SUE’S SUNDAY
SOJOURN: Each week Sue will showcase a particular artist or band during her
entire two hour set. Each week, prior to
the set, there will be a blog post where she will write about her memories,
favorite stories or share other interesting tidbits about the artist. The idea here is not to tell the story of the
band or play two hours of their greatest hits.
The idea behind Sue’s Sunday
Sojourn will be to spend time with Sue, down in her music vault. As she puts together the set, she will
reminisce and share special memories. “I
remember when this came out,” or, “I recall hearing this for the first time and
I thought…” She might share little known
facts, favorite memories, fun stories or maybe even some personal
experiences.
The sets will have
plenty of the big hits but be ready for a few obscure tunes that may be her
personal favorites. She will probably
include a few rarities or possibly unreleased material, along with other assorted
curios. So join her every Sunday night
from 7-9 PM SLT as she lets you into her world.
Prologue: This will be my last regular Sue’s Sunday Sojourn. I wrote this one about the end of February
and I saved it because I knew it had to be the last one. When you read it, you will understand. I must give credit to my co-author, Phil
Ochs, as I have used lyrics from his songs extensively because they seemed to
describe what was happening to me.
Please read them as they add to the narrative. I will wind up with an Epilogue and share
with you some interesting events that surround this post. I will also wrap up the series and give you a
peak into the future.
Phil Ochs (Tapes from California)
"The voice is
spare ... guitar playing is rudimentary, and the melodies of his songs are
erratic mixtures of brilliance and mediocrity."
Robert Shelton, The New
York Times
Words like “mediocrity,” “rudimentary,” and “second rate,”
were often used by critics when discussing Phil Ochs, so why would I being
doing a Sojourn on a second rate, rudimentary, mediocre folk singer? For one thing, he was a big part of my musical
world growing up because my brother was so deeply into him. That is the most obvious reason but if I look
more closely beneath the surface, I find possibly the most important
reason. At least to me, Phil Ochs
embodied the most important facet of the 60’s, questioning authority.
My generation wasn’t going to kowtow (look it up) to my
parents’ generation just because they won World War II. We were going to think for ourselves, make
our own decisions and freely disagree where we wanted to. The songs of Phil Ochs were full of that
sentiment. Some would say that they
carried it in the most eloquent manner possible. While the critics of the establishment were
using words like “mediocre,” people like my brother were describing his lyrics
as “pure genius.”
“So do your duty,
boys, and join with pride.
Serve your country
in her suicide.
Find the flags so
you can wave goodbye
But just before the
end even treason might be worth a try.
This country is too
young to die.”
(from The War is
Over, 1968)
My brother was an avid antiwar protester and he was a
great fan of the acoustic renderings of Joan Baez, Tom Paxton and of course,
Phil Ochs. I was starting to lean more
to the hard rock of Jimi Hendrix, the Doors and the Stones but I was also a fan
of my brother’s music and I did believe in what it stood for. My brother and my father, a World War II
veteran, didn’t see eye to eye. As a
result of one major fight, where each said things they would not take back, it
was decided that my brother would go to live with Grandma in San
Francisco. The culture in the Bay Area
only served to further ignite the hippie war protester within him.
He would come for visits and we would spend a lot of time
together. There was a very special bond
between us. He would play his guitar
while I sat and listened and then he would play those familiar opening notes
that were so unique. We would begin to
sing together:
“Oh, I marched to
the battle of New Orleans
At the end of the
early British war.
The young land
started growing;
The young blood
started flowing
But I ain't
marching anymore.”
(from I Ain’t
Marching Anymore, 1965)
My parents hated us singing protest songs together but they
never forbade us from doing so. I
enjoyed the bonding time but I was worried about what the future held for him
and if he might be sent to die in Vietnam.
My brother turned 18 in 1969 and he would eventually be found “unfit for
military service” after his physical and would not be sent to Vietnam.
Relief! I did have a second older brother that might have been drafted
at the very end of the war but he got a student deferment. We were not as close as me and my oldest
brother, nor was there the shared musical connection, so he plays very little
part in my Sojourns. (This other brother
was the one I went on the camping trip with in my ELO Sojourn.)
When my brother moved away in 1966, we began writing to
each other. One day in 1967 instead of a
letter, I got a package from him in the mail.
My mother had placed it in my room and it was there when I got home from
school. I opened it and took out a reel
of tape. There was only one place to
play it in the house and that was on my brother’s tape machine that was still
in his room. That night, my father found
me listening to the tape in my brother’s room.
He chided me for not respecting my brother’s things. I pointed out that he sent it to me knowing
that this was the only way for me to easily listen to it. He begrudgingly saw my point and left me
alone.
My brother was never much for activities that required
sitting still like writing a letter, so the tapes started coming instead. I would still sometimes write back but I soon
found myself recording over the tapes he sent me and sending them back to him. In this way we kept up with each other’s
lives and I filled him in on what was going on with mom, dad and our two
brothers. After I got a tape, I would
bring the family up to date on my oldest brother, usually over dinner. It was typical for him to be high as he rambled
on the tape and sometimes he was even tripping on acid. He shared it all with me and I usually had to
give the family the censored version. It
made me proud inside that he trusted me with those secrets.
In 1968 I got a rather remarkable tape. It was not unusual for us to play parts of records
for each other on these recordings. My
brother was excited because Phil Ochs had a new album and guess what it was
called? Tape from California! No
shit! How appropriate! He played me part of the title cut for me.
“In the corner of
the night
He handed me his
water pipe.
His eyes were
searching deep inside my head.
Here's what he
said:
‘Sorry I can't stop
and talk now,
I'm in kind of a
hurry anyhow,
But I'll send you a tape from California.’”
(from Tape from
California, 1968)
Wow! It was that
afternoon that I felt that somehow it was me, my brother and Phil Ochs. Phil knew of our little tradition and was
somehow communicating to us.
I recall one time, and I never learned why, that he sent
me a recording on a SoundScriber record.
It was on a cobalt blue floppy record like the ones shown in the picture
below. I tried everything to get it to
play on my record player. My father, after
watching me struggle, brought home a SoundScriber dictation machine from his
office (they happened to have several) and I was finally able to hear my
brother.
The war in Vietnam raged on. Lyndon Johnson had escalated Vietnam from a
police action involving about 23,000 US troops when he took office, to a full
scale war involving over 500,000. He had
lied to us on many accounts as he sent more and more troops to Southeast Asia. Richard Nixon won the election in 1968 by
promising to end the war. Instead, he
had lied too, further escalating things not only in Vietnam, but also Laos and
Cambodia, countries we were not even at war with. We had been lied to by “Lyin’ Lyndon” (a
democrat) and “Tricky Dick” (a republican).
“One-legged
veterans will greet the dawn
And they're
whistling marches as they mow the lawn,
And the gargoyles
only sit and grieve.
The gypsy fortune
teller told me that we'd been
deceived.”
(from The War is
Over, 1968)
It was about 1971 or 1972 that I began wearing a POW
bracelet. The idea was that you would
wear the name of a POW or MIA soldier in Vietnam so that they were not
forgotten. I was against the war but not
against the soldiers fighting it. I
swore not remove it until he came home, which was what everyone who wore one
did. I felt our Government was
needlessly wasting their lives in a place where we didn’t belong. Then there were the horrors they were forced
to live through in the service of their country, my country. Years later, I’d still be wearing it when I
learned his story. The guy whose name I
wore was captured on the ground in Laos in 1968. We were supposedly not involved in Laos. Lyin’ Lyndon strikes again!
“It's written in
the ashes of the village towns we burn.
It's written in the
empty bed of the fathers unreturned
And the chocolate
in the children’s eyes will never understand,
When you're white
boots marching in a yellow land.”
(from White Boots
Marching in a Yellow Land, 1968)
Tricky Dick got elected to a second term in 1972 and soon
the war did begin to wind down. The
Paris Peace Accords were signed in 1973.
The United States would be withdrawing its troops from Vietnam and peace
had been negotiated. That was the year
that saw all of the American POWs returned home who were being held in North
and South Vietnam. Laos and Cambodia were
not part of the Paris Peace Accords so the prisoners there were not
addressed. (They remain unaddressed to
this day.) The guy on my wrist was taken
in Laos and did not come home. However,
it seemed that the war in Vietnam was over.
“I believe the war
is over,
It's over, it's
over.”
(from The War is
Over, 1968)
Though most of the troops came home, we still had troops
there in a non-combat role. This was all
in accord with the treaty. Eventually,
after the majority of our troops were withdrawn, North Vietnam broke the treaty
and attacked South Vietnam. Tricky Dick
had promised the South that if North Vietnam ever broke the treaty, he would
see to it they were supported with at least air strikes by the United States. This support would not come because Tricky
Dick was caught being tricky. The Watergate
scandal was breaking and in the end, Dick Nixon had more to worry about than
Vietnam. The scandal would cause him the
Presidency and he would resign 9 August 1974.
Even though we only had minimal troops involved, the Vietnam War
continued.
“I still can see
him smiling there and waving at the crowd,
As he drove through
the music of the band,
And never even
knowing no more time would be
allowed,
Not for the president and not for the
man.”
(from That Was the
President, 1965)
By this time, my brother was living on his own and had
moved out of Grandma’s. The tapes were
more sporadic in their arrival and when I did get to listen to him, I could
tell he was tripping on acid more and more.
Often he wouldn’t make sense and I hid this from our parents.
“The flower-power
fuller brush man
Is farming out his
friends.
I stabbed him with
my stem
And then I tapped
his toes with my rose.
He crawled around
inside himself;
Now he's crawling
after me,
Dropping acid in my
tea.”
(from Tape from
California, 1968)
1975-1976: And It Seems That There Are no More Songs
South Vietnam was not ready to defend itself from the
North and no help would be coming from the United States. Throughout April 1975, the North began taking
over the South and was closing in on the ultimate prize, the city of
Saigon. It was on 30 April 1975 that
American troops would engage the North Vietnamese for the last time as they
fought alongside South Vietnamese soldiers, trying to hold back the advancing
forces to buy time for the evacuation.
On that day the last Americans would lose their lives and earn a place
on the Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington DC.
We all sat glued to the TV as the news unfolded.
Armed Forces Radio gave the signal for the evacuation to
begin by reporting, “The temperature in Saigon is 105 degrees and rising.” This was followed by the playing of Bing
Crosby’s White Christmas, the
predetermined signal to begin the evacuation and get to one of the rendezvous
points. (Some even referred to this
signal as “Christmas in April.”) People
began swarming to the US Embassy and other predetermined pickup points. The problem was that everyone wanted out of
South Vietnam including the resident Vietnamese. They all feared what atrocities the North
would bring.
The helicopters started ferrying people out from the
Embassy and other key locations to the American warships off shore in the South
China Sea. Soon, the carriers and other
ships had no more room on their decks and we watched the news footage as they
pushed helicopters off the edge to make room for more, one after the
other. Some pilots were ordered to drop
off their refugees and then to ditch in the ocean where boats were ready to
rescue them from the water. It was all
too surreal. (See video below.)
Funny, I thought that I would be over-joyed the day the
war ended. Now, watching these images, I
recall crying tears of sorrow. My country
had lost the war. We were leaving people
behind who were depending on us to protect them. I thought of the roughly 60,000 Americans
that had given their lives and for what?
Did it make a difference? Did
they die for nothing? I thought about the
guy on my wrist.
“The comic and the
beauty queen are dancing on the stage.
Raw recruits are
lining up like coffins in a cage.
We're fighting in a war we lost before the war
began.
We're the white
boots marching in a yellow land.”
(from White Boots Marching
in a Yellow Land, 1968)
By the time the choppers were being tossed overboard in
1975, Phil Ochs was drinking heavily. He
would rant on about how the FBI had a file on him or about some other paranoid
delusion. For a while, he even took on
the persona of John Butler Train, who had supposedly murdered Ochs and took his
place. He soon became destitute and
homeless. In January 1976, he was taken
in by his sister, Sonny. She made sure
that he got psychiatric help.
“Hello, hello,
hello, is anybody home?
I've only called to
say I'm sorry.
The drums are in
the dawn,
And all the voice
was gone,
And it seems that there are no more songs.”
(from No More Songs,
1970)
My brother disappeared and fell off of the face of the
Earth in late 1975. Before this, his
tapes had taken on a darker, more hopeless demeanor. He was usually tripping on acid and I could
no longer make out very much that was intelligible. I was scared but I dared not say anything to
my parents. Now I wasn’t so sure. Had I done the right thing being quiet about
his drug use all of this time? The
entire family worried, not knowing if he was alive or dead.
In early 1976 we got word that he was in police custody
in Marin County, California. As the days
slowly marched on, it was deemed that he was not fit to stand trial. My father flew out to California to be with
his son. In April of 1976, my brother
was committed to the State Hospital at Napa, California and my father was
appointed Conservator of his Person by the Court. I began hearing a term in relation to my
brother’s case, “LSD Induced Psychosis.”
“He must have lost his mind.
He should be put away, right away.”
(from Tape from
California, 1968)
On 9 April 1976, Sonny came home to find her brother,
Phil, hanging by the neck. In a little
under a year, the Vietnam War had ended, my brother was committed to a mental
institution and Phil Ochs was dead by his own hand at age 35. Many have put forth that the song, No More Songs, was really a suicide
note. If so, he had been planning it for
five years. (No More Songs is the source for a couple of the quotes in this
section.) The song is from his 1970
album, Greatest Hits. The title was a joke and the album contained
all new tracks. The slogan on the back
jestingly said, “"Fifty Phil Ochs fans can't be wrong!” I have often wondered if without a war in
Vietnam, life may have lost meaning for Phil.
It seems that I always associated him with it but now he was gone, along
with the war.
“Once I knew a saint who sang upon a
stage.
He told me about
the world, his lover,
A ghost with no
name
Stands ragged in
the rain,
And it seems that there are no more songs.”
(from No More Songs,
1970)
LSD Induced Psychosis
Let me start by saying there is a lot of conflicting
information today on this condition and in the mid 70’s things were even more
befuddled. Some will tell you that it is
only of limited duration yet others say that it can be permanent, but only if
there are predisposing conditions, such as Schizophrenia. Maybe he had the predisposing condition, or
maybe not, but my brother would never come back from his mental Illness. The doctors back then blamed it on his use of
LSD and no one has ever put forth any different explanations.
“He wants to save
his soul,
Rock and roll.
One of us must
understand
It's not the drug that makes the man.”
(from Tape from
California, 1968)
When I would see him, there was recognition in his eyes
and he’d lovingly hug me tight. We
remained close throughout his confinement.
At times he was the brother I knew but what was lost was the brother
that I could have a conversation with.
He spoke in nonsensical quips.
Eventually, he would be able to live in a halfway house but he was never
again free and on his own.
In 1979, I visited him without my father present on the
trip. My brother took me to a nearby
park and produced a joint from his pocket.
We shared it there that sunny afternoon and it was the only time we ever
got high together. He still didn’t make
much sense but we felt the closest we had in ten years. I still associate the smell of pot with my
brother. Together, we watched the world
go by in a stoned haze.
“Then a poster of a
movie star walked by;
He must have been
high.”
(from Tape from
California, 1968)
More Endings
In 1991, our father died.
After the funeral, I boarded a plane for California. I needed to tell my brother face to
face. I needed to hold him. When I got there and shared the news, we held
each other and wept together for a long time.
I returned home after a couple of days only to learn that
I needed to return to California. There
was to be a court hearing to decide my brother’s future and appoint a new
conservator. My mother would be coming
with me and it was obvious that she would be appointed. I had no clue what the court needed with me.
“Seems like only yesterday I climbed aboard the plane,
Raping distance in
the sky, while diving in champagne.”
(from One Way
Ticket Home, 1970)
The day of the hearing arrived and the judge started by
saying that in the case where a conservator who is a family member dies, the
court is wont to take into consideration their wishes in looking to appoint a
successor. It seems my father had
written a letter a number of years ago addressing what his wishes were if he
were to pass. As the letter was read, I
began to tear up. My father was talking
to us from beyond the grave and he was describing the close and beautiful
relationship I had with my brother. It
had never occurred to me that through the years he had seen how close we were
and silently celebrated it. You could
hear his relief that his son would always have someone who loved him and would
put him ahead of themselves.
The judge asked me if I knew what being a conservator
entailed and would I be willing to take the position for my brother. Through my sobs, I managed to say, “yes.” Everyone in the room was happy except for one
person, my mother. She was absolutely
incensed and she caused a scene in the courtroom. “How dare you not appoint me? After all, I’m his mother!” The judge told her to sit down and be
quiet. Mom countered by saying that she
would not and that the judge had no right to appoint me over her. It was inevitable and I soon saw my mother
physically removed from the courtroom.
“Look outside the
window, there's a woman being grabbed.”
(from Outside a
Small Circle of Friends, 1967)
My mom always needs to be the center of attention. Not only did she fail to even make it to being
a topic of discussion in court, I think she felt betrayed by her husband, my
father. I don’t think he ever discussed
it with her and I think she felt betrayed that he would choose me over
her. Maybe there was some jealousy over
what I had with my brother that she did not.
Regardless, it started a “below the surface” animosity towards me, which
still exists.
I took over my brother’s care and flew out to California
four times a year to spend time with him, meet with his doctors and lawyers and
see to his care. Hand in hand with his
chronic psychosis came a three pack a day cigarette habit. Over the years, this eventually led to
emphysema. In the fall of 1995 he became
bedridden and on what would be my last visit out to see him I signed a DNR (Do Not
Resuscitate) order. He was dying.
“The cigarette of doubt,
The candle is blown
out.”
(from Pleasures of
the Harbor, 1967)
About a week before Christmas, I got a call from the
facility. At first I feared the worst
but the voice on the other end told me that my brother wished to speak to me. This was really odd. My brother had never called me. In his state it was always me that initiated
the calls. I had a long talk with him
and he was rather lucid. It was almost
like talking to him back in the early 70’s, before the psychosis fully took its
hold. His breathing was labored and you
could hear that he was fighting to talk.
As we got towards the end of the conversation, he apologized for all he
had put me through. He told me he loved
me. He ended the conversation with a
statement, which at the time I found to be rather cryptic. “We thought we could change the world.” Those would be the last words he would ever
speak to me.
When I hung up the phone, I was certain that we would
speak again. I expected he had a couple
of months to live. I got a call the
following morning informing me that my brother had passed during the
night. I’m convinced that when he
reached out to call me the day before, it was because he knew on some level
that his end was near and he just needed to say good bye to me. He called no one else in the family. I recall sitting there and thinking of his
last words to me as I wept. I recalled
singing protest songs with him way back when, like this one…
“It's always the
old to lead us to the war.
It's always the
young to fall.
Now look at all
we've won with the saber and the gun;
Tell me is it worth it all.”
(from I Ain’t
Marching Anymore, 1965)
Suddenly, my brother’s last words to me came into
focus. Our generation believed we could
change the world but I think he was also implying the big question. Did we really change anything in the end or
were we just like any other generation?
Our parents’ generation was known as the Greatest Generation after
winning World War II. We wanted to show
them that we were even greater and we were committed to a world of love and
peace. Just because they had used a
nuclear weapon to end a war, did not make them great.
“For I flew the
final mission in the Japanese sky,
Set off the mighty
mushroom roar.
When I saw the
cities burning I knew that I was learning
That I ain't
marching anymore.”
(from I Ain’t
Marching Anymore, 1965)
My mother finally had her day. She took over the funeral and she was the
center of attention. She wore a
constant, “Woe is me, I lost my son,” attitude to attract attention and
sympathy from others. It was a lavish
affair, bordering on the garish and always centering on her. After the graveside ceremony, I stood over
the coffin for a bit, sort of a final farewell.
I thought of his life and how he had turned to drugs, always looking for
a greater high. This need was so great
that he took more and more until he just didn’t come back. Maybe he finally had found that permanent
high in his psychosis, a psychosis that got him committed to the State Hospital
at 25 years of age, never to be free again.
I wept as I placed a carnation on his casket, quietly singing…
“And now it can be told;
I'm a quarter of a century old,
But I'm half a century high.”
(from Half a
Century High, 1968)
At the repast afterwards, my mother once again made
herself the center of attention. She
started saying how she was so distraught that her son had died such a horrible
death. She described him struggling to
breathe and no one lifting a finger to help him. And why?
Because someone thought it was simpler to sign a paper denying him care. My two surviving brothers (one older and one
younger) intervened and tried to quiet her down. Then she dropped the bomb and chastised me
publicly. “You killed your brother. He’d be alive today if you hadn’t have signed
that paper. I hope you go to your grave
with that thought and the thought of him struggling to breathe and no one
helping him!” I broke into tears and ran
from the gathering, not to return.
“Look outside the
window…
They've dragged her
to the bushes and now she's being stabbed.
Maybe we should
call the cops and try to stop the pain
But Monopoly is so
much fun, I'd hate to blow the game,
And I'm sure it
wouldn't interest anybody
Outside of a small
circle of friends.”
(from Outside a
Small Circle of Friends, 1967)
We didn’t talk for over two years.
I declare the war is over; it’s over.
The Paris Peace Accords were signed on 27 January
1973. Many will tell you that the
Vietnam War ended 18 days later, on Valentine’s Day, when the American
Prisoners being held in Vietnam came home.
Others would say that the war didn’t end until 30 April 1975, when
Saigon finally fell to the North Vietnamese.
It was on that date that a Marine detachment was
defending the embassy while the evacuation by the helicopters went on. The US Ambassador insisted on being the last
one out and when he was aboard a helicopter and had taken off in the predawn
darkness, the signal was radioed. “The tiger is out.” That was supposed to mean that the Ambassador
was safe and away. In the confusion,
most people took it to mean that all Americans had been evacuated and the
airlift had ended. There would be no
more helicopters out of Vietnam. That
final Marine detachment retreated to the roof of the embassy as the sun came up
and realized that they had been left behind.
One has been quoted as saying, “It looks like this is our Alamo.”
“Trust your leaders where mistakes are
almost never made
And they're afraid
that I'm afraid.
I'm afraid the war is over.”
(from The War is
Over, 1968)
Luckily, someone had spotted them and got word out to the
ships off shore. There were Marines on
the embassy roof. A CH-47 Chinook (helicopter
with two rotors overhead) was sent to pick up the Marines. They were rescued in the nick of time and wisked away. With the rescued marines, they flew over the beach and over
the South China Sea to the ships and safety, the gunners removed their readied fingers from the
triggers of the .50 caliber machine guns.
The war was officially over.
But was it over?
Many prisoners didn’t come home on Valentine’s Day back
in 1973. It needs to be remembered that
the Paris Peace Accords only negotiated the release of prisoners held in
Vietnam and did not address those that might have been held in Cambodia and
Laos. There were also still many MIA’s
that had not been accounted for. For
countless families, the Vietnam War continued everyday as they wondered if
loved ones were still alive.
While I can’t imagine what those families went through,
the war continued daily for me too. I
still wore a bracelet bearing the name and information on a US soldier captured
back in 1968. If he was still alive, he
was held in Laos, which was not part of the Paris Treaty. As time marched on, others who still had POW bracelets
bearing names that never came home, took them off assuming that they must be
dead at that point. I was one of the
rare few who continued to wear it because I had sworn not to take it off until
he came home. As the 20th
century gave way to the 21st, I came to the realization that I would
someday be buried wearing it. I was OK
with that.
It was about two years ago that I got an email from
someone I knew. They knew the name I
wore on my wrist and their email contained links to several news items they
thought I’d love to see. A unmarked grave
had been found in the country of Laos and American investigators had unearthed
the skeleton of a Vietnam era US serviceman.
His dog tags, still around his neck, preliminarily identified him as my
guy. DNA comparison with a surviving
sibling confirmed it. Clicking on other
links, I got to see his flag-draped casket unloaded with full military honors
at Travis AFB in California. He was
home, the first time in over 45 years. Further
clicks of the mouse showed me snippets of his funeral in his hometown and
interviews with family. I sat at there
at the computer and sobbed. I took the
POW bracelet from my wrist and tossed it on the desk in front of me, never to
wear it again. My guy had come home.
“Call it, ‘Peace,’
or call it, ‘Treason;’
Call it, ‘Love,’ or
call it, ‘Reason,’
But I ain't
marching anymore.
No, I ain't
marching anymore.”
(from I Ain’t
Marching Anymore, 1965)
That gave me a measure of closure but I was still
unsettled. I had worn that bracelet for
all but 2-3 years of his absence. In
many ways, it was a part of me and I had worn it most of my life. I just couldn’t throw it away. It sat as a silent sentinel on my desk day
after day, reminding me of the past. I had
considered a couple of times mailing it to his family but I wasn’t sure that it
wouldn’t stir up negative emotions that should best be left alone. I eventually decided that one day I would
visit the Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington DC, find his name, visit for a
while, and leave the bracelet behind.
I finally got my chance this past weekend. I attended my very first Rolling Thunder in
Washington DC and I went down with a group I have been riding with for a couple
of years now and there were several Vietnam Vets among us. Each year over Memorial Day weekend, several
hundred thousand motorcycles descend on Washington as a protest for the still
unaccounted for military personnel left behind in Vietnam.
Saturday evening, our group visited Thunder Alley, an
area set up for motorcyclists to gather the day before and the Vietnam Wall was
a short walk away. Everyone I was with
knew I had the bracelet with me and what I intended to do. I knew it was time and took my leave of them
but before I walked away, one spoke up.
“Would you like a little company?”
I’m a very private person and I had intended to do this alone, but for
some reason, almost like someone momentarily took over control of my body, I
said, “yes.” Two of them silently
accompanied me on my mission.
 |
| The Vietnam Memorial, "The Wall," Washington DC |
We walked in silence as I opened my phone. Now there is even an app to help you find
names on the Wall. When we got to the
section, they stood back silently. They
seemed to know not to help me and they were right. That moment of discovery, when I finally laid
eyes on his name carved into the granite, was like that moment when you
suddenly recognize a friend in a big crowd.
My companions kept their distance, close enough so I knew they were
there supporting me, but far enough away to respect my privacy. Both were Vietnam vets and both had seen
combat in Vietnam. One had been awarded
the Purple Heart. In so many ways it was
appropriate that they were there, bearing witness to what I did.
I placed my hand on my guy’s name on the Wall, the
closest I could ever come to hugging him.
I cried as I had a short conversation with him. After a couple of minutes, I kissed the
granite on his name and left my bracelet on the concrete below. The Vietnam War had finally ended for me this
past Saturday, on 27 May 2017.
“I declare the war is over… It’s over…
It’s over!”
(from The War is
Over, 1968)
Fun Fact…
Long after Phil Ochs’ death, it came to light that J.
Edgar Hoover and the FBI really did have a file on him. It is over 500 pages. Maybe he wasn’t so paranoid. Who knew?
DJ Sue’s Vault…
Above is my copy of Phil Ochs’ first album, All the News That’s Fit to Sing. The album was released in 1964. Ochs coined the term, “singing journalist,”
and used it to describe himself and he claimed that he wrote his songs based on
what he read in Newsweek. This title is an obvious twist of the 1896
slogan used by the New York Times,
“all the news that’s fit to print.” This
slogan was the brain child of the paper’s owner Adolph Simon Ochs, no
relationship to Phil, just an incredible coincidence or possibly a joke on
Phil’s part. The slogan was used by the Times for decades.
Below are the only two tapes that I still have of those
my brother sent to me from California between 1967 and 1975. I have not listened to them in decades since
I’ve not had access to a reel to reel tape player.
Conclusion…
Last summer (2016), the Democratic National Convention
was held in Philadelphia, PA. Meanwhile,
across the river in my home state of New Jersey, in the city of Camden, Lady
Gaga took the stage at what promised to be a highly politically charged
concert. There, before the crowd, she
asked a simple question. “Anybody know
who Phil Ochs is?” She then went into a
spirited and moving rendition of the War
is Over. She made it her own but her
rendition was true to the spirit of the original in every regard.
Maybe she is on to something and this world could use
Phil Ochs today. In this era of “fake
news,” maybe we need the singing journalist to give us the straight story. My brother once described Ochs as a “modern
day prophet, acting as a conscious for the people and guiding them on moral
questions.”
If you listen to Phil’s early work, you can’t help but
notice a certain naïveté to his demeanor, like he looks at the world through
the innocent eyes of a child. Even in
his later works, when he seems a bit more jaded, he still retains that air of
childlike reality, like if he just declares that the war is over, it would be
true. Phil Ochs and his wonderment of a
child, which I think was shared by much of my generation, thought he could change
the world. We all did.
Join me this Sunday, 7-9 PM at AWT, as we remember Phil
Ochs, his music, our innocence and our need to challenge authority. Together, we can declare the war is
over. Let us remember Phil Ochs in our
hearts, always.
Now I think it is fitting to end this post as my brother
and I would end so many of our tapes. “It
looks like the tape is running low so I better sign off. I love you and hope to talk to you soon.”
“Does anybody know
my name, or recognize my face?
I must have come
from somewhere, but I can't recall the place.
They dropped me at
the matinee, they left without a trace.
Ticket home, I want
a ticket home.”
(from One Way
Ticket Home, 1970)
Epilogue: I didn’t prepare all of the sojourns in the order I presented
them. I wrote this one at the end of
February and it seemed to write itself.
I just sat at the keyboard like I was possessed and had no control over
what was coming out. Looking back now, I
think I had a need to face certain ghosts from my past and this was a great
outlet. Something deep down inside of me
made me share all of this. Once this one
was written, the Sojourns had to become more personal, sharing even more with
you so I could lead up to this one.
Just writing this
was cathartic and I needed to face these ghosts, especially concerning my older
brother, his demons and finally his death.
I never fully grieved him and I think you can see why. In writing this, I went through the process. I felt guilty. What if I had told someone about his drug use
and intervened? Would I have been able
to have prevented this? Instead, I was
silent, not wanting to break the trust.
I didn’t realize how much weight I carried with me because of this
guilt.
As I wrote this, I
became angry at him! How dare he saddle
a child/teenager with these secrets, secrets that have caused me so much
guilt? HOW DARE HE? Gradually, as I finished this post, reread
it, edited it, read it again. I finally
let it go and I forgave him. In the end,
if I had said something, it probably wouldn’t have saved or changed him. It just would have distanced me from him and I
would not be there for him in the end.
Looking back, I have no regrets anymore.
I had planned to
finish up the Sojourns the week before leaving for Rolling Thunder. Losing the internet that one time forced me
to push everything back a week.
Originally, this post was written with an ending that shared the plan to
leave the bracelet. That glitch made it
possible for me to rewrite the ending to include this past weekend. Everything from the paragraph starting, “That
gave me a measure of closure but I was still unsettled,” to the fun fact was written this morning in reflection of the
last few days. Maybe the unseen forces
of the universe caused that internet glitch because I feel that somehow
everything happened the way it was supposed to.
Maybe my brother, the guy on my wrist, Phil or maybe all three, had a
hand in this. Maybe Hamlet was right
when he said, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are
dreamt of in your philosophy.”
I want to thank you
all for sharing this with me. You have
no idea how important you were in this process.
Like the two vets with me at the Wall this weekend, you have all bore
witness to my facing the ghosts and lent an air of accountability to the
process. I needed you, the reader, in
order to make the healing complete. I
still have many more demons that I may have to face one day but thanks to you,
I am free of a couple. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
This is the last
regular weekly Sojourn. There will be
others but they will be sporadic and often far apart. I have one planned for the Fourth of July, or
there about, and it will probably not be a full set, just one album. Look for these in the future. In the past I have had things like “Two fer
Tuesday,” or “Vinyl Siding.” I’m sure
I’ll come up with some more. I’m not
going anyplace and plan to share music with all of you for a long time.
My set this Sunday
will not only be dedicated to Phil Ochs, but to my brother and the guy on my
wrist too. Join me at AWT (7-9 pm slt)
this Sunday as I remember them fondly.
 |
| My Rolling Thunder patch, earned this past weekend. A penny is in the picture for size reference. |
Quotes were taken from the following songs (albums in bold):
I Ain’t Marching
Anymore (1965)
I Ain’t Marching
Anymore
That Was the
President
Pleasures of the
Harbor (1967)
Outside a Small
Circle of Friends
Pleasures of the
Harbor
Tape From
California (1968)
The War is Over
Tape from
California
White Boots
Marching in a Yellow Land
Half a Century High
Greatest Hits
(1970)
No More Songs
One Way Ticket Home
