The following is an excerpt from a book Bob Canape is writing based on his experiences in the Vietnam War and just before he enlisted in the Marines. In 1967, before enlisting, a friend of Bob's wanted him to attend a anti-war demonstration in New York City, with Martin Luther King being the featured speaker. Bob depicts dreams he had in the bush, that included the demonstration intermingled with his war experiences, while in Vietnam. It is a perfect example of how America was so split during the war.
8 /10 , marching, well we call it humping, through dense stuff into the open at night. The trade is a degree of cover for total exposure but wait-a-minute vines for ease of travel. Cooler in the jungle though today's haze makes the gain zippola, then we're back to up and down and a little around and round but the little one doesn't stop to tie his shoe means we only look like ants. You never woulda guessed so I'll tell you we marched through another rice paddy and into an unavoidable slop. Giles and I must have helped each other across a dozen Obstacles that rated upper case "O": We crossed the same stream so many times we might as well have jut jumped in and swam. We went deep into those things that "Yak" always called gulches, because he like' d to act like he was some kind of cowboy, that I called arroyos because I liked to act like I knew the difference. Carr settled for calling us both idiots . Soon we're walking in the water. Wet below means wet from above, it's fucking raining and I hate it. Around nightfall some lucky guy in second platoon gets a medevac. A broken ankle and no permanent damage.: watch, sleep.
Of course there's a man with a gun over there, everybody has a gun over there, except Brian - he's a Peacenik only we don't call it "over there" when we're there, so I can't be. Hey, I recognize this ! This time it’s April 15, ‘67, the demonstration in New York City. Brian and I were on the sidewalk, watching. A sensation came in the air, like the first breeze of Fall. “Listen, hear the roar. It’s a jet, it’s thunder, it’s Protesters!” There was quite a roar, still away from us, but the Doppler effect increases the intensity of a signal from an approaching source. A few hundred thousand feet striking the streets of New York ; it’s interesting, how a cadence of sorts, emerges from the chaos of random movement, like the day’s news condensing from billions of lives. We begin to lean in the direction of the rumble which is more exciting for being anything from a riot, to a greeting for one of the rock stars, who always comes to these things.
Incredible- my Peacenik friend must be wondering what’s happened to his Hawk buddy, but all I’m doing is waiting for the music. I’ve heard something in the thunder, and it’s only getting closer. I never knew they’d come here, never knew they could play on the move! “Hey
“Hey”
and now for
“You”
“You”
“Get off of my cloud”
I should have known!, no such luck, it’s not the Stones, it’s just the protesters chanting.
“Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?”
“Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?”
You’d think these guys would know how ridiculous this particular cheer is. You’ll hear them complaining about the old guys that start wars, then stay home while eighteen year olds are drafted into the “War machine”. These guys all think they know how things should go, but none of them are even running for office! LBJ’s not even here in New York. But, of course, you’d think a lot of things.
“Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?”
The chanting explains how a rhythm, almost a march, is emerging from the footsteps. A sound like the tide, pulling at those on the sidewalk, carrying people along the street. It’s just the noise, but it’s exciting. Children amazed at the crowd, are the classic mix of wide eyes, hands clutching at Mommy and Daddy, or peeking around the legs of parents, others struggling to break free of grasps, and run into the street, waving, pointing, smiling at something they’ve never seen. Brian seems rapt by the sound, but he’s, as noted, a Peacenik, too young to be a Beatnik.
I’m starting to get the Doppler effect on the approaching wave, sound increasing in intensity, frequency, as they approach- very cool, like a train in an old movie. How neat this would sound if everyone was more in step, noise growing by being in phase, like a magnetic field strengthening as the atoms aligned, aligning atoms as the field strengthened. Well, I’m in my own field, aligned with the other side, so I’m not going to be pulled along.
“Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?”
The noise and activity are incredible: no wonder so many people come to these things. I’d like to stick up for America, and start a Pro-American chant, though it looks like most of the pro-Americans are feeling uneasy and hanging back. Maybe I’ll have to start chanting, myself.
“Ho, Ho, Ho Chi Minh, if your people are dying, you can’t win!” My chant’s a fart at a wedding to these people, they don't want to hear it, but it caught Brian’s ear, if no one else’s.
Well, I don’t want to embarrass my friend, in front of his Dove buddies- even if I’m the only one he knows here, I’m not the only one who knows he’s here. If there’s a riot because of my anti-antiwar chants, all the commies will think it’s his fault, too, ha ha ha ha ha! I‘ll move a few feet apart .
Sound is louder, compressed in to a shrinking space, by the growing crowd. More paradox than a coed hospital
“Hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today”
I still think it’s bullshit- Ho Chi Minh is in as deep as anyone, and he’s a typical communist, hiding behind people who can't even see the chains on themselves.
“Hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?”
Sound beginning to take over from, and dictate emotion. Most of these people look like they’ve never seen a dead guy outside a funeral home, and they’re asking the President of the United States how many kids he’s killed! The thunder of feet is as hard to block out, as is lightning and growing sharper in focus. As much as I support America, I’m captured , in a TV show, or a movie,movement and mood swollen out into people who, without noticing, have become part of the scene. The vibrant air reaches us, Brian and I have become a part of the crowd. I’m standing my ground, and won't be swept away. I’m on America’s side: Can't believe they can get away with wishing my brother gets killed. Brian’s waving and there are soo many beautiful girls out there.
“Hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?”
bam bam, bum ba da bum, dum da da dum dum, bam bam bam
I can feel the energy Brian’s feeling, but I want no part of these smiling traitors, and their superior smiles. I wonder where they keep the patriot girls. I could hardly meet a girl in this din (though I’d find a way) I wish these guys had been the Stones. The shorter sentences seem louder, louder. Well it’s all relative, and I’ve got a relative in the war.
“ Hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?”
“None, none!”, I’m shouting , but my friend doesn't’t see me, nobody’s giving me a hard time - pretty good natured bunch of commies.
Noise drives children deeper into their parents’ hold, though a few brave souls take steps toward the parade, the kids are the best part, well, maybe all those girls, well kids are great in a crowd; you can talk and play with them, and meet girls.
The protesters use sound to puff themselves up and sound like a bigger force than they are. Like a lizard using flaps of skin, or a blowfish. You’d think they’d want to lie in wait, before taking on the government. Not these guys, it’s become head to head. Now I’m looking around, but I don't see the government anywhere, unless there really is government of the people. The government, of course is pretty resourceful. During WW II, German U-boats detected US radar and determined when planes were approaching. Our scientists manipulated signal characteristics so the U-boats would come up with the third power, rather than the square, and believe our approaching planes were flying away. No more quick dives, lots more strafing runs. Great for that kind of info, but these guys are approaching, and leaving: there’s no eye in this storm. That drumbeat, maybe that’s a radio, or something, or you just expect to hear a drum accompany a march, even a peace march. I’ll just stand here and, march, as they say, to the beat of a different drum. I still like the one Charlie Watts plays in Get off of my Cloud.
In spite of any discrete beats, the crowd appears to be pulsing. I love electromagnetic fields and waves: I sense an undulating, oscillating, modulating signal in the crackle here.
“How many kids did you kill!”
None!” I’m angry at this one-sidedness.
“How many kids did you kill!?”
“None!” This is so totally unfair! At least some of the girls notice me.
“How many kids did you kill!?”
“None!” LBJ isn’t even here to defend himself.
“How many kids did you kill!?”
“None!” Don't these jerks know the commies are killing people too, or is that somehow ok?
Riotous cacophony, crescendo, din: the noise is a bubble (if it was deafening, how could you hear it ?)
bam bam, bum ba da bum, dum da da dum dum, bam bam bam
Bam bam, bum ba da bum, dum da da dum dum, bam bam bam as the drumbeat works its way into the footsteps of the mob, the chanting is more forceful, but why do they have to yell the things they’re saying? By now, the Doppler has reduced the message to a taunt kids might throw at the easiest girl in school.
“How many kids did you?”
“How many kids did you?”
“How many kids did you?”
“How many kids did you?”
Bam bam, bum ba da bum, dum da da dum dum, bam bam bam
Maybe it’s the way the people are walking, the drum sound affects the voices, and the chants are coming closer together, losing words, gaining intensity. The crowd is swaying, without knowing it. I’ve heard of this, it’s a type of communist hypnosis: you scare the adults, the kids sense it, and everybody follows without questioning. My final hope was the girls but they are, of course, lost in cheerleading for the other guys.
Bam bam, bum ba da bum, dum da da dum dum, bam bam bam
The pulsing chant has shed more of itself into the swirl of this crowd. The "you" is now gone, and the "I" expanding, contracting
“How many kids died?”
“how many kids did?”
“how many kids ded?”
“How many kids di?”
Before a counterchant, my antichant, can form; the crowd has moved on, leaving only a question hip guys must think is “existential” and the guys in Kilo Co. must answer
“How many?”
“How many?”
“How many?”
“How many?”
The beat continues to echo off incredible buildings, off the Spring sky.
Bam bam, bum ba da bum, dum da da dum dum, bam bam bam
Parents fearful of losing children to be crushed under stampeding jackboots and protesters more likely wearing beaded moccasins are now finally losing the battle to kids who wriggle free from grips, grasps, and clutches, to at least take a few steps towards the excitement, even as the peace army recedes. Brian and I are so far on opposite sides that I see without sharing at all, his excitement. The kids’ glee, however, I relate to. They hear it, to the beat, Bam bam, bum ba da bum, dum da da dum dum, bam bam bam
Bam bam, bum ba da bum, dum da da dum dum, bam bam bam
A giant Indian is greeting them! We all know that no one else could simply walk away from this scene merely saying, “How"
“How”
“How”
“How”
“Hey”-
“Hey”
oh, no, no more dreams. I need some sleep.
“Hey, asshole, , you’re on watch”
Two hours, without marching civilians, mounted cops, creeping Gooks, chanting Pukes, eyes nailed open.
By: Bob Canape
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