Behind the Douglas fir curtain

Old Apostate Part 6

Friday, May 22, 2015

By Stephen Jay Morris

           

Up in Oregon, I use to walk my dogs on this dirt road that lead to the backwoods. There were some many trees on that path that the only source of sunlight was beams that shined through the old growth trees. Up a mile up the road was this old trailer. It was nestled between these 2 tall Douglas fir trees.  In front of the trailer was garbage like old beer cans and tin cans with candy wrappers and a campfire with a soapbox. Some middle age guy lived in there. I would see occasionally walk up the trail by his lonesome. In Oregonian forests there were a lot of these loners living in trailers. I met a lot of Vietnam vets living like this. I thought nothing of it.

One summer day, it wasn't raining. The broadcasters of the radio called these rare days a sun-break. Oregonians on sun-break days would do gardening. I saw this man cutting back weeds to clear the trail leading to his trailer. He was normal size white guy about 6 feet one. He had a thin frame dressed up in flannel shirt and faded blue jeans. He wore brown working boots and a black nit cap. His long hair was tied into a ponytail in which it went to the middle of his back. He had a trimmed gray beard and wore John Lennon round glasses. If you had seen him, you would just dismiss him as an old eccentric hippie. I would venture to say he was in his late 60's. However, everybody has a story. I approached him and complimented on his work. He had a familiar accent. It sounded very Californian. I asked him where he was from. He said: Long Beach. That was such coincidence, my former home; "San Pedro" was across the bay from me. When he spoke, he would stare toward the distance to reflect images from the past. His green eyes looked inward in his mind. I'll call him: Gordon. He made his living as a fisherman working on boats in Astoria Oregon.

I have met a lot of Vietnam veterans in my time. Only a few were well adjusted family men. The majority of vets I have met suffered from all types of ailments, from alcoholism to mental illness. Decades and decades, the political right acted they had the monopoly on patriotism. They claimed they were the number one supporters of our troops who gave the ultimate sacrifice by dying. Funny thing about dead soldiers they can't tell fake patriots to shut the fuck up. All the homeless vets are ignored and left to die. There is this right wing talking point that homeless vets don't exist. Now I was going to get a lesson in truth.

Objectively stated: Not everybody that grew up in the Baby Boomer was a left wing rebel. Most boomers were clean-cut Americans who did what they were required for them to do with The Protestant Work ethic guiding them. If you were a student, you studied hard and if you were a worker, you learn a skill or trade. Then you get married and raise a family. A lot of boomers were conformists and devote Christians. A lot of boomers were like their parents and were anti-Communists. A lot of Boomers had fathers who fought in World War 2 and wanted to make their dads proud of them by enlisting in the military and defending freedom. A lot of Vets got poisoned by Agent Orange or got Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. Some soldiers became drug addicts while fighting in Nam. This was to self-medicate to endure the horrors of war. One more observation about Boomers, a lot of Vietnam Vets became left wing rebels after serving in Nam.

Gordon did a lot of talking during my encounter with him. It's difficult to remember everything he told me. It went like this: When I was going to college in 60's, I joined a conservative group called: Young Americans For Freedom. We had an alliance with this anti-Castro group. Some times my fellow students would get drunk and go out to find some Hippies to beat up. I hated the communists so much that I went to a recruiter for the army and signed on the dotted line in the office. The night before I had to report to duty, we had a drunken party. It was the biggest mistake I ever made. After boot camp they sent me to Nam.

When I got there, it was a chaotic hellhole. You could smell brunt bodies everywhere. One time on patrol, I thought I saw Charlie and I shot him. It was a 10-year-old child. I killed a child! My commanding officer told me to forget it. It was part of the job. I now have this recurring nightmare of that incident. I still see in my minds eye that child's expression of horror in his face. Every fucking night I see that innocent face.  It was that hate that was injected in my brain. They told me we were fighting against communism, but it was really for American Imperialism. Now, if some schmuck comes up to and say's: Thank you is for your service. I say: You want to show your appreciation! Pay more taxes so I can get better health care! They are all hypocrites and I hate them more than the Viet Cong. Then he asked the question I was hoping he wouldn't ask: So? Steve...did your serve?   I softly replied: No I didn't. Then he asked: Did you protest against the war? I sheepishly answered...Yes...Yes I did. Gordon embraced me and said in my left ear: Thank you for your protest. I was pleasantly surprise he did that action.

I would never see Gordon again, but I'll never forget him.