This past week has certainly been a time of remembrances of my days in the military. Ever since last Friday, when I discovered, to my horror, that the Naval stations I had spent my young adult years at were (long) gone, I have had the impact of the military on youth on my mind. During times of peace, the effect is minimalized, primarily manifesting as an increase in structure and responsibility. That's all to the good. Regardless of the reason a person volunteers for service, that time elisted can bring happy memories and long-term friendships.
Today was not to mark a time of peace. This country has been deeply involved in war and peace has been absent for thirteen years.
In honor of this great country I call home, I attended two events at Armstrong State University today.
The first was a fun learning experience. Titled "Star Spangled Banner", the lecture explored the origins of several patriotic songs, not just our National Anthem. One piece in particular caught my attention: "America The Beautiful". Based on the poem "Pike's Peak", written by Katharine Lee Bates in 1893, the lyrics give praise to the World's Columbian Exposition, better known as the Chicago World's Fair. She was a 33-year-old single woman, a teacher from Massachusetts, who had traveled to Colorado for a summer teaching job and stopped in Chicago along the way.
Why did this hold such importance for me?
Well, it appealed to my alter ego, Fliss of Kickstarter! In particular, the reference in the song to "alabaster cities", in conjunction with the knowledge of her trip to the Fair in 1893, immediately placed her in the context of the musical I had backed on kickstarter. 'Wait a minute!', I thought, 'I know that story about the Fair!' Indeed. Thanks to "The Dreamer and The Devil", I am rather familiar with the architect of that White City of which she speaks. I can certainly understand an intelligent young woman being quite taken with Daniel Burnham's gleaming dream, especially after the city grime she knew.
How fortunate for us all that she did not opt to stay at the hotel built by "Dr. H.H. Holmes" during her visit to the Fair. That establishment, self-billed as "World's Fair Hotel", came replete with dungeon, gas chamber, and moratorium, and was the site of at least 27 murders (possibly as many as 200). Had she rested her head on one of those pillows, we might not have ever had this paean to the beauty of America's diverse vistas.
Brrr! Did you just catch that chill?
The Armstrong Masquers performed
"A Piece of My Heart", the play written by Shirley Lauro. Her work was adapted from six stories of the twenty-six women in the 1986 book by Keith Walker. The six stories selected cover a broad range of women who served in Vietnam, during their time there (in the late 1960's) and up to the completion of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial (in 1984).
Some of these women were so young! Martha, a daughter of a career military man and Army nurse mother, and Sissy, who had just looked for escape from her Pennsylvania hometown, were 18 and 19 years old when they enlisted.
MaryJo, a Texas entertainer in her early 20's, thought a contract to entertain the troops would advance the careers of herself and her band. That was the story her agent told her.
LeeAnn was a hippie and a war protester, thinking that being a military nurse was a way to help folks - especially as she had been told she would be going to Hawaii.
Whitney, in her mid-20's, was an idealistic Ivy-leaguer, volunteering as a nurse for the American Red Cross.
They all believed the stories on the radio, on television, in the newspapers and magazines. America was winning the war over there, but could still use help.
The only one who truly knew what was going on was 35-year-old Steele, a 17-year intelligence specialist in the US Army. Of course, she found out that being a black female was not going to get you too far, regardless of the information you brought to the general's attention.
I wept when the young nurses were thrown into the horror pit of war, forced to learn how to start an iv through OJT. Add to that scene the sound of helicopters,
the endless screaming and noise, and the sight of men, their age and younger, missing limbs and bleeding out before their eyes.
Horrific.
I wept when a dying young man gets to talk to his mom for Christmas.
I wept when the veteran in the group tries to stave off the Tet offensive and failed.
I wept when they all sought solace at the bottom of a bottle, both in Vietnam and back at home again.
Their return to the States was met with more tears, because I know the greeting they received from the civilian world here.
I am so grateful to be a supporter of the Armstrong Masquers.
Keep up the good work, y'all.
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