RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,107
(up high, the happy sky)
One of my teachers, in the 6th
grade, was always going on
about his time of service in the
Korean War. In the 6th grade
I guess I was 10, and I was all
ears, though after a while it just
got too tiresome to hear. I then
began to wonder about men,
at maybe 30, or 32, those for
whom yet the highlight of
their life was their time in
the military - in this case,
I was told, the extremely
cold front lines of the Korean
War; any premise of which
he was never up to telling us.
There never was a 'why' for
what he'd done, it just was
done. That was red flag #2.
People who moved along
without defined reason or
any individual motivation
were always suspect. I
watched out. This guy played
drums; he'd made a record
too, self-made, and brought
that in for us to hear. It
was called 'African Drums.'
Then one day, at the near close
of the school year, he brought
in his drum set, which had
been put in place at the front
of the room, and he gave a live
drum recital. He also had brought
along his two young, newly
adopted, sons, of whom we'd
been also hearing for some time.
I admit, it was pretty cool except
that by itself 'drum' music is
a bit unsatisfying with nothing
else playing around it. It needs
to be set off against other such
instruments : rhythms, bass notes,
musical breaks and pauses, and
chord and note progressions. I
wasn't any Van Cliburn or anything,
but just putting a bunch of drum
music out front, solo, was sort of
missing the point. Perhaps it did
work for the drummer, but for
listeners it didn't do too much
without a context.
-
It went like that too for his
'Korean' experiences. I was sure
they were vivid for him, all those
memories and actions that he
related, but to a group of 10 and
11 year old boys, and girls, it was
unclear, and mattered little. Lots
of stories about the freezing cold
conditions, and marches. The food,
the action, the armaments and the
occasional truces. But never anything
about the causes or the whys. That
bugged me. He always made
it all seem too friendly to be true.
Like, really, why then bother -
he'd tell about how the two lines
of fire would be shooting at each
other for hours, and then at some
agreed-upon hour, for truce time,
or clean-up, or something, they'd
mingle and walk about together,
like old buddies out on a regular
job, and then, a little while later
again, back at it with all the
shooting and cussing. It seemed
totally stupid to me, and I sort
of swore off the military, even
in 6th grade.
-
As I said, he was always going
on about how cold and uncomfortable
the wartime days and nights were.
I guess Korea was a cold peninsula,
and I guessed too it was Winter?
Funniest thing was one time when
he told us how they'd been instructed,
about being cold and all, to prevent
frostbite and stuff on the fingers, to
jam, or put, their hands between
their legs, for the warmth it afforded,
while they were sitting around. You
can only imagine, I guess, what the
reaction to that sort of behavior was
by 6th-grade class boys. A real hoot.
Yeah, that's where everyone wanted
to put their hands! Yeah, sure.
-
I don't now what else much came
out of 6th grade. It was a really odd
year. The school-room we were in
was like one of a series of four
interconnected wooden shacks they
somehow called 'Portables.' Not
like anyone was going anywhere,
and they were about a portable as,
say, Uncle Gomer's machine shop.
But I guess they served the purpose.
It was an entire year, 6th grade and
being in them, of informality. They
had a little porch/entry too, and for
the space shots and the Mercury
astronauts and all that he'd take
us out with a portable transistor
radio (yes, that was 'portable')
and we'd listen to these crazy
space shots while sitting out on the
railings and steps. That was cool.
John Glenn, Alan Shepherd, Gus
Grissom, and the rest of those first
generation astronauts with the
newly formed NASA. They'd go
up for an orbit or 10, whatever,
and splash down somewhere in
the ocean - each flight got a little
longer and more distant. At first,
like 20 minutes up there, was a
big deal. My favorite astronaut was
a guy named 'Deke' Slayton, but
he never did get to go anywhere,
since a later-developed 'heart'
condition got him scrubbed. He
just later became one of the
control voices you'd hear, from
Cape Canaveral and then called
Cape Kennedy, and now back to
Canaveral. Probably Kennedy
owned slaves or something and
they scrubbed his name. They never
said why, though that doesn't mean
a thing. Half the stuff that went on,
like now, they never told about. I
they scrubbed his name. They never
said why, though that doesn't mean
a thing. Half the stuff that went on,
like now, they never told about. I
later also read that the real story
behind it all was the aspect of
public relations - all these
astronaut guys were supposed
to be perfect Americans, all
beaming with joy and following
orders and giving interviews and
showing up with their happy
wives and kiddies. It was all a
real strict regimen of behavior,
and almost a fiction. But, anyway,
this Slayton guy had a dark side,
wasn't into that public relations
stuff at all, got snotty and probably
mouthed off too and didn't cooperate
much for the benefit of the group.
So they banged him out. I can
believe all that too.
-
'Up high the happy sky, and don't
you go giving us any of that dark
side matter to screw things up.'
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