CHAPTER 8
Awaiting his trial, Lindy took refuge in books, games and writing poems and letters.
Happy New Year Carol …
I got the books you sent, thank you so much. Today I started the Life of Buddha, it’s really good. I probably won’t get to read the other one for a while. Believe it or not, we can have any kind of books now, except nudies of course, and I’m the librarian, fancy that? Last week The Resistance League sent us about a hundred books and many of them are good ones. Altogether there are so many here now I’ll never have time to read em all. In a way, jail is a good place to get educated … bookwise … it’s a lot like a monastery.
Sometimes I feel so all alone
Sometimes I feel free
Sometimes I don’t feel at all
Because I’m afraid to be me.
Of all the rushing, mighty torrents,
Through all the forests full of doom,
Of all the lost souls left wanton,
Celeste frees me by spinning her loom.
Well, the first of us mutineers go to trial on January 28. I’m in the second group so mine won’t be til February.
A while ago at a Sunday visiting I got the names and addresses of some Buddhist Priests, so I wrote them, and they’re gonna come soon. That’s really good huh? The guards are watching us mutineers, me especially maybe because I was a witness. I think they want to be able to press more charges, for things like not talking unless spoken to, cause maybe, just maybe the mutiny won’t stick. I don’t know. Wow, I sure go through a lot of changes here. Time is working on me I guess. I really wanna be free from bars.
I’m beginning to figure out my Army lawyer, a Captain, is worthless, just another pawn in their big game, used to screw me. Over 2½ months ago I gave him my completed Conscientious Objector form to have typed up, and I just now got it back. It was so full of mistakes that it has to be done over again. I get so frustrated I wanna scream! The only good guys are my attorney Terry, the Resistance League and the ministers that come to visit. Some of those ministers went to Washington and talked to the Secretary of the Army, who admitted he wasn’t happy with the way that the 6th Army, and the head officer, Captain Larson, are handling things, whatever that means.
I love you Carol, give the kids a hug from their jailbird Uncle Lindy
On January 20, 1969, Richard Nixon became the new President of the United States. Although he ran on the platform of promising “peace with honor” in Vietnam, he immediately expanded the air war that included hundreds of secret bombings over Cambodia.
Lindy, holding on by a fragile un-raveling cord, was beginning to doubt his attorney Terry Hallinan, who kept assuring all of the mutineers he represented that the Army had no case and all of them would be exonerated. The Army was proving otherwise.
In January, trials for the first three mutineers were not going well. All five judges, appointed by the prosecuting Army, quickly made their case. They stated, “As the prisoners sat and sang, charges were read telling them if they didn’t desist they would be court marshaled. Instead of quieting down, the singing got louder.”
The prosecutors’ summation concluded that, since they defied orders, all were guilty of mutiny, plain and simple.
Defense contended that, because they were singing, they didn’t hear the order. They argued the intent was to get the Army’s attention acknowledging their complaints.
“Have you reasonably considered any minor charges instead, such as disobeying an order, or disturbing the peace?” the defense asked the Captain.
“No,” the Captain admitted. He had already decided on the charge of mutiny. However, he conceded the demonstration had been peaceful and that no one had gotten hurt.
The trial lasted two days. The first three soldiers were found guilty. Sentencing would follow shortly. The charge carried a maximum sentence of life at hard labor.
When Lindy heard the guilty verdicts, desperation closed in.
Meanwhile, late at night, the mutineers were whispering about the successful escape in December of two compadres. Jailbreak speculations swirled through the stockade.
How could it be accomplished? became the topic of conversation when one of his only visitors, Sara, next came to see him. Quietly they began plotting a strategy. The main cellblock gave little hope of providing an opportunity for a flight to freedom. Maybe an escape route from Letterman Hospital, just outside the compound gates, offered a better option, they speculated.
The prisoners, many infected with hepatitis, spent treatment times of varying lengths at Letterman Hospital. Often they were relocated back to the compound before being fully recovered. As Lindy and Sara schemed, a former hepatitis patient was transferred back into the cellblock, left to recover in his bunk with no oversight or additional care. Lindy engaged him and after a short conversation it was agreed that contaminated blood could easily be transferred from that patient to Lindy with a small prick from anything sharp. Whether or not the blood sharing worked or if he succumbed from previous exposure to the many infected, a few days later, Lindy, his skin color sallow, and the whites of his eyes a distinct yellow, was admitted to Letterman Hospital.
Hi Ma …
guess you heard by now the first three mutineers got between 14-16 years sentences. It’s gonna be really hard if I get that much time. It looks like you might have to hold your extra room for me a very long while. Did you get Terry Hallinan’s letter? Please urge anyone concerned to write letters to Congress folk and anyone else you can think of that could bring compassion and thus pressure to bear.
Right now I’m in the hospital with hepatitis. Boy am I ever yellow and I feel really rotten. Letterman General Hospital is on the Presidio grounds. I’m in Ward G-1, a basement in the back part. On the wall there are stubs of bolts where they used to have chains connected, it might have been an insane ward, or for torture, I don’t know but it’s gross. My trial is supposed to be the second week of March. I can’t begin to tell you what I’ve been going through, fears, paranoia, hopes and prayers. My heart longs for a green hill and an oak tree. I feel terrible so gotta go. Write me soon.
Love you … Lindy
June knew about the sentencing, but when Newsweek magazine published the story, her anxiety intensified. Now her son and his cohorts were subjects of provocative national news. Lively debates ensued. Were they heroes or cowards? On top of that, her son was suffering a serious disease in a hospital that may or may not be giving these prisoners decent care. Did the Army really want to save him? June’s dreams were filled with haunting scenarios.
How deeply she regretted her advice to turn himself in, and counseling him against fleeing to Canada straight away. In retrospect, it well may have given him fifteen years of life as a free man, even though shouldering a fugitive status would forever preclude his return to the United States.
Writing letters to Senators hadn’t brought much response, so she expanded her plea. Crafting an open letter, she sent her son’s story to several women’s magazines and newspapers, hoping to raise awareness and garner support from other mothers.
Hers, dated February 13, 1969 began,
To the Mother of a Son,
I, along with many friends are mothers of sons. As mothers, we try to impart the notion that a man must have his own strengths and that when the time comes, his inner convictions regarding what is right, takes him over the invisible line into compassionate manhood.
She continued telling Lindy’s story to the readers and asked, wouldn’t they all agree man’s inhumanity to man is wrong? To hate and kill is wrong?
She outlined the heart-wrenching choices a mother could suggest to a son in this situation.
Should she advise him to run away to Canada and forever be a fugitive?
Maybe a mother should encourage her son to just follow orders, keep a low profile and hope for the best?
Or, should a mother say, “Get in there and kill those yellow bastards, kid. Forget all that crap that it’s only murder if you kill a fellow American, not those faceless men, women and children on the other side of the world.”
Or lastly, should she counsel him, regardless of the lies told him by the Army, to turn himself in and suffer the consequences?
She ended her story with this question.
So mothers, what would you encourage your son to do?
Heartbreaking--every one who considers sending our sons and daughters to war should read this and rethink what they are doing.
wow, what a great Mother! June was so special!