How I got this way (continued)

In 1978 the writer Tim O'Brien, a Vietnam veteran, published his novel Going After Cacciato, which won literary acclaim. After reading some reviews, I bought the book and read it too. Years later, I bought another book by O'Brien called The Things They Carried, and started it over the weekend. I'm only about fifty pages in, but I know when I've finished, I'll be glad I read it. Like Going After Cacciato, it might be described as a book about the Vietnam war, but that's a limiting description. Kind of like describing Mystic River as a crime novel. Anyway, reading this book has brought back memories, and I've related to some of what O'Brien has written on a personal level.

Generally speaking, most people seem to pass through a stage in which life tries to pound a little sense into them. Based on his biography, GWB might be an exception, since it appears he's been in a glide pattern his whole damned life.

For me, that stage began in November 1963, the weekend that JFK was assassinated in Dallas and Jack Ruby shot Lee Harvey Oswald. As a teenager, I wasn't tuned into politics, but I liked Kennedy. When he was shot, it was disconcerting. Killing a president seemed so-- so nineteenth century. The whole idea didn't fit into my idealized notion of what my country was all about. But life went on and within a few months, Beatlemania broke out in the USA and I started developing a passionate interest in what became commonly known as rock music.

I started college, majoring in journalism, based on my ambition to make a living writing. The foreign-language requirement (for me, Russian) eventually drove me out of the major, but the desire to write stayed with me, and here I am today. During my early college years, I was oblivious to political issues, and devoted most of my free time to a search for the love of a good woman. Meanwhile, there was a war going on in Vietnam that was starting to get real hot.

By 1968, most young men my age were coming to terms with the reality that they might well be shoved into the meatgrinder in southeast Asia, and started taking sides, either for the war or against it. Meanwhile, RFK and MLK joined JFK as target practice for some asshole. Now I was really starting to wonder what the hell was going on. I'd been raised with the conviction that America was the greatest country on earth, and for all intents and purposes could do no wrong. My country only fought good and noble wars, and didn't kill off political leaders. So I was taught, and so I believed. Therefore, 1968 was the point at which life began to get really serious about pounding sense into me. The underlying message seemed to be that when it came to politics, the best course was to trust no one and understand there were no safe assumptions.

In 1970, I was at Fort Sill, Oklahoma attending what was affectionately referred to as The Comanche County College of Cannon-Cocker Knowledge (the army field artillery school), with orders to Vietnam. The best single-word description I can come up with for my experience at Ft. Sill is transformative.

I'll skip the details, other than to say that reinforced by the strength of several personal associations, I was able to negotiate a relatively amicable parting of the ways with the army, and consequently, have no firsthand knowledge of the war in Vietnam. But because of the war, I made decisions and formed attitudes that influenced the direction of my life for decades to come.

While I was at Sill, my love of music continued, and thanks to PX privileges, I was adding to my record collection. Based on my interest in music, I started reading magazines like Rolling Stone. In those days, RS was devoted to the totality of what was called "the counterculture." Mixed with the record and movie reviews were features on contemporary political issues, written with a leftwing slant. I continued to read RS after I returned to civilian life, and the magazine and I shared a contempt for the president, Richard Nixon. My contempt was rooted in a sense of betrayal: I'd voted for the bastard in 1968 because he had a plan to end the war. When he was reelected in 1972, it cemented my belief that the people in this country will pretty much put up with anything, and therefore deserve whatever they get from their leaders. Today's conservatives would call me an elitist. Whatever.

The political assassinations of the 1960s were a new experience, and Watergate in the 1970s provided another one: A president was run out of office for gross misconduct. For a little while there, my faith in American values was restored. It was nice while it lasted.

The political campaign of 2008 is turning out to be different year, same shit. To me, the time wasted at last night's debate discussing Obama's missing flag lapel pin is another indication that people are too easily distracted. They say they want effective leadership and change, but in reality, they're like beagles chasing bunny rabbits. Time to hunker down.