40

For all the attention the hippies got on the news and television programs, I’d only seen a handful of them in real life. The fact was, they mostly kept to the big cities and university campuses. They weren’t too interested in our small town, not really.

The few times they had made their way to our neck of the woods, they were met with suspicion and sideways glances. Most of the adults in town believed the hippies had come to indoctrinate the youth of Fort Colson to put flowers in their hair and dance, stoned and scantily clad, to psychedelic music that was sure to melt our brains and common sense completely away.

The fact was, when they did come to stay at the campground or to take a swim in Old Chip, they mostly kept to themselves. I thought that was due to the tepid welcome they received. Mom, though, was of the opinion that it was so they could engage in their “drugging” without anybody getting in their way.

In the weeks after Mike left, most every news report had some kind of story about the hippies. In fourteen days I’d seen more of them on the TV screen than I had in the first seven years of the decade. They marched in Washington DC more than once, in New York City, in San Francisco. They even protested in Wisconsin. They held signs touting “Free Love” and “Peace.” They burned their draft cards and pushed back against police.

The clips of them on the news were soon followed by a report on Vietnam, including how many American boys had been killed that day. The contrast was stark, jarring. I couldn’t tell which riled Mom more, the daily death count or the hippies.

Most nights, they showed film footage from the war. Mom would lean forward, closer to the screen. She never said so, but I knew she was hoping to catch a glimpse of Mike. It was a long shot, her seeing him. But I was quite certain there were mothers all across the country doing the very same thing.

All I could think of, though, was how it might be for Larry. How he felt about the daily reported death count now that his father was among the numbered. And what he thought of the protests. I hoped it didn’t make him wonder if his father’s death had been nothing but a waste.

I could think of nothing worse.

Joel looked like an oversized kid, sitting Indian style on the floor in front of the television, watching the Charlie Brown Halloween special. His loud laughter had drawn me into the room to see him there.

Stepping around the end table, I lowered down to sit beside him even if the floor was hard and cold.

“Poor Charlie Brown,” he said, shaking his head. “All he got for trick-or-treat was a lousy old rock.”

He pushed up his glasses, never taking his eyes off the screen.

In four years he’d have to register for the draft. The boy who still laughed at Charlie Brown and shook his head at the injustice of Lucy bullying him. A child who would try to talk Mom into letting him trick-or-treat just one more year. He wanted to dress up as John Lennon since he already had the right kind of glasses.

I wasn’t the kind of person to take the side of the hippies. There was no war protest in my veins. But I did hope, as they did, that soon we’d have peace in Vietnam, that all our boys would be able to come back home.

And that no more of them would have to go.

I rested my head on Joel’s shoulder.

I couldn’t bear the possibility of him having to go to war.

Dear Mom, Annie, and Joel,

Well, I made it all right. It sure was a long flight over. I thought we’d circled the earth at least three times. When I asked the stewardess, she just laughed and told me I was silly. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wasn’t joking.

I never did find out the real answer.

It sure is hot here and humid. It’s like walking through a steam cloud all the time. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to get comfortable. From what I understand, winter starts soon and everything will dry out and cool off. Although the guy who told me that is from Florida, so I’m not sure he understands what cool really means to a Michigan boy.

It didn’t take long for me to be put right in the middle of the action. They’ve got me on what we call a “dust-off.” That’s just a Huey helicopter that goes into the middle of the fighting to pick up wounded guys to take back to base where the hospital is.

The night before I went on my first medevac mission (like an ambulance in the sky) I was so scared I hardly slept at all. Then, before I hopped on the dust-off, I couldn’t keep my breakfast down. Talk about embarrassing!

Our first call was to go get a kid who cut his leg with a machete. It wasn’t all that bad, really. I just applied pressure to the wound for the whole chopper ride. He’ll be fine after his stitches heal and he gets all his shots.

He was pretty upset when he found out that wasn’t his ticket back home. I think I would have been too.

I already miss you all. Write to me as much as you can. And tell Oma that she can start baking whenever she’s so inclined. I’ve already promised my buddies that I’d share with them, but only if they promise to send her thank-you notes.

Love,
Mike

Dear Mike,

While you’ve been basking in the heat we’ve been freezing our noses off. I fully expect it to snow any day now.

Not too much going on here. Just the normal, everyday, quiet life of our sleepy town. You might want to know, though, that Fort Colson High beat Borculo High at our homecoming game. I, of course, know nothing of football, but I was informed that it was “a heck of a game” by Bernie. I’ll have to take his word for it.

Don’t worry, cookies should be coming soon. Oma and I baked the day after you left. She shipped them in old coffee cans. You’ve got two on their way. We made the kind with the peanuts on top and some molasses cookies (I used Grandma Jacobson’s recipe). We hope you like them!

Let me know if you have any special requests. Oma and I are happy to keep sending them. She’s so worried that you’re not going to get enough to eat over there. So, cookies to the rescue!

Praying for you all the time.

Love,
Annie