CHAPTER 7 Dear Doug … Boy I’m just having the best old time at the military home for the subversive, in the Presidio of San Francisco by the sea. It’s been a depressing last few days. The pre-trial Article 32 Investigation to see if we’re gonna be tried for mutiny went on all week. Bro, it’s such a kangaroo court. The judge was badly prejudiced against us, and it’s evident to all the news media and spectators that he came there with his mind already made up. I don’t mean to be stupid, or un-accepting, but all I ever learned from indoctrination efforts (school, Pop, etc.) is that down trodden good guys lose, a lot. Sadly, our worst fear has come to pass, They are charging all of us with mutiny. The trial is going to happen starting in February, which is bad news piled on bad news. I had my desertion trial last week, was found guilty of being a peacenik, and got two years in Leavenworth. After the court martial board read the charges against me, they were my judges too. If the one Colonel, five Lieutenant Colonels and two Majors had their way they would have shot me on the spot. My attorney, Terry Hallinan says he’ll file an appeal for a reduced sentence, but right now I’m in the depths of despair. Thanksgiving is coming up and it’s a challenge for me to come up with any gratefuls. Tell Pop not to write me anymore. I’m down enough as it is and when I got his only letter it was like death on paper. I never know if my letters get out cause ya know they tamper with the mail. Let me know that you got this one by writing me back saying the word ‘Ragamuffin’. I sure wish you could come see me cause I think you’re one of the hippest people your age I know, or for any age. Besides the Chaplain and the attorney, only one person visits me, a girl with the Resistance League, named Sara and I’ve fallen in love with her, even tho she’s the girlfriend of a mutineer buddy. She’s long and lanky, (like me), blond and beautiful. She loves that I know all the lyrics to every song Bob Dylan song ever wrote. Her mission is social justice and is eager to help all of us. If anybody asks what I want for Christmas, it’s books. Please let Carol and Ma know they can send me ‘The Way of Tao’ or ‘The Cloud of Unknowing or ‘Daybreak,’ by Joan Baez, and would especially like a book of Bob Dylan’s poems. Love you brother … Linny Ragamuffin Lindy and his family were confused by his father’s virulent opposition to his questioning the Army’s authority. Growing up, conversation around the dinner table had encouraged discussions about dissent and following one’s own truth. Question everything were bywords Gene Blake fostered. Social justice, a theme that merited much debate, was a frequent topic. But had these been empty words? It seemed so. Question everything except Gene’s opinions and orders was more like it. Because Gene had served in the Army, where commands were never questioned, always blindly obeyed, he expected the same from his family. His own childhood had been charmed. Never having been a victim of social injustice himself, never having walked in the shoes of the mistreated, limited his actions. He pompously pontificated about injustices read and heard about, but never personally experienced. Actions didn’t follow his perceived outrage when it came to righting or supporting injustices for others. He might have been outraged, but his words were only so much bluster. Gene Blake, movie star handsome, charming in many ways, often displayed a good heart. Respected by friends and coworkers, why, in this instance, couldn’t he just give Lindy the benefit of the doubt and support him regarding the tragic situation he found himself in? Maybe the embarrassment he felt for siring a son he perceived to be a coward, a traitor even, led him to rationalize the abandonment of him in favor of looking tough in front of his buddies. Or maybe it made him feel inferior because Lindy walked his talk and favored his mother’s style of standing up and being counted when morally challenged. June, Lindy’s mother and biggest advocate, knew more than a little about unfairness and discrimination. The eldest of two children, she had suffered a small physical defect that even after being repaired, haunted her forever. Born with the cord on the right side of her neck one inch shorter than the other, tipping her head noticeably in that direction, labeled her handicapped. Although this oddity caused no pain and never stopped her from performing any duty, she stood apart. Teased and stared at wherever she went, it led her heart and devotion to swing to the side of the compromised. Because of her perceived disability, the Department of Education in Chicago would not allow her to attend public school. Until the age of 10, when deemed old enough to undergo corrective surgery, she was made to attend a special institution for children with disabilities. By that age, the dye was cast. The less-than-perfect underdogs, misfits and those made to suffer injustices guided her walk through life. So, between their father’s lectures, along with his mother’s actions, the message driven home to the Blake family was one of compassion and the right to be treated fairly. Maybe, given time, his father would come around. That was the hope Lindy clung to as he sat in prison, following his conscience during those darkest of days. Hi Ma … It’s one day after Christmas and I am very sick. Someone’s grandmother sent cookies and as I took a small a bite I realized they were made with nuts. Too late. It wrecked me. That’s the second time since I’ve been here that just barely tasting a nut has affected me. I should have known better. You were always so careful about asking about ingredients when Doug and I were kids. You wrote that Doug accidently ate a nut too since you moved to Hawaii and how he had to go to the hospital when his throat closed. It’s a terrifying experience. Oh Ma … I’m trying so hard to find peace in this insane asylum. I’ve been studying Taoism and chanting, and trying to turn the other cheek when I can, but sometimes rage takes over. Like the other day when a Colonel came into the stockade and I tried to tell him of the terrible conditions, and when he just mutely stared at me, I lost it and went on to tell him the worst condition was his attitude, his apathy and his bureaucratic stupidity. How dumb was that? So he had me thrown in ‘the box’ for 3 days and you know what I thought about? I thought about when we were little kids and how much I loved it when you read The Wind in the Willows to us. Laying there on the cold cement, I made believe that my head was in your warm lap and that I could hear your soft voice lulling me to sleep reciting my favorite passage. All along the backwater, Through the rushes tall, Ducks are a-dabbling, Up tails all. Ducks’ tails, drakes tails, Yellow feet a-quiver, Yellow bills all out of sight Busy in the river! Everyone for what he likes We like to be Heads down tails up Dabbling free Ya know Ma … how much I need to be around the water … like this poem. I know I could dig the island life. But first, I need to be free. If I get life in prison I’m so scared I’ll never see you again. You’re so far away. I miss you and love you so much. Your ragamuffin …
1 Comment
No posts
So scary, so sad. Truly heartbreaking!