Thoughts about the Shining City On The Hill

As another Independence Day rolls around, I pause to reflect on how this blog has so often depicted the existential struggle and ways to appreciate our lives and realize epiphanies, enlightenment. It was once true that, however down I felt, within a few sentences of writing, I would find myself championing reasons to feel better, and gain control over my sense of ennui ("ehhh...") or anxiety.

There were also a lot of short stories in the California years.
photo courtesy Ed Sanders, Florida.

There's some re-evaluation of our founders and ancestors in general underway. There's a great deal of resistance to the status quo many know, being challenged. And, of course, there's a public health crisis that has gotten subsumed in identity politics, to the point where the clear choice seen by most- whether to err on the side of caution, or no- is met with considerable discomfort. There are many psychological factors at work there: the unimaginable magnitude of numbers, revulsion at the thought of ourselves as carriers- many ways this situation plays cruel games with our minds.

I cannot quantify which is worse: the uneasiness we presently feel in gathering (save for online), or the selfishness we see in careless others. For some, the lack of concern for personal liberty- and the freedom to congregate- is most troubling, while for a growing number, it is the destructiveness of said resistance- to the economic recovery, and most personally, to the safety of others, in grasping the nature of an invisible predator. The principles on which we build our safety, the respect and honor we accord those who see to it- these often evoke the origins of our country, even among those proportionately more hazy on the intent, actions, or even the chronological years of those days. But it's nationally-common knowledge we celebrate the birth of this nation on July 4th, 1776. So, another year of the United States of America is now joined.

On the issue of race relations, I am not so sure that, despite more outspoken racism, maybe we aren't getting in a better place, gradually, by having the discussion about where the American notions of comfort and safety actually reside, and upon whose convenience and inconvenience they rest.

Well, tonight I am responding, at least, in part, to this article: https://news.yahoo.com/yahoo-news-you-gov-july-4th-poll-62-percent-of-americans-no-longer-see-america-as-shining-city-on-a-hill-202931706.html

At least, somewhere, and maybe increasingly, around here, the majority see this pandemic is going to be with us at least all year.

I think it's possible more news about the underbelly of America's existence - from its treatment of the Natives and the existence of slavery, onward- is reaching more people than before. The truth requires a great deal of reconciliation. The sense of social mobility- one of our more defining and unique aspects- has been on a long decline.

The cold feelings about our leadership- especially nationally- might be separated somewhat from how we feel about individuals we know. Increasingly, we are finding out the myriad of ways we disagree. Interestingly, people who feel positively about the President also feel pretty negatively about the country as a whole, cultually.

Oh! And finally, so very many of these respondents were more innocent overall when Reagan gave that speech. They felt much safer and more trusting than now.

Now, what would be interesting is, if we can forge the strength of will to assess the actual damage, and then address how we might improve the quality of life here in America. I can confidently remind you, we may've felt it was meant to be better than this. But so many people would rather risk ending up in a pen for weeks or even months- risk being separated from their precious families- than remain in their homes in Central and South America. Many of the reasons for optimism, for ourselves, have not borne out. But this is still nowhere nearly the most dangerous society on the planet. The crime rate's been on a long decline- don't let a few videos of looters, or even rampaging officers, change your mind on that. Right now, the saddest thing about America is the way our environmental protections have been dismantled, our wealth has drifted to the 'top' of fewer and few people, and we're increasingly, in most states, a hotbed for viral contagion.

And college tuition, to our fine universities, has sky-rocketed, and our loans have been sold off. Yes, that's more than one sad thing.
Speaking so generally about it, it's hard to absorb how depressing the individual results are.

And I can't say for sure we'll collectively see through the b.s. and demand an accounting of those using the law and business practices in a successfully parasitic fashion, or to what degree. But if more people realize the hand is on the stove, they'll stop burning themselves.

I would actually love to compile a long list of items that make the case for what is wonderful here in America. Individual stories and sacrifices, tremendous natural resources, opportunities that have indeed been opened to us- and the right to pursue your own happiness- can be refreshing, and are a necessary part of the picture. The attainment of much more personal goals typically absorbs the individual's efforts and appeitites. Yet, I can see, from a small every day level between neighbors and even strangers- to extensive organized efforts to deal with large societal ills like addiction and homelessness- there are many qualities that may not be exceptional to America only, but are fine qualities in humanity, nonetheless.

What I find interesting, too, is how individual intentions, however personally positive, are not always universally agreeable. My effort to recycle- presently paused during the pandemic- might be a joke to someone else (who is wrong, by the way). A heartfelt desire to lead people to Christ- to save them, not just with money and favors, but really foster a life-changing path to coincide with eternal salvation- might be seen as unwanted cultural engineering by a proponent of humanistic secular rights. So, it's intriguingly, if exhaustingly, problematic for those who are attempting to live 'outside the cave' from Plato's allegory- there's no one agreeable picture about what we'll find, if we are not just sitting in the dark. The solutions that resonate with people, attempting to be conscientious, may be in conflict with the principles, or existence, of another.

Nor are my efforts to pass along uplifting thoughts and examples intended as a naive bandage skimpily stretched over the serious wounds. We may individually be having some of the best of times. Depending on the length and arc of your life, you might well believe these are the worst.

The knowledge of these complexities, in my case, leads me to meditate on what measures practically benefit humanity and the health of the planet as a whole. People more educated and rigorously knowledgeable than I, have been emotionally flattened by depression, at both the magnitude and the lack of focused public will on the collective efforts necessary to resolve, say, the issue of what to do with all our trash, or what jobs should people have to support their lives versus the negative or positive impact of that job on both the environment and humanity (think: magazine sales subscriptions- which are surely more rare than in the days of more widespread landlines).

So, two things.

Dr. Dyer- who taught me to occasionally, if lost, look on the world through the intentions of Creativity, Kindness, Love, Beauty, Expansion, Abundance, and Receptivity- also suggested we think of ourselves as 'not special.' I think this drfits back to someting I saw referenced today, the pride of making an effort verus the aggressive pride of narcissism. It's great to hear positive things about ourselves, and Ronald Reagan was famous for communicating messages with words symbolizing lasting abstract values. At least, I remember him as such. But how much actuality- what basis was there- for feeling America was exceptional? Was it pride in achievements- progressive rights for women, social mobility, scientific innovation, and the freedom, if you could afford the gasoline, to hop in your car and take your life anywhere across the continental U.S. to try your life? Was it a haughty assumption that, because we had stood for democracy and human rights and freedom of religion, we were the sacrosanct arbiters of how other nations should live?

People struggle enough to be happy without having to examine the underpinnings of our way of life for how it exploits, damages, and depletes lives and reserves of other countries, as well as our own. But is the struggle for that happiness disrupted, if unwittingly, unconsciously, by the truth that underlies it- that those who benefit are divorced from the reality of the high price paid by those exploited?

Gratitude- especially for what is demonstrably true- does increase the value of one's life. Gratitude has been expressed many times over, even by those who humorously have declared they came to this country with seven dollars or so and scraped their way to a better life. A smug sense of unearned self-congratulation is also served by the same idea. When one would speak with multitudes, the words carry many facets to the prism into which the masses look. If even I am often self-aware that a given phrase I leave will be shaped by the context brought to it by a variety of individuals, then surely that speech, and the Christian-toned phrase "Shining City on A Hill" (as in holidng one's candle aloft rather than hiding it, so it may provide light), was written with the variety of the masses in mind. It is a phrase meant to capture the collective sense of pride that brings together a nation, despite its internal disagreements, for that shared sense 'we're in this together' encourages the emotions necessary for our finest efforts of self-sacrifice and generosity, as well as serving cynically as pablum proffered by those who want their accumulation of riches to continue without surcease.

But what if we can see areas in which other nations have taken up the torch- for postive freedom, freedom to act upon one's will, as well as negative freedom, the liberation from tyranny celebrated and marked by Independence Day? What if we can see, not naivety in our ancestors' love of this country, but a continuous and sane, if occasionally supra-rational, emotional response to the principles we value? How can we build this country into a genuine Shining City, in fulfillment of the promises envisioned in generations past? We seem less passionate than decades ago about the ideal that everyone is free to pursue their own happiness. What forces stand in threat to the most broad pursuit of happiness, then? It is an issue requiring the change born in the actions of the individual level, but also, some sensible collective gathering of will, which is quite another challenge altogether, as we crtique the system in which any chosen delegates on a local, state or national level, operate. When will we return to an agreement on many concerns of demonstrable value to the collective, and individual, good? If we- one of the nations now excluded from travel to the EU, for example- are not resonate within our populace as The Shining City On The Hill- which measures can, at least, save the United States of America from being the object of pity and derision?

I do not know if you would say the problem is that the light has dimmed or blown out, or if the hill has given way to soil creep- or if you might be among those who insist we remain The Shining City On the Hill. I assure you, the perspective from which you see this country- in a nation more, or less fortunate, as a person seen as this ethnicity or that color-bears weight in your feelings about that.


But the point- if it deserved to be made- was one of encouraging aspirations. If I take it like this, rather than a self-congratulatory and delusional pat on the back, I do believe we can make the entire country one more friendly to aspiration. To fostering American Dreams that need not destroy so much. To more American Dreams achieved by more Americans. Less centralized wealth and business opportunity, less prejudiced career opportunities, and always, more honesty, more concern about honesty- which is so often subsumed by one's emotional standpoint. I realize the truths to which every individual subscries will not all be born out in evidence of equal weight. But Hope makes such a remarkable difference in halting the slide towards mediocrity, danger, and waning respect for one's self and others. Every hill is made of nigh-countless little bits of dirt. Every light is darkness to the blind.

Raise Beauty. Uplift Hope. Move in the direction that makes you anxious and do not shy away from your fears. Make your silences a temple of Peace rather than a pit of spears. Every change you see, for good or ill, is the result of organization, too. But the shining city on the hill- like the mental construct of a nation, or the perception of a world-is a place inside you, friend. We're not bound to agree on every aspect. But we do each our part in averting disaster, tyranny and ignornance. Do not discount the city you have built within.

Lift up its light.

Having Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Christmas: I can't let it pass without at least a bit of holiday cheer. It teels like the best ones were back in my childhood. I'm sure if I had kids and they were healthy, any year could still be even better. Some people have the opposite feeling I do this time of year. Maybe they can't stop thinking of what they desire, compounded by the illusion it's being had all around them. Maybe they have every family invitation, friends are throwing parties, work's got parties, cards need to go out and gifts need bought and wrapped, and while they've seemingly got it all, they're in need of a prayer and/ or a few stiff drinks or whatnot, somewhere they can let the sheer grind of it all, go. I've had some pretty quiet Christmases in recent years, and not to be maudlin, but you rarely know when you're spending your last with someone, so by all means, share it where possible! I remember 2013 as a pretty big one, since we were freshly back from California for the first time on Christmas in years. I think it's the most fun I ever had wrapping presents. Last year my sister came down with her boyfriend, some old friends of my parents came over, and Christmas Eve, at least, was full of song, dinner, laughter-what do you know, it lived up to some of the famed hype!

I remember reading the Gospel versions of the Nativity in 2016, where I'd just scored my first slim check in a while and stuffed the stockings with games. So, it's not that I expect too much, but if I'm going to be surrounded by all this hubbub, I at least have our quiet Yule ceremony I find moving and personal, and otherwise, there's just some little ineffable something I hope to find. The side of going off adventuring for most of your adult life that no one talks about is, if you ever go back to your hometown, you'll find everyone's quite wrapped up with a bow and tags, under another Christmas tree or four already. So, I found an invitation to go to Cartersville, its one appeal being that the emcee of the event was the delightful Moriah Medina, who somehow ended up related to most everything of lasting value from our stay here. The catch, you might say: Karaoke.

And not with any particular social lubricants, either. In fact, I rather thought it might be numerous singers of a similar caliber to Mrs. Medina, herself, including her, in a coffee shop. So, OK. I had a couple of songs from the world of Rock come to mind, so maybe I'd sing, too. I even had a pre-party plan, which it turned out, didn't fall into place.

But you know, I did have a date- even if she hadn't committed to going. I only had to mope about that long enough to down half a cup of coffee before I discovered she was up for it. My Mom passed; I mean, on the invite. Considering it turned out to be outside, that might have been just as well, but since she was around, thought I'd try.

I picked the 411 route to Cartersville, which really flew by. My date- my date now for years, who was at least until March, my singing partner, too-put on a queue, not of holiday music, but some relatively obscure David Bowie tunes, while we figured out the minutiae between the highway and downtown.

We came into one of Cartersville's main streets, lovely big houses with histories and tasteful lights. We pulled into Friendship Plaza, and discovered numerous families crowded around the stage in the park!
If you think a public, family-friendly gig is lame, well, I recall being as cool as you think you are. Don't get me wrong, I wondered what the hell we were doing there, too. But we parked near the gorgeous Young Brothers Pharmacy window on the other side as twlight neared. We weren't close enough to see the positively maniacal display of nutcrackers ambitiously assembled, not until my date's toe had nearly frozen off and we were scrambling to get pics in the streetlight.

I think the strange liberation of our path- not so tied now to family affairs, our friends scattered the country, nay, the globe over, is how readily we adopt whatever we encounter. I quickly realized, one hug later, while looking at the karaoke sign-up, that this was a case of "bells are ringing, children singing" - and I sorta hoped all might be merry and bright, but it felt a touch queer finding enough space between blanks to keep people from getting sick of seeing me, possibly, from the scrawls, the only adult in the line-up. My date was game, though; she almost signed up to do "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" in the style of Little Michael, knowing what a kick I always get out of hearing her version of his boyhood Jackson Five vocals. I was listening to one of the five versions of "Rudoplh, the REd-Nosed Reigndeer" we would hear that night, with about one fourth of the lyrics the kid on the stage really liked best. Not possessing typical amounts of shame for my age, I picked a handfull of tunes, one we did together that I can't even remember now, one of those tunes Bing made famous. Then we checked out the grafitti while my date wondered if the kiosks took cards as she brought no cash. Turns out, local businesses like Merry Maids (Hot Dogs, Pop corn and Hot Chocolate) and H & R Block (S'mores!) were treating all two hundred or so of us there!



I remember the thrill of literally hopping back on to stage of any sort when our names were called. We'd been taking in the milling families and friends, which were locked into their cliques as usual, with an occasional 'hello!' You don't expect much more, really, so you have to enjoy the environment and the mild comedy of kids with more energy than vocal study. But we teach kids about that age, online, each morning, so we were pretty open. I haven't felt any fear in front of a crowd since I was a stand up comedian telling cleaned up racist jokes at the high school's talent show when I was fourteen. (It was the absurdity, not the epithets, that made them funny, mind you.) I was nervous taking the guitar on stage for Integr8d Soul a few times, but this was bar a toddler could hurdle, so why not have fun? As usual, when we haven't rehearsed, we take a few bars to find our exact mesh, as we rarely have a harmony planned and just dive in, but it went just fine.

We'd roasted ourselves by the fire for a bit, as the kids performed with more audacity. One Dad even shored up his two little ones long enough to get "Frosty The Snowman" out of them, and maybe three or four other words. I had to give it up for a couple of little boys and a little girl who might grow up to be as big a ham as Ye Olde Authore. It’s lovely to see humanity at an age when they haven’t learned yet you are supposed to virtually die of fright when more than one stranger is looking at you. One woman, who begged everyone to understand “I was coerced into this,” was mercifully interrupted by the train passing, which she used as her escape plan. We got a good version of “Santa Baby” from a lady who remembered the original, and of course, you’re not down South if someone doesn’t do an Elvis impersonation on “Blue Christmas.” I think the usual karaoke strategy, correct me if I’m wrong, is to select something you like to sing a few favorite words to, then muddle on through the rest. See, it applies to all ages.

I am inclined to say our next time up was “Christmas, Don’t Be Late”- complete with me using my voice for Lelly the Elephant, basically, to stand in for Alvin, while my partner pretty naturally has Chipmunk range. Our screen even gave us David Seville’s fussy direction to his rambunctious adopted animal kids, clumsily added by me. I even zipped up my Spider-Man hoodie and crouched down at the stage’s edge just for the kids who were eating it all up. I think it was as goofy as it sounds. Kids knew we were Chestnuts, roasting by an open fire, now, so they popped up complimenting us without fear afterwards. One dad took the occasion to express to his son he shouldn’t worry at all what people think- like him. Just have your fun. He didn’t specify, “but do care what I think, because I’m your father,” but the boy got it. It is funny, the things kids will give you a hat tip for doing.

Imagine if you will, thinking “if only I could be brave enough to do that” without thought for how gonzo it was.

I offered to catch the next one myself. By this point we’d succumbed to the lure of a hot dog a piece, and little did I realize, I’d decorated the front of my shirt with copious amounts of melted chocolate.
Its sheen didn’t really stand out as a stain while I roamed the stage like an expressive imitation of someone classic entertainer from days of yore. I added some interpretative dance to “Jingle Bell Rock,” which has that old rock and roll sound you can really lay into. But I’ve long been a proponent of drawing in the crowd, and had the pleasure of two little dancers- the boy was named Bristol, I recall that much- who edged their way to the side stage, where we’d been cheering them on, ourselves, minutes before. I noticed them dancing and, as you can plainly see in the video my date was kind enough to capture on our phone, bent down and sang it right to them, waving them up to come give a little kid step show. I found everyone in the crowd I saw singing along, because I wanted those people to feel the vibe, too! I checked my words a couple of times and hopped, sleighed, and picked up my feet there in Jingle Bell Square.

One of my students clapped along the entire time I showed it to him during online class, so I know it’s got...something. The look on one girl’s face- I named my newer elephant, Angela, after her, and of course, Teacher Angela- was a sheer delight I won’t ever forget. I mean, it’s really the entire reason you ever choose to be an entertainer. Besides, as my ten year-old student Kevin so blatantly put it: “It’s funny, too.”


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Safe to say, we’d long since gone from just clapping to darn near directing the little performers, who just don’t think of you as a stranger at all in that setting. I’m happy to say, we inspired them, not to mention, enjoyed them. We’ll never even know each other’s names, but it was all So In The Moment.
We also ducked off by the big tree to take some lovely pictures together where the park lamp light gave us a chilly vampire tone. “We’re white,” said my date. “Get over it.”

I’d discovered and cleaned off my S’more stain before our last number, which I’d completely forgot I signed us up to do. We’d won over enough good will to survive any hairy eyeballs in the darkness out there, so Mo reminded us we were up for “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.” I’d chosen punchy little numbers to that point, hearing a few things like “Holly Jolly Christmas” that had cheered me with their mirthful delivery (plus, I just watched Rudolph with my date at my Mom’s recently, being a big fan of that cast and The Island of Forgotten Toys). But here, as night fell in small town Georgia, the fireside warmth of this song, its words so tastefully rendered on the YouTube screen, really moved me to sing it like I meant it. I knew my date was fixed on the words to keep them straight, but I wanted to turn to her, just once, to sing, to serenade her there in the chilly Southern eve. I was surprised to discover, when I looked into her eyes to sing: “Through the years, we’ll always be together--” I caught such a lump in my throat!

The real substance of those words, which must’ve moved that songwriter so many decades ago, too, filled my emotional being. I was truly too caught up in their love and meaning to keep singing, because it was absolutely beautiful and true. I am glad, too, because I listened to her sing like a silver bell, stunned by the gorgeous quality of the singer I fell in love with from the day I discovered her ability to sing. It wasn’t show biz at all, and there was no one on Earth but we two for one holiday magical moment. I rejoined her, heart so full of this instance I hope never to forget.

Oh, wait, I can't forget the kids we heard on stage as we departed: they'd decided to launch into their own version of the Chimpmunks song. Voices and all. Like Mo said, seeing the next generation pop up there really warms her heart- good for some chuckles, too.
She was even patient when we left the GPS off and detoured through a back road that wound around some secret treasures of lights hidden far off in the country suburb’s hills. I was struck by how blessed I’ve been by her mellow counterpart to my enthusiastic leaps into the unknown and spotlights over the years. I may have taken us to the middle of Who Knows Where, but she was always the one who made that perfectly fine.

And so, I wish her happiness this and every holiday, for always keeping that special magic I seek, right there inside. And, dear reader, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Be chill, Cease ill

What It Means To Fight For Your Country (1967) Vietnam, America, War and the Soul

The World Outside Your Window


While crafting an essay for my non-fiction book on Marvel Comic books, Integr8d Fix
I worked from an inspiration to reflect the real world dramas churning outside the colorful pages of a multiple part Iron Man story set in Vietnam, presented in 1967. Here, separately, is the part of that essay reflecting America- and Vietnam- during that divisive year in our history. I humbly offer it as a multi-faceted crash course summary to the Vietnam War at that time, for those who don’t know much about it. For those who do- and those who remember those days- I hope it’s a thoughtful reflection on the complexities of that era, as told in the words of those who lived in, as gleaned from the Op-Ed pages of the June New York Times this year.

While each month of the three-part storyline in Tales of Suspense #92-94 unfolded:


Protestors planned to march in October in Washington.

Plan Pennsylvania: Americans agreed to covertly cease bombing; in exchange, North Vietnam halted their military advance into key areas of South Vietnam. As detailed in a New York Times article by Robert K. Brigham: “Once North Vietnam acted, the United States would freeze its combat forces at existing levels and peace talks could begin.” How very unfortunate that Reason failed: despite initial negotiations on July 24th , on August 20th, 200 sorties flew, the most yet against North Vietnam, explained as “orders (had been) delayed by inclement weather.” Most likely, Johnson, convinced of the value of the strikes, couldn’t pass up a chance to hit key areas, in case the deal prevented him from doing so later. Brigham writes:  Johnson...was desperately trying to keep his options open by escalating the bombing just before a pause, but in the end he actually narrowed his choices.
Trying to placate both antiwar members of Congress and his generals, who wanted a wider war, Johnson tried to find a middle ground when there was none.” His choice to “pour on the steel” led the Viet Cong-who believed taking Saigon would end American influence- to a retaliatory push known as the Tet Offensive, which in turn called for an even great increase in American forces, controversially drafted. Months after Pennsylvania’s secret failure, over half a million American soldiers now fought in Vietnam.

Objectors on the same college campuses as the small, growing contingent of newly-older Marvel fans organized draft resistance efforts. One, journalist David Harris, estimates between a quarter and a half a million young men joined him in rejecting their draft notices. On October 16th, 1967, he helped organize a National Draft Card Return, in which hundreds of cards were sent back to the government during 18 rallies across America. He was one of about 3200 eventually tried and jailed (in 1968), as he denied his college exemption, reasoning another, poor young person would go in his stead, to a war that presented, he believed, a moral quagmire. His story was told in a NY Times Op Ed, June, 2017, as well as his book The War and What It Did To Us.

In his words: “Reality is made by what we do, not what we talk about. Values that are not embodied in behavior do not exist. People can change, if we provide them the opportunity to do so. Movements thrive by engaging all comers, not by calling people names, breaking windows or making threats. Whatever the risks, we cannot lose by standing up for what is right. That’s what allows us to be the people we want to be.”


Raising my children myself was so hard, I cannot even say it. You know, it was very dangerous when I was fighting in the war. You could die anytime. But raising my kids alone was much harder. Sometimes, I would just sit by myself and cry.
I still dream about the war sometimes. I dream about when a bomb is about to explode, and I shout to my unit to lie down. I have seen so many things, saw eight out of 10 people in my unit become wounded or die at once. War is cruel. Cruel. When you have a war, people and families are divided — between husband and wife, parent and child. Now my wish is that there is no war in the world, that we can help each other lead our lives instead of fighting. That is my message. I want peace. Le Thi My Le -The Women Who Fought for Hanoi NY Times June 6, 2017
Many people who fought in the war, maybe they could never forgive America. But when I joined the war, I knew everything had two sides. And the sides had the same hurt together. In Vietnam, maybe we lost our country, lost our family, had a lot of people die — but in America it is the same. All the soldiers are the sons of parents, and they lost their children, too. It is all the same, the same hurt.
- Nguyen Thi Hiep The Women Who Fought for Hanoi NY Times June 6, 2017

From the Times, I’ll close with the story of Bill Reynolds, a veteran of the Ninth Division, a.k.a. Charlie Company. It is for such men- and the children playing in the back yards and streets of America- that Stan and Gene crafted this tale, grafting their colorful adventurer onto a real world intrigue with motivations and consequences that we as a nation were only beginning to explore.

Once he was conscripted, Reynolds reported these conflagrations in the Mekong Delta, coincidentally each time happening in his true soldier life along with roughly each month of this four-color offering. On May 15th he saw his first major action, lost a good friend, as his unit inflicted 90 Viet Cong casualities in heavy, brutal fighting.
In June, Bill said:
“Heavy automatic rifle fire and rocket propelled grenades screamed in along with small weapons fire. My buddies were dropping left and right, but by the grace of God I raced safely back to a small berm next to the creek where everyone able was scrambling.” Air power protected them while their enemy fired from heavily-fortified bunkers. While Huey gunships covered them, his friend Second Platoon Medic Fourth Class Specialist Bill Geir risked his life to help Reynolds’ friends, until he lost his own life to a shot that tore under his armpit. Reynolds bandaged him while the Third Platoon medic Elijah Taylor attempted to reach him...to no avail. Bill watched evacuation Hueys try to lift soldiers out of the field, only to be shot a hundred feet off the ground. One landed directly on top of Specialist Forrest Ramos, who’d rolled out to safety. 47 American soldiers died; their Alpha Company, decimated.

Finally:
“A few weeks later, on July 11, Charlie Company was caught out in the open by the enemy and we lost five more brave soldiers, including my high school classmate Phil Ferro and four buddies. The Vietcong escaped that night, so we were unable to exact our revenge.”

The rest of their grueling experience was spent on “routine patrols, with the usual booby traps and fire fights.” He eventually came home to a disapproving American crowd.
As per the Times: Bill Reynolds is a Vietnam veteran and the director of veterans’ affairs for the Santa Clarita Valley Signal. His combat experience with Charlie Company is featured in the documentary “Brothers in War” and the book “The Boys of ’67,” by Andrew Wiest.

It is more difficult to question the nature of truth, to be sure; it is human nature to accept stories that follow our own preconceptions. But for the sake of freedom, and the brave sacrifices made by those who served, no matter the games of power wielded by our governments, I hope we as a country make our way back in the direction of consensus truths, however divergent our opinions then might be!

On this June day I write, a Veterans Reform Bill, expanding previous legislation from the Obama administration to increase bureaucratic accountability and aid care closer to home for vets, was signed by President Trump into law, so there’s news relevant to patriotism and thoughts of our country’s soldiers. However imperfect we as creators and citizens might be, may we look to the well being of those who would stand strong, when time and toil has yolked them with the weak and sick.

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