A short time ago a book called The Generational Puzzle was published. It is a chapter book of sorts written by various guests and put together by Joyce Knudsen. Joyce asked me to contribute as so I tried but, in the end she passed on my effort. Why? How should I know? Perhaps I’m not really baby boomer material. I will post a page or two of my 7000 word entry once a week. Have a look. Then read some of what Knudsen accepted. http://www.amazon.com/The-Generational-Puzzle-ebook/dp/B00A1I0VGY. Then let me know what ya’ think.
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Part Two:
Oh, I would learn, and be sad. Sad for the loss and sad as his presidency became the focal point in my life of the differences in political theology. When my father came home that night he was sad for the loss of the man, my father was very religious, but not sad for the potential change in leadership. I thought this odd. Everyone could hear the wave of media pundits telling us the loss of the man would destroy the idyllic happiness he was establishing in our poor county. A country which for too long was run by republican theocrats. All of the plaudits hitting us as we watched the evening news were well before Jacqueline coined the ‘American Camelot’ phrase. My father, I would eventually learn, was politically conservative. Many call this ‘Republican’ but is it so these days if he abhorred gun ownership to the same extent he detested liberal government spending? He also liked to keep his religion and politics separate as he told me many times. “Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and give to…”
I was only six; I didn’t understand ‘Camelot.’ Thinking back, I would wonder how one administration could get us into the Cuban missile crisis and the Bay of Pigs, but at that moment those thoughts were not on my mind. I was sad because everyone else was sad. Later, these aspects of the Kennedy administration would encroach upon by cognitive machinations, along with the nepotism issue. I mean, how many people in today’s world can bring their brother in as an attorney general? Of course we cannot forget Marilyn Monroe singing happy birthday to him, but in the days post-assassination we were not thinking of her, we were honoring the war hero, the statesman who was stopped cold while trying to bring a brighter future to us all. How he was going about this task wasn’t important at the time.
I was growing up and therefore not directly affected by all the changes. For the most part I didn’t have any idea about what was changing and what wasn’t. But boy was it changing. I did begin to understand we were at war and this was war, not conflict, as my father’s time in Korea had been. I paralleled the war efforts with my developing interest in history. Being a young male this meant military history. I wanted to hear about all of the victories our armies brought home, but the evening news did not bring this information. Instead, the news bombarded us with body counts. This information received plenty of air time as the war dragged on and the concept of victory changed. We did not see US troops marching through Paris with crowds cheering them on. Instead we saw images of the My Lai massacre and the anti-war movement not cheering, but screaming for change.
From 1964 to 1972 the American dream built up in the 1950’s by the generation before was undergoing a massive overhaul. These changes had less to do with the war effort and more to do with society itself. Music was there and if you could carry the tune you were probably not dancing anymore but marching, marching along with the program.
So bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey in Rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die
-- Don McLean
