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Contents CHAPTER ONE: EARLY INFLUENCES In The Beginning: Early childhood and Social Class Early Religion: Confirmed Lutheran, early Beliefs, early Questions Race: Racist? Who me? Commercialism: Advertising and its Effect Navy Davy: Proud of my new Navy Uniform at the Age of Four Violence as seen through a Child’s Eyes Pop Music: The Music of my Generation The Bomb: Life on Earth in the Hands of Man The Protests Begin: Ban the Bomb, Stop War The Rise of the Antihero: The Assault on Liberalism A Hero’s Lament: Congressional Medal of Honor Recipient commits Suicide Vietnam: As seen from High School CHAPTER TWO: WE SEE ONLY WHAT OUR EYES SEE History in High School: What was not told us Prayer in Public School: A good Argument Challenges my Religious Belief The Russians are coming: Forrestal cracks To Scare the Hell out of People takes a Preacher The Russians are coming! Hell, they are already here: The John Birch Society: The Right’s Blue Print for Political Takeover The Tainted Color of Communism: Not Red, instead more like Pink CHAPTER THREE: MY MILITARY EXPERIENCE BEGINS Boot camp: Race in my Face: A Black Superior Corps School and Camp Pendleton: Corpsman Training CHAPTER FOUR: Hello Vietnam Da Nang: My Arrival, Black Teeth and Blank Faces A Shot in the Dark and a Marine Dead Tara Revisited: As Atlanta after Sherman Jim Groth: A Hometown School Friend Killed in Action Regiment: Poker and Beer Medcaps: To Win the Hearts and Minds of the Vietnamese Chieu Hoi: An Open Arms Program; Friends or Foes? The Bridge: A Questionable Summer Vacation Spot George Gallagher CHAPTER FIVE: QUANG TRI, A LIFE TRANSFORMED Quang Tri 101: Half our Company gone The Quick and the Dead: A Sergeant’s prayer goes unanswered Else Where the War Goes on Quang Tri 201: Life and Death Communist Chess Moves: Despite huge Losses the North Fights on CHAPTER SIX: IN THE CROSS HAIRS OF NORTH VIETNAMESE GUNNERS Yankee Station: Prisoners of Wilderness Joel R. Koester: The Death of an Unintentional Friend Dirt and Grime: Unimaginable Filth Con Thien: “The Hill of Angels:” Yea Though I Walk Through the Valley of Death A Marine’s Recollection of January 22nd 1968: A Fire Fight as seen by a Combatant Elsewhere CHAPTER SEVEN: The Calm before the Storm Phu Bia: Out of the Bush or so I hoped Hue: Forgotten Graves Back at Con Thien: Under Heavy Fire Charlie II: Two Doctors attempt Suicide Innocent Civilians? Are There Really Innocent Civilians? CaLu: Staging for Khe Sanh CHAPTER EIGHT: KHE SANH Charlie Med: Khe Sanh’s Medical Center Graves Registration: Bags of Heroes A Word about Fear: No Where to Hide CHAPTER NINE: WELCOME HOME AGAIN --- OR NOT On Looking down on the California Coastline from my Plane Returning from Vietnam A Not so Welcome Home: Enderlin 1968: My Hometown and Veterans The VFW: Hell, You should have been in the Real War MCAS Yuma AZ: Punished by the Military for being a War Veteran Arizona Western College: An Influential Professor Antimilitary Sentiments: Give Me Hair Glenwood Minnesota: Pot, Mad Dog, and the Death of a Life Long Friend Yearning for Freedom: Music Then: Be a Working Class Hero and Love it or Leave it Atrocities in the News: On my Mind On The Home Front: Four Dead in Ohio, the War comes Home St. Cloud VA Hospital: We don’t need any Medics CHAPTER TEN: Refilling the Void St. Cloud State University: A lesson in “Mental Isometrics” English Class: Never Mind the Truth, Sell --- Sell --- Sell Biology: Life through Different Lens Truth: What is “Truth”? A Word on Theory: Only as Good as the Evidence My God: Time is Greater than I Christianity verses Science: Are They Compatible? Shadows on the Wall: CHAPTER ELEVEN; Clash of the Titans Biological Fundamentalism: Disconnected: Does Anyone Care? Draft Dodgers: Cowards or Heroes? Evangelicalism Rising: Woe to Ye Liberal CHAPTER TWELVE: Like a Phoenix from the Ashes The Political Wheel: The Right and Left as seen on a Wheel Totalitarianism: Fascism: The real Danger in American So what is Fascism? Fascism Explained Arms Full of Money: The Military Complex’s Bank Account Stolen Words: What’s in a Word? The Myth of Liberal Controlled Media: The Big Lie CHAPTER THIRTEEN: How Evangelical Christianity Buttresses Fascism Removed for revision CHAPTER FOURTEEN: AND IN THE END Once Upon a Time CHAPTER ONE Early Influences In The Beginning: Early Childhood and Social Class: My story begins on my grandparents’ couch, July 4th, 1946 in Enderlin, North Dakota. There I was born to Dorothy and Perlin Johnson. As mundane as the event must have been to the rest of world, never having experienced the physical world before, being born was obviously life changing for me. This event did not go unnoticed by our pastor who just coincidentally showed up the same day, praying over me and wishing my parents well. That our minister just happened to show up that day, thinking back on what normally is taken as a gesture of good will, I would later find out was his job. Unbeknown to me at that time, my indoctrination into Christianity had begun that very day --- and as this book will reveal, this indoctrination was by design. My grandparents on my mother’s side were the only real grandparents I knew because of a family entanglement on Dad’s side that has never been fully resolved. It seems Dad never actually knew who his parents were and I know so little more now that I hardly feel qualified to address the issue. Anyone who might know who Dad’s actual parents were have been unwilling to talk to this day. Rumors, of course, hold many theories but all I know for sure is my lineage stops at my father. Dad’s birth certificate, dated September 19th, 1922, claims he was born in Lisbon, North Dakota. No parents, unlike Mother’s birth certificate, were listed. I also have a certificate of Holy Baptism dated December 21, 1922 which claims Dad’s mother was Martha Erickson. Why she should have a different last name than Dad is unknown. The door to speculation opens wider. My best guess is Dad’s so called half-sister, born a good decade and a half before him, ended up carrying a child out of wedlock. Prior to the current trend where having a child out of wedlock is fashionable and even viewed as a source of income; any child born out of wedlock at that time was a bastard, not a designation most children or single mothers relished. Back in the twenties, child support was none existent and the care for a young contested child usually fell on the immediate family members of the single mother. Being young, unmarried, and pregnant was seen as disgraceful to the family. As such young pregnant ladies were often briskly shipped off to an out of sight location to deliver their child. The child was then either given away for adoption, stuck in an orphanage, or returned to the family, assuming the family had the resources to care for the child. The child was then raised by grandparents and called the grandparent’s son or daughter. The grandparents would claim the child was a late sparkle in Dad’s (being the child’s grandfather) eye. This most likely was Dad’s case. That however is pure conjecture. Dad’s history is mentioned for the social and economic implications his childhood had upon my family. Dad, having no father that claimed responsibility for him, was not inline for any inheritance nor was his father around to support either Dad or Dad’s mother economically. As such Dad was forced to quit school in the eighth grade to join the labor pool, working numerous low paying odd jobs like gardening, mowing lawns, raking, rock picking, haying, or whatever else he could find in his early teens. In time, he would graduate to an unlicensed plumber, well digger, painter, electrician, carpenter, and butcher. He, as an old cliché has it, became a jack of all trades and a master of none. While he lacked any certificate to qualify himself for any of these tasks, he remained in demand right up to his death largely because he could do the same job as any professional but only received a dime on the dollar. Often his reward was no more than a six pack of beer. Later in life, Dad ended up as a laborer on the railroad, working in the roundhouse maintaining and repairing steam engines. Even that, being one of the best paying jobs anywhere around for an unskilled laborer, did not provide the income required to feed his family. Hence when Dad was not working on the railroad, he was subsidizing his railroad income with the handy work already mentioned. At the railroad Dad worked evenings so when I was home after school, he was at work. Even if I was at home while Dad was off, Dad was doing something else. I cannot remember a single event that Dad attended on my behalf in my school years, swimming events, baseball, football, or school programs. As such, I grew up lacking a coach, a cheerleader, and most importantly a father with any influence in the community like a businessman or professional. The title of a child’s father carried in small town North Dakota often exerted a disproportionate amount of influence on what activities any child got to participate in during his school years. Who got to play first string did not always depend on a child’s talents.

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