Page 4 of 8The war in Vietnam had cast its hoary presence, as it twisted and contorted each and every word of my storyline. Vietnam, after all, was no more than half a world away.
Recall that Vietnam had been a war without enduring credibility. But by chance of birth, I stood in the hard fire of an American truth, as the war daily reminded me that my fate had been subject to the whimsical perverse breathing of an overzealous Draft Board. Like an Aztec captive, I was forced to kneel before the deified ferocity of an angry war machine. War was peace, in the inverted universe of the Sixties. Coercion was freedom.
Little reason was left for me - and for everyone I knew - not to recklessly risk crashing the crossroads where the ‘warning light’ had flashed. On its other side, I’d find - even seize - an alternative meaning to the one my conventional upbringing had laid at my feet.