Revised:"What War Is and Does to People:'The Girl I met on Christmas Day’ Dan Nang 1968."

Saturday, December 26, 2009
What War Is and Does to People:'The Girl I met on Christmas Day’ Dan Nang 1968.
This was originally a letter sent to my
son, Kyle, and then, my daughter, Nora.
I've added to it since, and will more as it
will be part of a novel.

I was trying to explain why I was not an ordinary
father with a 9-5 job, career etc...much of the terror,
trauma, and grief was and had to be suppressed at the
time...because I had a bigger concern...just surviving
that night. I never heard from them...

It's only later when we return that it comes over us.
For me, it meant drinking as much as I could, and any
drugs I could take during my first 2 1/2 years back to
shut out the thought,images, pain and hurt.

Each Christmas is harder to survive in a way because
I landed in Da Nang, VietNam on Christmas Day 1968
at about 2-3 am...and if you read far enough below
you will read of 'The Girl I met on Christmas Day’
Dan Nang 1968.

But, this year I started writing about it. I felt so
fucked up in pain that at some point i took a pen into
my hand.

What she did...without ever speaking a word was to show me
what war is and does to people. She took this hard marine and
ripped his heart out and humanized him! I think of her, and have
never forgotten her.

I came to Vietnam with Marine Corps training that taught me to hate.
But, I left her feeling awful...and feeling love for her and also, hurt,
pain, and the beginnings of a new awakening.

What War Is and Does to People:

Dear Kyle and Nora,

It was 40 years since (now 43 years) I was in Vietnam as a young boy of 18. I was
a Marine Corps 'grunt' (a rifleman). This Christmas will be 41 years.
The first time I was 18 and 4 months when I was medivaced from a place
of terror. I felt guilty for leaving my platoon, and especially, Chief,
my team leader and a Seminole Indian who had saved my life at least once.

I was walking point , but as I made it to the top of the hill I
stopped. I felt uncomfortable with the layout. The hill was a
large area with chest high grass, and surrounded by trees. I felt
inside somewhere that this could be it for me. I didn't think that
I could turn around and say I got a bad feeling about this...can we
go back to the fire base? No, I was there. I was a FNG (fucking new
guy) walking point.

But, before I could take another step my Chief, (Paul Bowers) my team
leader stopped me. I really think that it was for Chief to take a look
for himself. If i fucked up and stepped on a landmine it would not be
just my life. He saved many lives by stopping me.

He turned his back to the hill, and told me if you see anything don't
look directly at it, or they may open up on us if they think you've
seen them...or words to that effect. He had me look at him and said
not to look at the hill, then he told me that there may be something
at 1 o'clock, or between 1 and 2 o'clock. his neck was 12 o'clock.

I turned my head to my left away from the hill, and smiled like we were
sharing a something funny, but my right eye was looking over the spot, and
I had a sinking feeling in my heart or stomach...and nodded.

I was waiting for Chief to get back into his spot when I was told to 'freeze'.
Chief came back, and motioned me to step back. He carefully went through
the bushes, and vines I’d been pushing through, and showed me a green vine
that was flat against my chest. It was a trip wire. He had it between his
thumb and forefinger. My next half-step and I’d been blown to bits by an
anti-tank mine on one side of me and an anti-personnel mine on the other side.

It would've taken 8-12 men dead and wounded. My own death was one thing,
but I would've felt awful to have caused the death of others. If we were ambushed
as well, then much of the platoon would be gone. That’s how sharp Chief and
aware of everything around him, and why he was important to the platoon. He
came up; took a look, and remembered something that wasn't right and came
back. I and others are alive as a result.

Bobby traps, particularly, the 'bouncing betty' killed more US troops than
anything else.

It was a special to see Paul (Chief) laugh or smile, or share good moments with him.
He saved my life, and I learned to watched for everything in a way I hadn't
before that. And, I had been very alert and aware.

Weeks later, our platoon (about 45 men) were used as bait for a battalion
of NVA (North Vietnamese Army regulars). We were put in a small
abandoned Marine fire base. Hall, a state (high school) wrestling champion
came up to me and patted me on my right shoulder and said, (I thought)
'Are you okay?' And I said 'ya, i'm just getting my gear; i'm doing the
first watch.’

But, then Hall said 'your okay.' and patted me on the shoulder. I looked at him,
and he tapped my radio, stood in front of me, and said there were three on that
(the radio) before you. I was the platoon Sgt’s radioman). Plus there was a guy
from Vegas (I think) who got shot up bad when he was the radioman...then
there were three in the 4-5 months he was in the hospital, and then...me.

I had transferred from Fox 2/3 2cn Battalion (Batt) 3rd Marines (regiment)
because 2nd Platoon golf 2/3 had 'lost' a radioman and needed another.
"Vagas" never spoke to me that I can remembered. He nodded to me. Daily,
the main radioman for the LT was friendly if I asked for, or about anything,
but later I realized that to them and some others I was just a "DEAD MAN WALKING" who didn´t know it and hadn´t fallen ...yet.

Hall was just telling me you're okay and you've been okay(and LUCKY-mine).
I really respected him. He had a good sense of humor, was strong, and
Always made people laugh and was good even nice to this F-cking New
Guy FNG. It meant that there was some talk of me:-) I couldn't have
asked to be placed with a better group of Marines, or fellas than those
in the second platoon of Golf Co.

Then, and this is what happens in war...a terrible irony…he pointed to
all the firing pins from hand grenades scattered around and told me not
to touch them. He said they’re dangerous. He said that it’s safe to pick
them up one side, but...as he picked one up (it was dusk) to show me he said, but if you
pick up the wrong side your own body heat is enough to set off the charge.
And then, his hand opened up in front of me from the explosion, and he was
screaming and screaming. It looked as if someone took a knife and sliced his
hand open.

With explosions or bullets...you see the results and then hear the noise.
There was a loud explosion after I was looking at his hand, and blood flying
both ways. He was in immense pain, shock. I was in shock and have never
forgotten that night.

I've always felt bad that if he hadn't been nice to me...

About a week or less from my being medivaced (seizure and dysentery)
to the USA we landed on a ridge (Co Ca Va?) in the A Shau valley;
the ‘ Valley of Death ’. It was Fire Support Base (FSB) Cunningham;
the HQ for Operation Dewey Canyon I.

Being a radioman is one of the most dangerous jobs; (a snipers
delight). They could ambush a platoon, but if just one man
survived he could call in air strikes within 10 minutes. So they go
for the radio first, and the platoon is a bit f-cked. Someone (Hall?)
explained this to me after I survived a month (as radioman) and snipers.

When word got out that we were replacing Mike Co., 3/9 (3rd Battalion
9th Marine regiment) it had a chilling effect. 1/9 (1st Battalion 9th Marines
was known as 'The Walking Dead'- a casualty rate over 90% dead, wounded,
and missing...93.?% of every 100 young boys like me...year in and year out...
every year of that war. War is criminal. I had hoped to join them...was I daft.

But, even 3/9 meant bad, bad shit was going to happen. The Ninth 9th Marines
meant only one thing: 'heavy combat' and casualties like not seen before. We missed
the main attack (below) 'Sapper Attack in the A Shau During the Vietnam War'
http://www.historynet.com/sapper-attack-in-the-a-shau-during-the-vietnam-war.htm


But we were replacing the men who had endured that assault-to rub out
the base, plus nightly sapper attacks…night terror. Sappers were four men
teams with explosives in their backpacks, and plenty of hand grenades to
toss into other holes. They were brave men trying to rid their country of
foreign occupiers...as the Vietnamese people had for thousands of years.

Our first night we(Chief and I) were sent to a share a bunker with some
(grunts) from Mike 3/9; they were leaving the next morning. After we had
made the introductions...some men started to cry; and these were tough
marines...who had been exposed to too much night terror. They said the
things like...'we're all gonna be die'. ´They said they get in every night.´

I had no idea of what they were saying. Is he talking about a ground attack?
I had not even thought, nor probably heard about 'sappers.' They said sappers
get in every night...we're gonna die. Chief immediately grabbed one covered his mouth and told them to 'shut the fuck up' etc. It was a powerful lesson for
me.

As he did this we suddenly heard loud screams from beyond the perimiter
wire. They were silenced immediately by a very loud explosion, and then, there
were no more screams. The other men started to break down, and the first one said
'See, that's the fourth LP in a row. An LP is a listening post, and on that ridge
it was four men. With that explosion the total went to 16. 4 men each night for four
nights. North Vietnamese Army Regular (NVA) sappers had crawled up on the LP and one
sapper sacrificed his life to blow four Marines away.

The men started to sob again and Chief drew his knife. I got in front of another Marine and drew my K-Bar (combat knife) and stood in front of the other Marine.
He probably had much more time in Vietnam than me, and it felt strange to be
doing this. They don't teach these things in boot camp and infintry training.

When they quieted down, Chief took me away from that fortified bunker and went pointed to two
small three foot deep holes forward of all the bunkers with no sandbags or
any protection, and right out in the open. He got in front of me; our faces
weren´t far apart, and as he pointed to the hole that was to be mine that night he
said 'will watch each other each other's back. We'll be okay, (as he pointed to the bunker we just left) he said but we got to get away from that' (panicking-mine).
And we were. We survived a scary night.

I trusted Chief, and would have followed him in any situation.

The next morning, Mike 3/9 were gone. That night our company,
Golf 2/3 were facing what had terrorized the men from Mike 3/9. Of the
three platoons in the company, ours, the second platoon, had to send
out the first LP. Everyone was nervous because by then we knew what had
happened to the other LP's/ It came down to our squad and then, our four
man fire team-Chief’s. But, Chief had a plan to make sure that we didn’t
get blown away. I wasn't surprised that Chief was chosen to take out the
first fire team!

I thought that Chief stood the best chance in the whole company. I'm just
glad that I was with him. In 2010 he joked me that he just thought that "they
(command) were trying to get me killed."

Chief's plan was simple, yet like everything he did...he had put a lot
of thought into it...and that night, Chief wasn't exactly leading the
cream of the Corps (myself included--still green;-) men he could have,
but he made it work.

The plan was this: if we try to stay out all night...we'll be dead.
They'll-the NVA creep up on us like they did the other LP's. We were
going to have to be faster, and sharper. the others were blown away within
an hour or two.

When we heard movement...even before they could get within hand grenade
of us...I would notify our LT (Lieutenant) that we had contact and were
going to toss hand grenades to break contact,and come back into the
perimeter...this is how it´s done...the grenades allow for...time and cover...
That night it wasn´t when we heard contact, but when we thought we heard contact?
They were there, we didn´t know how close...but we're alive.

But, the brass didn't want us to come in. When I called in-radio-to the CP
they said we need more information on how many there are, the direction
of attack etc...you know the types of things that would get us blown to bits
if we stayed out all night like they wanted us too. I whispered to the next man
what was said, and it was passed to Chief. Chief and I leaned forward, and
looked at each other. Chief shook his head back N forth "NO!' a few times,
and made a sign with his hand and that was good enough for me, and I went
to squelch on the radio. This meant that I could not talk (make verbal
transmissions...as someone is to close:-) And, I could only use (key)
my handset.


We had tossed our frags (grenades) in front of us, to give us time and cover
to get back into the perimeter. I was the the last one out-position, I was
'Tail End Charlie. And when I got up I realized that they were closer
than we thought. As I got up to run I heard noise to my right and almost
right rear and saw someone in the darkness...where we hadn't thrown frags.
I was terrified that they had gotten so close. I sprayed a burst emptying my magazine. I was more than nervous...'scared shitless' is the word.

I ran forward through the zig-zag like coils of concertina wire, whilst
looking behind me for anyone who wasn't supposed to be there. I was last.
I was changing the magazine in my rifle while listening for the sound of a 'frag'(hand grenade)dropping near me(theirs-none). I was trying to catch up
with the others. As I came through the last twist and turn of the wire all
hell broke loose. I thought that the NVA had opened fire on the hill, or had
launched a ground attack, and ours were returning fire.

As we came through the wire,someone set off a trip flare, and we were
visible to all. We came the shortest way...across our kill zone, and
were almost cut to pieces by our own machine guns, and every trigger happy
grunt(or as we say 'every swinging dick with a rifle.') I had radioed in,
but no one had told the fellas we were on our way.

We almost got torn to shreds; the bullets were all around me, and I was about
to drop to the ground to my right when bullets tore up the earth; I was terrified.

I went towards my left but bullets sent wood, rocks and everything flying all around me on my left and just above where my head would land. I saw the others looking at me like ´What the Fuck are you doing standing?´ But, I was the only standing target...and they were zeroing in on me.I was terrified, fell in place
and screamed into the radio. We survived; Chief’s plan worked. God bless Chief.

When someone asks me how I survived I say I know there is a God because I
can't understand the times I was almost been killed and Chief wasn't there:-)

Secondly, Chief handled everything that God was far too busy at the moment!
And, that was a lot!!

Third, I was lucky.

Again, there was Chief and my own good instincts…which were constantly
honed and corrected by Chief

On night after Mike 3/9 was gone we had our own sapper attacks; they
must start about 2:30 am because i'm always awake then and till later...
daylight. Chief and I had the bunker on the extreme flank. The night´s
darkness was pierced by the screams of the two men from the next bunker. They
came running towards us screaming hysterically ‘The gooks are all around
us ...we’re gonna get killed.’

Chief and I each grabbed one, (I was following Chief's lead from the first
night)and covered their mouths. I put the flat handle of my K-Bar against
the back of the neck of my man so he couldn't move. Then I put my K-Bar to
his throat. In his eyes I saw sheer terror that I remember to this day.
I kept looking over my man's shoulder, and all around me.

Chief whispered 'Shut the fuck up. Get back into your
hole. Keep your head down, and your eyes and ears open.' And, for
good measure, Chief added 'and don't bring them over here.'

I had also run my knife down the man's throat to his chest and I gave
him a look that was meant to scare him as much as what had just
terrorized him. I was scared too, but knew that panic is deadly.

They ran back. We evacuated our bunker; everyone knew it by then,
and Chief said something to the effect that we could only use our
knives and hand grenades from here on in. The flash of a rifle would
give our position away.

After a few minutes a sapper made it into their bunker and began
knifing them to keep them there until his satchel detonated. We
listened to them scream and scream in agony and terror of their
last seconds (6-7) of their lives…They were fifty feet away…begging
and one cried aloud ‘Oh God’ just before the explosion. It was awful.

I was standing behind a massive tree and a single tear wnet down from my left eye, but I got over their deaths in a snap of my fingers. I was worried that the
sounds might mask someone approaching us. I was 110% adrenalin.
All they had to do was get within hand grenade range. And I was worried about tigers. They´re better hunters.

Later that morning my platoon Sgt. said ‘we got two new men coming in
on the copter, and we don’t want them seeing it (the bunker) like that. I
nodded and took the rags, and went in to clean it up. My training hadn't
taught me how to clean up the exploded remains of marines...From the top
of the bunker to the dirt floor and on every wall and crevice was
blood, bits of flesh, bone and whatever. I almost cracked. It was horrible.

Most of all, God, I didn’t want another Marine to see me crying…so I
stuffed it. At one point I said to myself 'You can't do this. You can't do
this(cry). So, I stuffed way down, but have cried many times since leaving
that hill.

I have since felt that on the Judgement Day even if Allah-God himself, and those
two men come over to me and smile and say it's okay now...I will always feel like shit for what happened that night..and I know that we had no other choice.

The rags were too small, and their blood and whatever got on my hands,
and I ran out of the bunker and wiped my hands in the dirt. War can make
someone superstitious. Stuff got on my clothes, hair, and then the rags were
soaked...that's when it got to me, plus it seemed like i didn't know how to do
it...and I just wanted to be done.

The medivac copter that took me out set down at another firebase for 10
minutes...and in an 'Irish mist' I sat there counting body bags stacked like
cordwood on the tarmac. I stopped at 240.

The screams of those two men, and the terror and pain are with me
every day...even on Christmas eve and Day.

I am just giving you this so you know what I experienced, and why I was
not the ordinary guy with a 9-5, and got down. War is horrible and
criminal. It scars deeply within as surely as it does on the outside.

But my real purpose is also to tell you of an incident that preceded
all the terror and death(even before I touched a rifle)...and humanized
my heart and soul. I am speaking of...

'The Girl I met on Christmas Day’ Dan Nang 1968
I landed in Da Nang early on Christmas morning...2-3am. Later
I would fly north to Dong Ha, and then by truck to Quang Tri to
join the 3rd Marines.

We were taken into Da Nang city briefly after being warned that
begging children might steal. We came upon a group of 30-40
such children.. I had some money to give and sweets.

At first it felt good to give to people in need, but I felt bad that they
had to beg...why? And why aren't they being fed by the military
(my first awaking that things weren't right).

Almost all were under 10, but some had amputations, shrapnel
damage and more. Most were okay, but this was what this hard
marine so eager for combat saw on his first day in Viet Nam .

But, I felt someone's presence at the back of the group. I knew
she was looking at me, and when I looked up I saw a lovely girl
of between 11-13. She looked right into my eyes (softly) for a bit, then
lowered (bowed) her head. But, by then she had torn my heart out.

She did not hold her hand out like the others. I think she felt different...not
as young as the others)...and marred

She raised her head again, made eye contact...kept it for a bit and
lowered her head again. I waded through the crowd till I stood in front
of her and she raised her head again and we looked at each other. I took
her hand and gave her whatever money I could get, and disguised it to
seem like I was just giving her sweets. I didn’t care if I had any money
left after giving to her.

We both nodded to each other, and I know I was holding back tears.
We shared a special and poignant moment in space and time that I
will never forget.

You see this beautiful Vietnamese girl had no right eye and, had minimal
treatment because she didn't wear an American uniform! But she was a
beautiful young girl. And, it is that young girl, and her soulful look, and
her situation that has been with me ever since.

Da Nang did not have an eye hospital until 1998. Plenty of money for war,
but not for people.

I know she appreciated whatever I gave her, but it felt inadequate to me.

She was marred; not even a patch, but I could see the whole her, and
my heart ached(s) for her. Ive' always wondered what became of her?
I would have food, water, medical care, but she?

It is those things-what happens to children, old people, and especially
(young girls and women, homes, families, villes, cultures, societies, and
also, to other Marines blown to bits, maimed, traumatized for a fucking
medal that hurts and causes pain most every day of my life.

Those of us who survived had to fight our own government for recognition
that their wounds/conditions merited treatment. But,the children of Vietnam
Afghanistan, Iraq or any country America wages war upon...have to fend
for theirselves.

But she is 'The Girl I Met on Christmas Day 1968’ ' or 'The Christmas Girl'
and she can make me cry easy...when I think of her.

War is a criminal enterprise!Or, as Major-General Smedley D. Butler said,
'War is a Racket'.

Vietnam is over there, but the war is still inside. All of the hurt you see or
feel and suppress at the time...you feel later when you are home...and forever.

I closed my facebook and twitter accounts yesterday

I closed my facebook and twitter accounts yesterday.
December is the hardest month for me...I landed in
Vietnam on Christmas Day.

Monday, December 20, 2010
'The Girl I Met On Christmas Day 1968-DaNang’ Revisited
http://bit.ly/hsJnGU
December 20, 2010

Tues. 26, January 2010


Saturday, December 26, 2009
What War Is and Does to People:'The Girl I met on Christmas Day’
Dan Nang 1968.
http://bit.ly/a8c96f

I´m divorced and am exiled or shunned from my children.
One never talks to me, the other was kinder, but there is no
meaningful relationship, or healthy contact between us.

It´s not their fault...it´s the stuff they´ve heard
from my ex, and her family...the awful things someone
can do or say after a separation and divorce.

I thought things would be different; I was a counselor,
but I under-estimated the wrath a person can have when they
feel their partner took their love away. No matter what she has
said or told the children I have the bitter letters from her.
Love just died.

When two people get divorced one isn´t supposed to try
and get the children to ´effectively´ divorce their father.
But, that is what it´s like.

To have children and be ignored by them is hard...
very, very hard.

From December through February is the hardest from my
time in Vietnam.´The Girl I Met On Christmas Day 1968-DaNang’
tugs at my heart. I try to make it through each day in December.
Each day gets harder and harder.

I´m struggling financially...living in hostels mostly.
I have to constantly search for cheaper ones, and I´ve
been looking for an apartment. I´ve nothing yet.

No place feels like home to me. There is none. I have no
home, nor family... and I´m tired of searching and looking
and wonder if I´ll end up buying a sleeping bag...for financial
reasons. But, I don´t ever, ever want to do that.

I had a bad accident on November 18th...and know something
is wrong with my wrist and forearm. I had a bad head injury,
and it took almost 8 days before I realized what a whack I
took hitting the floor.

things...life is hard...i´m just trying to get by...
I came to a wall...and couldn´t go on doing Twitter...
I hardly used facebook...

If I have a seizure or am in the hospital for an
accident, or anything I don´t want anyone in my
immediate or family of origin to be notified or
let in to see me.

I was the only one with my mother when she was in
the hospital and know from my time with her and also
being with people in Vietnam and hospitals during the
war that what is most important is to have people around
you who love or care for you...not there out of a sense
of obligation...or having to be there.

If ever like that I don´t want people
in to see me because they feel obligated.

When I hear from my children it´s just out of feeling they
have to, and it hurts....I´ve been carrying a lot of pain
from Vietnam...but I was a wonderful, good and loving father
to them and at one time they loved me.

I´m just at a low point...I feel empty inside...dead...almost
the way i felt when i came back from Vietnam. i´ll be okay
somehow.

Vietnam, Vietnam and Vietnam...and having a family, but being alone

trips, falls and head whacks off for a few days

I was supposed to leave Lisboa today.
I can´t afford where I´m at; though
the people are nice.

Since the end of August i´ve been living in
hostels in Spain and Portugal.

Today, I was in a restaurant that I´ve gone to
for my first coffee, and bolo de arroz (rice cake).
It´s shaped like a tall muffin; thin.

I was seated at a table for the first time; I usually
stand. A delivery man came with his arms full and as
he was trying to open the door I got up to do it for him.

I tripped over a strap of my backpack, and went flying.
I landed on my knees. My hands (L) (and arms(mostly Left),
mostly broke my fall; they were like shock absorbers). And,
then my head wacked the floor on the right side hard.

Something very similar happened in February 2011. I had a
small seizure while taking a shower. It was a small bathroom
(Cork, Ireland), and I had touble getting up. That time my hands
and right side of my head...same area as today took the full impact.

My concern? The shower was running, and would get the floor wet:-
Shit, can´t let that happen:-

My arms couldn´t move me that day in February. I was stunned.
I finally laid there and let myself feel the injury....and
from somewhere deep down I said to myself ´you´ve got a stun
injury...get up,´ (beside the physical ones), and I struggled
with where was the best place for my hands...they kept slipping.
After several slips I found it and my way up.

When I finished the shower I took out my shower bag and took out
a spray bottle of iodine...looked into the mirror and covered the
injured area. I had very little ice, but used it all, and then
covered the injured area.

Since I came back from Vietnam I learned to carry my own first aid
kit as it were. Not much, antiseptic, band-aid and a roll of gauge.

I wanted to cry, but suppressed it. I always had a good relationship
with my children, particularly me daughter...I was a stay at home dad,
and raised her much in the early years. And my son is a wonderful human
being as well.

But, since my ex-wife and I got separated...eventually divorced I came
to realize that how good, nice and loving (and firm when they needed a
parent to be)all those nice times are gone...and it wouldn´t matter if I
couldn´t get up, and was found there.

Sometimes children realize and remember how nice you were after you´re
gone. That´s what I thought of that day, and others days when I had
seizures. If I texted that I had one there was no response. So I stopped.
It´s not their fault; it´s the lies and untruths that have been said by
their mother as happens in these things.

Today, I felt and feel worse now. The woman cashier at the restaurant
came over with a good ice bag, and sprayed antiseptic on the cut. She´d
make a good combat medic. There were a couple of areas. mostly a good hard
whack-thump-bump.

I told the man not to worry; I would be okay; I hurt myself, but I said
I have a ´stun injury.´

I went back to the hostel and in bed. Later I felt the pain in my right
knee. My right knee, right side of the head, and left wrist, and arm were
the shock absorbers today.

I got up a few hours later, and had trouble lifting and turning my left arm
and wrist. I didn´t want to see a doctor. God that costs money.

But in 1987 our family was moving into a new home in Vermont from Boston,
and I was unloading more things from the truck when I had waves of small
seizures, and fell of the back of the truck. I landed on my back and heard
three snaps or pops. I thought oh shit.

I tied and wiggled my toes, then fingers, arms and hands and got up. My
right elbow was sore I brushed it off mentally. In the morning when I woke
up my right arm was across my chest. I knew my elbow was broke. I went to
the local doc. He took Xrays and said no break. I said my elbow´s broke.

Later I went back to Boston, had Xrays...and my arm was in a sling:
it was broke.

Today, I finally went to the hospital, and after seeing the doc he told
me no breaks; i´m okay. He asked if I needed pain killers. I told him I
take seizure medication and don´t want to add to it, and that I was in the
Vietnam War...and that there are different levels of pain.

I felt more pain when I got the bill €160 cash.

If I´m off for a couple of days i´m healing. I feel, much worse than I did
that day in February 2011. nausea and more pain. it´s time for a good rest.
ciao

The Occupy Movement: Stop the Police in their tracks from brutalizing people

I have watched scenes of policemen who thought
and felt that they were big tough beat people up,
and commit other criminal acts against American citizens
who have been exercising their First Amendment Rights to
exercise their freedom of speech, and assemble peacefully.

The police are suppose to protect citizens in the exercise
of their rights. When they brutalize them,
when they pepper spray peaceful assemblies of citizens
petitionioning the Government (and the Real Government-
the moneyed interests) for a redress of grievances,

then the police are no longer protectors, of the people,
nor are they guardians of their rights and liberties...
when the police beat up 84 year old women,
when they break up lawful assemblies,
when the pepper spray citizens exercising their rights,

then the police are a criminal force, not a police force,
then the police are a criminal gang who are protecting
the 1%... the moneyed interests who are the Real Government.

When the police do so, then they become, and they are,
the enemy of the people and destroyers of the rights, and
privilages of the American people.

The American people have a duty, they have an obligation
to defend themselves, their fellow citizens, and future
generations from what is becoming a criminal force.

When the police of New York find millions of people chasing
and hunting them down, then perhaps they will think about what
they are doing.

When a police force of thousands in New York gets ready break
up a lawful assembly as sees that they are quickly being surrounded
by hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people who break up their
unlawful assembly...perhaps they will think twice about what they do.

And, the America armed forces should ask themselves why are they being
used abroad to brutalize nations into submission at the same time that
the police forces in America does the same to the American people.

Perhaps, they will consider taking over ships, airfields, military bases
and refusing to let them be used against innocent people accross the world.
And, they should confront the police forces and mercenaries in waiting to
stop the brutality against the American people.

Meanwhile, the American people have the right to arm themselves and stop
the police from acting like criminal thugs, and must do so in as peaceful
way as possible. But, they have the right to disarm and strip these thugs
from doing further damage to the people.

Below is the First Amendment to the Constitution.

Perhaps we should occupy the police stations. Print the names and
addresses of the offending officers, and demand criminal prosecution
against those who are see to do criminal acts against the people

Yours...without spellcheck:-
Paul Meuse
Revolutionary since Vietnam


Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion,
or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;
or abridging the freedom of speech,
or of the press;
or the right of the people peaceably to assemble,
and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Vatican stunned by Irish embassy closure´ Yahoo news comment separate

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/vatican-stunned-irish-embassy-closure-125727302.html

Vatican stunned by Irish embassy closure

By Philip Pullella | Reuters – 1 hour 9 minutes ago 4 Nov. 2011

VATICAN CITY (Reuters) - Catholic Ireland's stunning decision to close its embassy to the Vatican is a huge blow to the Holy See's prestige and may be followed by other countries which feel the missions are too expensive, diplomatic sources said on Friday.

The closure brought relations between Ireland and the Vatican, once ironclad allies, to an all-time low following the row earlier this year over the Irish Church's handling of sex abuse cases and accusations that the Vatican had encouraged secrecy.

Ireland will now be the only major country of ancient Catholic tradition without an embassy in the Vatican.

"This is really bad for the Vatican because Ireland is the first big Catholic country to do this and because of what Catholicism means in Irish history," said a Vatican diplomatic source who spoke on the condition of anonymity.

He said Ireland informed the Vatican shortly before the announcement was made on Thursday night.

Dublin's foreign ministry said the embassy was being closed because "it yields no economic return" and that relations would be continued with an ambassador in Dublin.

The source said the Vatican was "extremely irritated" by the wording equating diplomatic missions with economic return, particularly as the Vatican sees its diplomatic role as promoting human values.

Diplomats said the Irish move might sway others to follow suit to save money because double diplomatic presences in Rome are expensive.

It was the latest crack in relations that had been seen as rock solid until a few years ago.

DAMNING REPORT

In July, the Vatican took the highly unusual step of recalling its ambassador to Ireland after Prime Minister Enda Kenny accused the Holy See of obstructing investigations into sexual abuse by priests.

The Irish parliament passed a motion deploring the Vatican's role in "undermining child protection frameworks" following publication of a damning report on the diocese of Cloyne.

The Cloyne report said Irish clerics concealed from the authorities the sexual abuse of children by priests as recently as 2009, after the Vatican disparaged Irish child protection guidelines in a letter to Irish bishops.

While Foreign Minister Eamon Gilmore denied the embassy closure was linked to the row over sexual abuse, Rome-based diplomats said they believed it probably played a major role.

"All things being equal, I really doubt the mission to the Vatican would have been on the list to get the axe without the fallout from the sex abuse scandal," one ambassador to the Vatican said, on condition of anonymity.

Cardinal Sean Brady, the head of the Catholic Church in Ireland, said he was profoundly disappointed by the decision and hoped the government would "revisit" it.

"This decision seems to show little regard for the important role played by the Holy See in international relations and of the historic ties between the Irish people and the Holy See over many centuries," Brady said in a statement.

The Vatican has been an internationally recognised sovereign city-state since 1929, when Italy compensated the Catholic Church for a vast area of central Italy known as the Papal States that was taken by the state at Italian unification in 1860.

It has diplomatic relations with 179 countries. About 80 have resident ambassadors and the rest are based in other European cities.

The Vatican guards its diplomatic independence fiercely and in the past has resisted moves by some countries to locate their envoys to the Holy See inside their embassies to Italy.

Dublin said it was closing its mission to the Vatican along with those in Iran and East Timor to help meet its fiscal goals under an EU-IMF bailout. The closures will save the government 1.25 million euros (864 thousand pounds) a year.

(Additional reporting by Carmel Crimmins and Conor Humphries in Dublin; Editing by Tim Pearce)

Two stories of Police Brutality

Let me tell you a story about ´Boston´s finest.´
Geez there are so many...the ones who frisked people
for drugs...for themselves, and cash too. That goes back
to the early to mid 1980´s.

Then there´s the ones on my old street who operated a towing
scam. Back then, if your car got towed it cost $35 to get it back.
Certain cops went through our and other streets in blocks and
would have between ten and fifteen cars towed on our street in
winter.

So, if it was 10 cars they got a kickback of $15 apiece. If one cop
was on our street that meant $150 for the day. Not a bad days work.
But, these guys were eager. They would go through six or eight
streets in a day. You´re talking close to $1,000.

I figured that out after they got arrested.

There were many, many more dirty cops that I knew...not
always by name. But, this story is about your first amendment
rights.

I am a Marine Corps Vietnam veteran. I was a grunt and volunteered
twice. I wasn´t there long, and was lucky to survive where I was.

Before I went to Vietnam I was pro-war; I had eaten up all the propaganda
our government fed us on what was called the news, but was really nothing
more than propaganda. I came back against the war and joined Vietnam Veterans
Against the War, and later Veterans For Peace.

In 1967 or 1968 I skipped school to go to an anti-war protest at Post Office
Square outside the Post Office and government buildings. I went to beat up
anti-war protesters. I went by myself, but I wasn´t the only pro-war person there
for that reason.

At a certain point, and after yelling between our crowd against the protesters-who
were protesting peacefully some of us ran in to smack a few. That´s a criminal
offense assault and battery. As we did, the Boston Police moved right in with
their German Shepard police dogs.

I was worried about being bitten or grabbed by one of those dogs, but I later realized
that the police dogs were only to be used against the anti-war protesters. You see
what happened was after I hit someone(s) and started to run away I was grabbed by
one of ´Boston´s Finest.´

I thought ´Oh shit, my old man will kill me, and the school will know that I left the
building, and I´ll get suspended for that. But, none of that happened. I was put in the
back seat of the cruiser; there was a man in blue at the wheel.

I sat quietly, and after several minutes the other cop came in, and the car took off.
I wasn´t feeling to good at that point. But, it was just then that the guy in front of me
on the passenger side turned around to me and with a big smile on his face said
"wasn´t that great?" I really didn´t know what to say until he patted me knee, then I
nodded.

They went up the street a couple of blocks turned and stopped, the man in front of me
again said how good it was, and that I could go but not to go back to that area, so I
promised him I wouldn´t. I took the train home and went to work that afternoon like it
was anyday. But, I did notice on TV that the police had arrested some of the anti-war
protesters!

Almost three years later, after Vietnam my friend, Jimmy and I were hitchhiking
on the New Jersey pike. It was about 3am, (I´m not positive of the time); we were
going to his house on a New Years leave. Some got Christmas, and others like us
got New Years. We were walking and saw several police vehicles and I think an
ambulance on the other side of the highway. Then, we noticed a police cruiser
come over to us, and I said to Jimmy ´Let me do the talking.´ It was illegal to hitchhike.


The State Police officer rolled down the window on our side, and said smiling ´Are
you boys in the army?´and I said ´No, we´re Marines.´He said ´come on in.´ He
had been in the Marines too. He told me he cracked some hippies heads; he said
´they were hitchhiking.´ He told us how much he liked that part of his job.

He was enthused, and showed me his ´Billy club´; it was red from the blood he´d
just spilled. He drove us to a place; dropped us off and wished us well.

So, remember; the police are not neutral. Don´t let them push you around anymore
than the revolutionaries of 1776 would let the British push them around.

Yours in Struggle
Paul Meuse

Is the banking crisis really a scam to get countries to pay tribute (a share) of America´s wars

I spent thirty nights in Badajoz, España,
and during that time I finish reading the
´History of the Peloponnesian War´ by
Thucydides (c. 460 BC – c. 395 BC).

It was an amazing story of the downfall of
the Athenian empire, which like the USA was
based mostly upon sea power - her navy.

Those that they called their allies were
for the most part were in a subordinate
relationship with Athens.

Thucydides, and others in the story make the point
over and over that a successful prosecution of a war
lies in large part upon money.

Those with the greatest resources stand the best chance
of coming out victorious...so long as their policies,
tatics and strategy are off.

But, war requires loads of money. Athens, and Sparta both
had their so-called allies paying them tribute in one form
or another, whether in building a certain number of ships,
providing troops, or mercenaries, or in cash.

So, the thought occurred to me is this so-called banking
crisis really a scam (well we all know it is), but really a
way of raising tribute to pay for the ongoing cost of America´s
wars of aggression?

I think it´s very possible that that is why the banks demand money.
Banks prosecute wars, or wars are prosecuted for their benefit,
and anyone who doesn´t think that this is so ought to read ´War is
A Racket´by Major General Smedley Butler, USMC.