Musings on December 7th

I heard the stories many times from both my mother and my grandfather. Mom was in her living room doing homework as my Grandfather was in the same living room listening to WTOP Radio in Washington DC. There was a football game on the radio. Washington vs the New York Giants. The living room was where my mom did her homework. It was also the location of the radio. My grandmother wasn't much for football and none of the stories I heard involved her,so I imagine she was in the bedroom or kitchen,away from the action.
                                                   This was December 7,1941 and my Grandfather never got to hear the end of the game..
When the bulletins came across the radio about the Pearl Harbor Attacks,both Mom and Granddaddy seemed to know that War was inevitable.

My Grandfather knew a little bit about war. He was drafted out of his South Carolina home to fight in World War I. He didn't object to being drafted  as initially he thought this was going to give him,a South Carolina farm boy a chance to see a world he normally wouldn't see. There was something else going on with my grandfather. Given this was the era of Jim Crow laws,he thought by giving a good account in the war,that the United States Government would reward black soldiers by repealing such laws and affording black people equal rights and protections under the law.

The US Army was segregated in World War I. The white general in charge of the Black Battalions was Gen. John J. "Black Jack" Pershing. If you wanted to make my make my grandfather mad,one thing you could do is mention his name or ever worse,refer to Pershing as a war hero.
World War I was fought in trenches and featured such things as mustard gas and other poison gases.
Black Battalions were on the front lines facing the worst of the German attacks.
As the story goes,my Grandfather rescued a number of wounded soldiers,risking gunfire and gas to do so. My grandfather got a medal,but Pershing became a war hero as did Sgt York,who received the highest Congressional medal and became a screen star for rescuing far fewer soldiers than my Grandfather.
My grandfather was a gentle man and his mannerisms were still very much rural despite living in Washington. I heard the name Marcus Garvey first from my grandfather,and when,on TV news,the images of Stokely Carmichael or H. Rap Brown would appear,my grandfather would often shout "Black Power",and in doing so would sometimes irritate my mom,a mainstream Civil Rights activist working with the NAACP,Urban League and Democratic Party.

It wasn't long after Pearl Harbor when my Dad was drafted into the Army. My Dad was the son of a Texas sharecropper who by strength of will to become a Doctor, made it to Howard University,the cream of the crop of black colleges.

Dad didn't have any problem with being drafted either. His motivation however was far different than my grandfather's. Dad had no illusions about helping to change the racial climate in America.
For Dad,it was all about staying alive,so that when the war was over,he could finish Med School through the GI Bill. Before going overseas,Dad was stationed at Fitzsimmons Army Base in Denver where I heard stories of him cruising the jazz clubs in Denver's predominetly black Five Points neighborhood. He later was sent to Italy towards the end of World War II I did hear a story about a white wounded soldier refusing to be treated by my Dad,but mostly I heard about black soldiers having fun with the Italian women.
The GI Bill  allowed Dad to finish Med School as well as put the down payment on the Connecticut home I grew up in.

When it was " my turn" to serve,this time in Vietnam, I refused. I began my resistance by,when it was time to consider which colleges to attend,I immediately eliminated any college which had an ROTC Program on Campus. This angered my Dad who considered me "soft" for refusing and thus eliminating the possibility of a GI Bill assisting me. Dick Gregory's quote rang true with me
"What we're doing in Vietnam is using the black man to kill the yellow man so the white man can keep the land he took from the red man".

My stance also eliminated any possibility of assistance in college from my Dad. Undaunted,my resistance to all things military continued in college by working for noted anti war Senator Mike Gravel of Alaska and later in one of my more harrowing experiences, assisting a Draft Dodger escape to Canada,a story briefly covered in my first Spoken Word CD Talkin' Roots (Tlingit Story)

My stance didn't end the family involvement with the military when my daughter announced to me that she was joining the Army. Needless to say,not only did we butt heads over the decision,it seemed as if I was going against the family grain by opposing her service.
Now that she's out,I still like to give her a hard time about it,but as she met her husband in the Army,her comeback is "Well,you got two grandchildren out of the deal"

That much is true..

Top photo: My Grandfather
Bottom photo: Howard University ROTC 1942