Leroy, he killed him, brainwashed him, lied to him. She never wanted to see him again.

Phyllis turned on the radio, searched for some music, but picked up the end of a newscast. She tuned in.

"The fighting in Danang continued for the second week, this time nine American marines were wounded by a strafing attack by pro government planes that supports Premier Nguyen Cao Ky’s attempt to finally settle the dissident fractions of South Vietnamese soldiers, and Buddhists monks.

The Pro Ky forces have been fighting in Danang the dissidents for a week now, in the government’s surprise move last week to clean of the warring fractions within the South Vietnamese government.

Premier Ky has stated that as far as he was concerned, the rebels holding Danang are Communists and this is the only way to deal with the problem.

The move by Ky apparently had the support of Ambassador Lodge, and President Johnson. McGeorge Bundy, told one reporter that Tri Trich Quang was conspiring with the Vietcong to overthrow the Saigon government.

Premier Ky had promised elections in five months, but last week just before the attack reversed himself saying that he would stay in office at least a year. Ky’s surprised attack stunned the United States, so far the 2,000 men pro government force had killed hundreds of dissidents troops and civilians, many who had taken refuge in the many Buddhist temples which were attacked by tanks and Armored Personal Carriers, and strafed with jets…."

Fuck, they’re still fighting each other, Jim said,

Hell, we’re over there fighting their war. More Americans now are dying in Vietnam, then South Vietnamese soldiers, and they are fighting among themselves, some are even attacking us.

Jim turned the dial on the radio to find some music.

… and now Sergeant Berry Sadler’s ‘The Ballad of the Green Beret.’ The disc jockey bellowed out his next tune, as the song began.

"Fighting soldiers from the sky,

Fearless men jump and die,

Men who mean just what they say,

The brave men of the green beret…."

Phyllis abruptly turned off the radio.

"Thanks Phyllis… Lenny whispered quietly from the back seat.

Jim drove into the ABC liquor store, got out and shortly returned with a case of beer that he put in the trunk. No one said much. He got back in and drove out to Crab Orchard Lake. The bright morning sun warmed the car and within no time Jim pulled off into a picnic area near the beach, all got out, and went to it on a picnic table, they quietly drank beer, not saying much, and watching the students frolic near the beach.

The guys chased the women, some wore bikinis, their breasts juggled as they ran, sometimes they were caught and tossed into the lake and the shrieking wails could be heard all over. The squirrels hustled about collecting nuts, and sitting on their hunches, cracking open the shells and then eating the meat inside. The birds chipped, and pranced about the ground and in the tress, and occasionally someone’s dog would get loose and chase the squirrels up trees, barking and never giving up the endless struggle to catch one.

Chris thought to himself that he had never seen a dog catch a squirrel in his life. He wondered why, they always tried, and always failed. It must be the lust for life; the hope that someday they will succeed, all they have to do is to keep on trying.

But Chris knew that it was fruitless, but rationalized that it’s the fight that counts, the hope, the need to achieve. When one lost it, the fight, the hope, the life, he might as well hang it up, because that’s the end of life, at least spiritual life.

One by one they cracked open the cans of beer, and drank them. Phyllis and Lenny slowed their own consumption. But not Jim and Chris. Gradually their minds blurred, and their pace slowed, and now took only a little sip at a time maintaining the numbness, and the blind stupor, they all sought.

Jim got out the portable radio, tuned in a rock and roll station from St. Louis, but whenever the news came on or when they played, Battle of the Green Beret, he changed the station.

… President Johnson last night in a Chicago Democratic fund raising talk, defended his position on Vietnam stating that continued pressure was so expensive to the enemy that soon they will discover that we aim to stay and defend the people in South Vietnam…

President Johnson said,’… We are destroying successfully the enemy’s ability to wage aggression.’ While the president spoke antiwar demonstrators picketed outside the McCormick Place and President Johnson’s answer to them was.. ‘There will be some nervous nellies and some who will become frustrated and bothered and break ranks under the strain…. And some will turn on their leaders and on their fighting men.’…

Jim quickly turned to another station, finished the last few drops his beer can, and opened another can., and took a long drink.

Chris fumbled with the radio dial looking for some music, smoking his ever-present cigarettes, and drinking beer. He picked up the end of another newscast, listened to it since it was of interest to him.

"… And on the home front, the governments attempt’s to control inflation are failing and some speculate that Lyndon Johnson will soon submit a bill to congress to raise taxes. The last item today, is that the Attorney General Nicholas Katzenbach today said that the government will not press charges against the six antiwar protesters led by A.J. Muste the 81 year old pacifist because they did not violate any federal laws.

According to government officials a visa is not required for visitors to Saigon if their stay is less then a week. Last month when they went, they advocated that the South Vietnamese people should negotiate with North Vietnam. The six pacifists were met at the Saigon Airport by angry Catholic students who yelled, Go home. Go home to North Vietnam.’

Besides the verbal attacks the six were also, hit by a barrage of rotten eggs, tomatoes, and garbage. The visit however was short lived and the U.S embassy police quickly escorted them on the first plane out to Hong Kong.

Evening came, the case of Miller’s now was empty, Lenny and Phyllis slept on the car seats, Jim snoozed, lying against a tree, and Chris walked along the edge of the lake, at times picking up and throwing flat rocks, skipping them on the mirrored smooth water. The party-goers have left, the sun set, and the night sounds emerged.

Jim… Jim.. Phyllis shook Jim as he slept. He stirred, Jim, we should be going, it’s getting late."

Jim woke up, looked around, where’s Lenny?… Chris?

Lenny’s sleeping in the back seat. Chris’ out walking around the lake, I’ll get him.

Jim got up, I’ll go with you. He stretched, and together they searched for Chris.

Just like that, he took off, ‘always, going off by himself, Phyllis said.

I know, sometime he just takes off. Sometimes, I think I understand him, but I really don’t, Jim said.

‘Known him since grade school. There’s something special about him… and you too, Phyllis said as she turned to Jim, "I don’t know if I ever told you this, but your speech at the march was great… You must’ve worked hard on it?

‘Guess so, Chris once said. It’s just something I have to do. I don’t know why? Someone has to.

Slowly they walked along the lake, and both appreciated the special moments together, the calmness, the peaceful waves pushing on the shores, the silence of the approaching night.

Soon they found Chris and together they all walked back to the car. On the way home the rumbling of the wheels on the pavement made Phyllis sleepy and she laid her head on Jim shoulders, he put his arm around her and she went to sleep.

Chris turned on the radio, looked for a station to listen to and picked up part of the evening newscast.

… And in Lowndes County Alabama, the Panther Party failed in its bid to win the local Democratic county election. The results were close, with the party receiving 45% of the vote in a county that has 80% Negroes. The election campaign was organized by Stokely Carmichael, an organizer for SNCC and aimed for Negroes to take command of their own lives and use the power of the vote

Other news today, Mrs. George Wallace has won the Democratic primary for governor in Alabama. The victory almost assured her the next governorship. Governor Wallace the current governor is ineligible to run since the Alabama constitution prohibits more than two consecutive terms. In Vietnam…

Chris cuts off the radio, and continued driving thinking about Lenny and if she’s will be all right. He hoped so.

CHAPTER 3

These people may be the world’s greatest lover, but they’re not the world’s greatest fighters. But they’re good people, and they can win a war if someone shows them how…

Col. John Paul Vann.. on South Vietnam ability to fight the Communists

Finals week finally ended and the parents arrived for graduation. Phyllis, the first of the group, was graduating, and her parents drove down. Chris still had a year to go, and so did Diek, both lost hours because of changing status and majors, and some flunks outs, but Phyllis did it by the book, in four years, she was right on schedule, not that no one expected otherwise, that was just Phyllis’ nature. When you have teachers as parents, it’s expected for her to do well, and to be on schedule. Chris was proud of her. She not only graduated on time, but got a fellowship for graduate school, which started this summer.

Schofield was proud of her, so was Chris.

Lenny invited Phyllis’ parents over for breakfast the morning of graduation. Lenny avoided depression by keeping busy. She owed a lot to Phyllis and Chris, they stood at her side whenever she needed someone to talk to, to cry on their shoulders.

Chris knocked on the door, Lenny answered. Hi, glad you could make it, Lenny opened the door and hugged Chris, Got a haircut I see, looks nice, come in.

Chris entered, carrying his backpack prepared to take off out west as soon as the ceremonies ended. It was time to hit the road again and the west again attracted his attention.

Chris sat on the couch, and Smokey jumped on his lap, curled up and purred, She always loved you the most. She still remembers her rescue, Lenny said smiling as she wiped her hand on a dishrag. She walked over, and stroked her, Hi!… Hi… Smokey, she turned to Chris, You make sure you write, OK? She smiled, I won’t talk to you if you don’t. She kidded and Chris promised to write.

Lenny went back into the kitchen. Chris heard some commotion outside; he looked up and saw Phyllis and her parents at the door. He jumped up, being careful to pick Smokey up and set her down on the couch.

He opened the screen door, Hi, come on in. They exchanged greetings, Mr. Newman, been a long time, Chris gave him a firm hand shake, And you too Mrs. Newman, have a nice trip?

They all entered, Lenny came in the living room and Phyllis introduced her parents. They all sat around the living room, talking, laughing, and just being happy. It was good to hear Lenny laugh again, to smile and to have hope.

Phyllis was as bright as usual, glowing with pride that her parents were so proud of her, and with everybody so happy, so was Chris, it was infectious.

Well Chris, it’s been a long time. Do you ever get to Manhattan? Mrs Newman asked.

Well, I’m going out west, maybe I can stop by for a visit. Sometimes it difficult to work things out when you’re hitching, Chris answered. He didn’t tell them that the real reason he never dropped by was that he found it very stressful. Each time he visited one parent, he would always get pumped for information about the other.

Well, I know Florence would love to see you, and Martin also… Right Shelton? Mrs. Newman turned to her husband, hoping that he would pick up the lull in the conversation.

She realized that she hit a sore point with Chris, and knew how hurt he was in high school when his parents got divorced. She also knew that sooner of later he, and his parents would have to come to some agreement, and if she could encourage Chris to drop in on them, both Florence and Martin, loved him and asked about him often.

Oh, yes, I saw Martin last week we played golf together. He says he only gets a letter or two a year. He took out his pipe, packed it with custom tobacco, lit it, when Lenny entered with Phyllis helping, to serve breakfast, of scrambled eggs, sausages and bacon, and muffins. Mrs. Newman gave him a secret gentle kick in the leg, so subtle, but Chris picked up on it. Mr. Newman, put out the match and put the pipe in his sports coat pocket.

After breakfast, Chris lit up a Winston, he’d switched to a milder filter cigarette, offered one to everybody, and only Lenny accepted, who only recently being liberated, started smoking. And, Mr. Newman lit his pipe.

Say, I just have a great idea. Why don’t you drive back with Mom and Dad? Phyllis gleamed. She knew that Chris probably would reject the idea but if she teamed up on him with Lenny and her parents, he would be forced to go with them, and then be forced to see his parent.

That’s a marvelous idea, Mrs. Newman said.

Jane, You’re right. We’re leaving right after the ceremony, what do you think Chris? Mr. Newman pushed.

Phyllis smiled and answered for him, He’d love to go. Won’t you Chris?

Yeah. I guess so… if you’re sure that it’s no trouble. Chris now realized that he was trapped.

Of course not, We’d love to, answered Mrs Newman.

That’s right, Mr. Newman said, "Jane and I would love to have the company. Besides you can help us get through St. Louis. We got lost for an hour trying to find the Ead’s bridge. We ended up somewhere on the Mississippi waterfront.

Chris at first felt uncomfortable with the Newman’s, not that there was anything wrong with’em, but they were just parents, but as the day progressed he felt more comfortable. In fact, they had many interesting talks about Vietnam, the civil rights movement. Not to mention that Mrs. Newman kept embarrassing Chris by complimenting him on how grown up and handsome he looked, no longer the skinny boy down the street that threw rocks at Phyllis, and pulled her pigtails in the third grade, neither events, did Chris remember, events only a mother would remember, comforting her child’s fearful reaction to the events.

Nevertheless, Chris did remember the time he and Diek dared each other, to put bubble gum on her seat at school. He finally got caught and sent to the principal’s office.

They all laughed about that much to Chris’ embarrassment, when he told them he was terrified that he was going to get a spanking with the large wooden paddle, which hung above the principal’s desk. All the students talked and knew about the ominous paddle, one of the first things one learned in Kindergarten, but now thinking back, no one to the best of his knowledge actually ever were spanked, but at that time, all feared him.

Moreover, what made Chris feel the most comfortable was, the Newman’s sympathy for the antiwar movement. He knew their strong stand on civil rights and was glad to hear that not just a minority of students opposed the war.

The graduation was like all graduations. Pomp and circumstance, receiving the coveted diploma, the proud parents snapping pictures, before, during, and after the ceremony. Everybody’s happy, the after graduation tradition dinner, the toasts and celebrations, and more celebrations, and the drunk parties extended late into the night.

That next morning, Chris took off with the Newman’s. Chris drove, up to and through St. Louis, and once on Interstate 70, it was seventy-five miles per hour all the way.

Chris loved the feel of the car on the highway, he loved the road and he welcomed the free ride.

After all, regardless of how uncomfortable he thought that it might have been, the hitchhikers rule was not to turn down a ride, so he followed his own rules, and soon he would be in Manhattan, Kansas. But the closer he got, the more nervous he became, but the relaxing attitudes of the Newman’s softened the feared reunion.

Chris spent the night in Phyllis’ room, since they got in late that night. The next morning Mrs. Newman let Chris sleep late, and when he got up, she cooked him a large breakfast. She told him she called his mother and that she expected to see him for a late lunch, and for the evening, plans were already made to see his father.

Shit, Chris thought to himself, she already organized the whole show. She’s a sly one… has a lot of Phyllis in her. You’re not going to put one past her, Chris thought as he smoke a cigarette and drank coffee, surrendering completely to Jane’s plans.

It felt good to be back in Manhattan. The warm early summer sun felt good, Chris said his goodbyes, walked to Aggieville, the small business district next to Kansas State University. His mother worked part time at the Varney’s Bookstore, as a bookkeeper during the summers and the rest of the year she taught grade school, a profession she renewed after the divorce.

Before he entered the bookstore, he checked to see if his hair was combed, and his shirt tucked in. Once inside, immediately his mother saw him and rushed out from behind the desk in the back. Chris was a little embarrassed when she hugged him, and gloated over how handsome he looked. Immediately, she showed him off to all the other employees, and Chris managed to nod hellos and smiles.

Usually Aggieville would be quite crowded with students but it was summer break and few students were in town. Chris and his mom went to a quiet Italian Pizza place to eat.

I’m so glad you came, how long can you stay? Florence said hoping that he would stay longer than he usually does.

Tomorrow, I gotta go. I have a job in California… How about you? How have you been?

Florence smiled, Really good, I only hope you could stay longer, she replied somewhat hurt.

When Chris didn’t answer, she changed the subject, Well, we’ve been quite busy, I’m glad I went back to work. It really helps makes me feel worthwhile.

That’s good to hear mom, I think about you often… But I’m not much of a letter writer.. I guess.

Chris was surprised at what he said about missing his mother. He already lied to her about the job, but he didn’t want to be trapped if the visit soured, like it usually did.

But he did miss her, and his father too. He felt good that she seemed so happy. The lunch of meatball sandwiches, and then repeated cups of coffee, and cigarettes, lasted late into late into the afternoon. Something changed in her, he felt comfortable, they talked about old times, Tim, Sally and Robbie, his two older married sisters and older brother, about their children and the new arrivals, the grand kids, who would visit this summer.

She hoped he could come back and visit with them too. Chris was the baby of the family, the next youngest was ten years older then he, so he didn’t remember them much as a child, except for Sally who often babysat him. Robbie and Tim were already in high school when he was born, and by the time he was five they had married and moved out, to start families of their own.

Sally was just ten years older and Chris kept his closest contact with her. She lived in Fargo, North Dakota, and often he thought about visiting her, but he never had the time.

Chris enjoyed his visit with his mother. She no longer was hostile like she used to be. No longer did she bugged him for information about his father, no longer made snide comments about him. She too has grown, he thought and all for the better.

On leaving, his mom took his arm, and they walked slowly back to the store, My, I can’t get over how grown you are… She looked up at him, Well, when are you going to get married… any prospects? she smiled.

Chris blushed, No, not for awhile, I guess. Still too restless, too many things to do.

That’s the right attitude. Your father and I got married too young, it was tough, maybe too tough. I often wondered if we were both older, had more money, if things would have turned out the way they did.

They got to the door. She turned to him and gave him a big hug, Oh, I’m going to miss you so much. Promise me you will drop by on the way back… and write too? She hugged him again, and Chris hugged her. Yes, he was glad he stopped by to see her. Now he only worried about his dad, if he could get that visit over with? Maybe, he too had changed, he hoped so.

The evening Chris’ hope was true, His dad like his mother no longer bore the scars of the divorce, the bitterness was gone, and he talked of someday even getting married again, and surprisingly he could even mention his mom’s name without the usual strained voice.

They had dinner at the country club.

Well son, Is the army going to get you? he said half -joking, as he sat back in his chair ordered two cigars from the waiter, Are you going to take that test?

No, I don’t need to. I’m in the upper fourth of my class. So unless they change the rules. I’m OK.

The waiter came with the cigars, his dad takes them, smells them and then handed one to Chris, Here, have one of these… Better than those cigarettes you smoke. These are the best cigars you can get. Unfortunately they’re not Cuban. We can’t get’em any more. But these are the next best thing.

They both lit up and enjoyed the aroma of the cigars.

You hang around tomorrow, well go play some golf?

Chris at first wanted to hit the road but he could see that his dad wanted to see him and to visit with him. He wanted to do get to know him better, maybe patch up some old differences. Chris felt compelled to agree. He also wanted to see his mom, at least one more time.

Sure, love to. Say you haven’t told me how you’re getting along.

Business’s good. Fort Riley has twenty thousand out there, the college had grown, the town’s grown. Business in Manhattan is good. The Big Red One just left for Vietnam last summer. It’s quite a busy place now…. Say, tell me ’bout school. What are you taking,.. your mom and I have more money now, sure you won’t let us help some. The offer’s always open.

No thanks Dad, I have a scholarship, and I live cheaply… I’m going to be a chemist, maybe get a Ph.D.

Good for you. We need more scientists. It’s amazing what they’re doing now days. Landed that Surveyor satellite on the moon with out wrecking it, and now, it’s sending back pictures. Amazing!… and soon they say they’re gonna send a man to the moon. I just don’t believe it. Why when I was a kid, all we had were cars and propeller planes, now it’s jets, and rockets.

CHAPTER 4

But what is war? What is needed for success in warfare? What are the habits of the military? The aim of war is murder; the methods of war are spying, treachery, and their encouragement, the ruin of a country’s inhabitants, robbing them or stealing to provisions the army, and fraud and falsehood termed military craft. The habits of the military class are the absence of freedom, that is, discipline, idleness, ignorance, cruelty, debauchery, and drunkenness. And in spite of all this, it is the highest class, respected by everyone… and he who kills most people receives the highest awards.

Leo Tolstoy

Chris stayed in Manhattan for a week. He split his time sleeping with each parent. His visit was happy, and he was glad fate led him home. Nevertheless, it was time to go and that morning, he got up early, said goodbye to his mom, called his dad to say goodbye. His mom gave him a ride to the western edge of town. He planned to take the cutoff through Fort Riley, cut up to Interstate Seventy and go west to Denver about 500 miles away. His mom gave him one last hug and quickly she drove off, Chris watched her disappear into the traffic.

Before he could get his thumb out he got a ride. It was not hard to get a ride from this spot because many of the soldiers at the Fort would hitch here and often the locals would give them a lift, out of a since of civic pride.

The Fort’s million dollar payroll was greatly appreciated in Manhattan and the neighboring town on the other side of the Fort, Junction City. To Chris the soldiers were never a welcome sight in Manhattan. With the University, with a ratio of eight boys to one girl and twenty thousand men at the Fort, made dating available girls sparse.

The college boys and the doggies as they were called invaded the high school and grab up almost all the girls and with that much attention, the chicks got, were often quite arrogant towards the lowly high school guys. It was often a source of frustration, and contributed to the constant confrontations among the college, the Fort, and the local high school students.

Howdy son, gonna Fort Riley? a farmer stopped his pickup in front of Chris and yelled out.

Chris got in, Thanks, I’m going to the cutoff, then west.

You’re in luck, I’m headed that way too.

The truck roared and jumped on the not so even road. The farmer wore worn overalls, had a bandanna sticking out of one pocket and papers, invoices, and a dog eared note pad on the dash, and chunky hard gravel and clots and dust of brown Kansas dirt on the floor. The inside looked as if he never cleaned it, but it was a farm truck, meant for business and not pleasure.

You can smoke if you want? he leaned over and noticed the pack of cigarettes in Chris’ pocket.

Chris took out a cigarettes, lit it and puffed it enjoying the surge that stimulated his lungs. He offered one to the farmer.

No thanks, don’t smoke anymore, Used to, but the doc told me to give it up. Where you headed, anyway?

Chris told him that he had a job in Colorado.

That’s sure is beautiful country, out there, been out there myself in the thirties, he laughed to himself, Yesiree, lots of us were on the road then, looking for work. That’s was a long time ago. But I came back don’t know why but I guess its my roots. They’re here in Kansas, they just called me home.

Chris enjoyed his talk with the farmer. He told him that he grew up on a farm near Manhattan, and he knew how he felt about roots. He felt the pull too, Manhattan was his home, and he knew that no matter where he traveled in the world that he would always come back at least for a visit. Yes, Chris understood.

They passed through Ogdan, the small town on the east side of the Fort, consisting almost entirely of pawn shops, bars, liquor stores, runned down houses and trailer courts. Ogdan was a true camp town, almost everybody existed on the ups and downs of the Fort.

If the Fort was full, the town prospered, if empty, it’s slowed, and deserted. Now its prospered, as well as Manhattan, and Junction City. Chris was shocked to see how much Manhattan grew since he left high school. All around Manhattan, new construction was evident, new stores opened, and new people moved to town. All this since he graduated from high school in l962. In addition, Fort Riley had been and still is packed with recruits training for war, so times were good.

Once in the Fort, the cars slowed to 45 miles per hours, that was the speed limit, Chris finished his cigarette, tossed the butt out the window, and smoked another one.

The Fort bustled, unlike when he was in high school when it was a sleepy caretakered Fort. Army trucks and jeeps roared up and down the highway. A jet and two helicopters flew over, and soldiers sat, some stood in the ride booths alone the way waiting for a ride or the bus to take them to town.

Yesirree, It’s quite active here now, with this Vietnam thing goin’ on, the farmer mused, Never seen it so busy, ’cept doin’ Korea. he pulled off to get on the cut off to I-70 and twenty minutes later they were out of the Fort.

Chris thanked the farmer, watched as he drove off down a country dirt road, he relished in the warmth of the morning sun. It was great to be on the road again, great to be alive. The strong warm west wind blew into his face as he looked west.

And when he turned his face, the wind echoed in his ear. He looked back east and saw the long high rolling green brown prairie grass covered Flint Hills that made the Northeast part of Kansas hilly cattle grazing land. Chris knew this country well, gradually the Flint Hills leveled off around west of Junction city, and by Salina, the hills would only be low long rolling hills, at Hays, flatter still, and by the time he got to Goodman, Kansas would be flat as a pancake.

The Easterners always felt this was the flattest