Tag Archives: Vietnam War

Da Nang

Da Nang (Prop N): a seaport in central Vietnam.

In my mind’s eye, it is the responsibility of a writer to share what he or she feels, not just what is known to be true.

I don’t personally know anything about Da Nang.

Although the Vietnam War was ending as my viability for soldiering was nearing, I followed it like every other American—quietly and reverently watching the body bags of our young men return from a conflict we were realizing more and more had been birthed in lunacy.

Actually, there’s only one specific memory I have of Da Nang.

Da Nang was and ever will be associated with a fellow named Bobby.

Bobby was a nineteen-year-old Gospel-quartet-singing acquaintance who, because he was nineteen, had great fervor for the music and not so much reverence for the rules and regulations of the religious kingdom of the day.

He drank a little bit, he cussed a lot, he laughed more than he cried, and he chased girls until he finally caught a few.

He was delightful to be around and might have been considered a hypocrite had it not been for the fact that when he sang the tunes of the cross and the anthems of the resurrection of Jesus, he expressed the sincerity of an angel.

He was a believer.

He not only believed in God and shaped notes from a Gospel song, but he also believed in America.

It would never have crossed his mind to duck his responsibility to his country, even when that burden landed in his mailbox as a draft notice, to serve the nation in a bloody police action worlds away.

Bobby received his notice in March.

He was off to basic training in late April.

He was home for a short leave in early June.

He was shipped to Da Nang in Vietnam by July 4th.

And he came home in a box by Halloween.

That’s how I remember Da Nang—Bobby, with his chubby, silly grin, wearing a cheap, bright-colored polyester suit, singing Wouldn’t Take Nothin’ for my Journey, Now with a tear running down his cheek.

The history books cite the progress of nations by wars and innovation.

But as human beings, we reminisce the passing of time by those who have warmed our hearts.

 

Cherokee

Cherokee: (n) American Indian people of the southeastern US

Some things are just embarrassing.

When you realize how embarrassing they are, you can either pretend you did not believe them–or you can own up to the fact that your
ignorance has shown up drunk to dance at the party.

When I got the information today that I was going to be writing an essay on “Cherokee,” I scanned my brain for thoughts I had about this noble tribe other than the bizarre portrayal provided through the American Western.

After a few moments, the only thing that came to my mind was Paul Revere and the Raiders. You may or not remember this rock and roll band, which squeezed its way into the late 1960s and early 1970s with a few hits.

Their only Number 1 hit was called “Cherokee People.” The lyrics were so bold, brazen and audaciously rebellious that I, of course, loved the song, viewing myself to be of some sort of hostile tribe also. (That tribe would have been “TeenAger.”)

         Cherokee people

         Cherokee tribe

         So proud to live

         So proud to die

And of course, I remember the last line of the song, which was:

        And maybe someday when we learn

        Cherokee people will return

The song was then interrupted with an elongated organ solo, closing out with a loud rock and roll chord.

Every time I listened to that song, I did a little fist pumping. For a brief moment I was a Cherokee, even though I did not know what that meant and I knew absolutely nothing about the customs. Music, sentiment, defiance and freedom drove me nearly wild with enthusiasm.

So I must apologize to the Cherokee people–but I was not going to quickly research them on Wikipedia so as to appear knowledgeable.

I will thank Paul Revere and the Raiders for bringing the plight of the Cherokee Nation to the attention of a very white Midwestern boy.

 

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Cherish

Cherish: (v) to hold someone dear.

Those who did not live through the 1960s and early 1970s hold the abiding belief that the music of the time was loud, raucous, revolutionary and incorrigible.

Matter of fact, these non-Woodstock individuals would contend that Jimmie Hendrix, Janis Joplin and The Who were the primary thrust on
 the music scene.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

If you want to hear the music of the 60s typified by the mingling of innocence and emerging rage over the Vietnam War, you should probably sit down and listen to The Monkees and The Association.

Girls and boys were still falling in love. (We pretended it was a baseball game–where the goal was to get a hit and make at least second base if not a home run.)

There was a strange mingling of naiveté and blistering honesty that permeated the times.

But on many a quiet Saturday afternoon, as a teenage boy going dateless one more weekend, I laid back on my bed and listened to The Association sing “Cherish.”

I pined.

I cried.

I yearned.

I masturbated.

Usually in that order.

I wanted someone to cherish. More accurately, I wanted someone to cherish me.

Because:

“Cherish is a word I use to describe

All the feelings that I have, hiding here for you inside…”

Beautiful songs like “Cherish,” and also “Never My Love” by the same group, prepared me to be a soft, sensitive male instead of brash and demanding.

So today I want to thank the gentlemen from The Association for carrying me through a difficult time, until I could cherish and be cherished.

 

 

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Ankh

dictionary with letter A

Ankh: (n.) an object or design resembling a cross but having a loop at the top instead of the top crossing arm; used in ancient Egypt as a symbol of life.

Insanity is tricky.

Sometimes it’s obvious. A five-year-old boy who slaughters cats and dogs probably has some problems and is on his way to being a serial killer.

Yet some insanity temporarily is considered to be current practical thinking, or even spiritual.

This creates a dilemma. Folks who are considered to be spot on do temporarily lose their minds in preference to gaining popular favor.

Several examples come to mind:

  • How about all the people who wrote astounding essays on the value of slavery for the plantation in the Southern states?
  • Those who contended that Prohibition would eliminate drinking and alcoholism in our country.
  • A contingency who had great faith in the existence of witches in Salem, Massachusetts.
  • Politicians who tried to negotiate with Adolph Hitler.
  • Good god-fearing Americans who waved flags in support of the Vietnam War.

Well, I could go on and on.

Case in point: at a certain juncture in my own personal history a friend of mine gave me an ankh. It was beautiful and I thought it was so cool that I wore it around my neck constantly, only to be attacked by friends of the Christian persuasion, who contended it was an Egyptian demonic symbol and that I was welcoming evil in my life by donning it as an accessory.

They were quite insistent. For some reason, the cross coming to an oval at the top apparently created an opening for the entrance of evil spirits.

I did not believe any of this.

But because I didn’t want to lose friends, appear too different or create some sort of Stargate for Beelzebub into my heart, I took it off and threw it away.

I’ve always regretted that. Matter of fact, I used that experience as a point in time where I decided to start thinking for myself, tapping my own spirit and common sense.

For I will tell you: it is rather doubtful that any object in and of itself perpetuates evil.

As history reveals, it takes short-sighted people to truly usher in … the essence of hell.

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Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

Activism

Words from Dic(tionary)

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Activism: (n) the policy or action of using vigorous campaigning to bring about political or social change.

 Quite bluntly, I do not believe in political or social change if there’s no spiritual resurrection in the human heart. I think politics stimulates debate–and discussions of social issues make people defensive or guilty. 

Until there is an awakening inside us that tells us that the same thing that happens to us also happens to others, and the only way to evaluate whether these conclusions are good or bad is by assessing how we would feel if we were the victim, there is no change. 

I just think it’s impossible to do that without an awareness of God and a healthy amount of respect for the power of the universe.

For instance, I don’t think the young humans in the 1960’s, who rebelled against the Vietnam War, did so because they were enlightened or enraged beyond other young folks of their ilk. I think they were intimidated by the spirituality of realizing that a war which had a draft meant that THEY might possibly have to go also—and it brought the reality home much quicker. After all, why would this present generation protest a war being fought by mercenaries and a volunteer army?

Unless truth can land in our hearts and generate a chill down our spines,  which makes it real in our own experience, we will have no empathy for others, and therefore not pursue activism to change our world.

So how do we reach a point where we really give a damn instead of walking around fussy, damning everything we’ve been given?

  1. If this was me, how would it feel?
  2. Could I survive it, or would I need to change it?
  3. If it does need to be changed, how could I start that revision in my everyday dealings?
  4. How can I use what I know how to do to gently inform others that there is a need for rejuvenation?

 All of my life I have traveled this country attempting to use my talents and voice in a simple way—to warn others of the nastiness that I have concluded I would not want to be done to myself.

It is so easy for white people to sit and shake their heads, wondering why black people in the inner cities kill each other. Even the less prejudiced ones conclude it must be some sort of racial inclination. Yet if you take two white boys and give them lives of poverty and deprivation, they’ll start shooting each other, too.

Activism is when I become connected with my own feelings and take an inventory of my likes and dislikes, while allowing other people the same courtesy.

It requires purity of heart.

And, as I intimated at the onset, it will be spirit-led … because a pure heart always sees God.

Abrasive

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abrasive: (adj.): 1. a substance capable of polishing or cleaning a hard surface by rubbing or grinding. 2. rough to the ear; harsh 3. showing little concern for the feelings of others; harsh in mannerism.

“King George is a tyrant.” At one time that would have been an abrasive statement.

“Slaves should be free.”  If you had said that in Congress in 1851, you’d have been dubbed abrasive.

“I love rock and roll.” Try that one in 1961 America.

“The Vietnam War is criminal.” You would certainly have been considered abrasive in 1967.

“Black people should have the right to vote.” There are probably STILL some folks who think that’s abrasive.

“Women should be allowed to be executives in the workplace.” Once again, that one will polish a rough surface or two.

We throw words around like “abrasive” to discourage people from saying things “untoward” in mixed company.” (We say words like “untoward” when we have not yet arrived in this present century.)

Abrasive is a tough one. Often there are many things that need to be shared, pointed out and even shouted from the housetops, which are just NOT in the present mindset of the popular thinking. But if they’re not said, they can’t be heard and if they can’t be heard, the faith to change things for the better is never launched.

So how do I know when I’m abrasive? Honestly, that one’s pretty simple to me. If I’m saying something because I was personally offended or if I have a hankering to offend somebody else just for the hell of it, you can pretty well guarantee–it’s abrasive.

But words that are said to cry out for freedom, purpose and to protect the innocent may not always be received well, but historically, they will never be proclaimed abrasive.

Perhaps it would take an angel to discern all the subtleties in that process.

Perhaps we need a few more angels.