Frontier Former Editor

October 18, 2006

Thanks to Vicus . . .

Filed under: Uncategorized — Frontier Former Editor @ 9:28 pm

for highlighting the “One Day in History” project.

In the last few days, I have had a 73-year old woman accuse me of being most un-American and unappreciative of how good I have it in America for my printed comments expressing a severe lack of confidence in my national leaders and their choices of international action. I have also been challenged to pray for my leaders, the soldiers they send into harm’s way for whatever reasons they chose, and for my country.

While I won’t submit the above to the One Day in History site, I will submit the following.

After a day in which my patriotism and support for our armed forces has been questioned, I remembered a day in Cornwall 38 years and six months earlier.
I was just shy of six years of age, a student at Trebisker School near the closed RAF St. Eval, and the son of a U.S. Navy petty officer stationed at Naval Weapons Facility St. Mawgan.

April of 1968 was also the end of “Prague Spring” and the beginning of the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia.

At the time, I wondered why my father disappeared for a couple of weeks and was told by my mother that he had to work and would be home soon.

Naval Weapons Facility is another way of saying ‘nuclear arsenal.’

It wasn’t until I was just starting high school in Virginia in 1976 that the significance of April 1968 really appeared to me. The stories I heard when my father saw me looking at a picture of a nuclear weapon in a modeling magazine added an extra chill as he recalled how he spent those days in April helping fuse and arm nuclear torpedoes and depth charges for loading on a round robin of U.S. Navy patrol planes cycling through St. Mawgan and back to places north to begin covering the North Sea.

That’s my day in history – a little reflection and a strong instance of pity for some ignorant old woman who thinks blind faith and patriotism are far more acceptable than a desire for the truth.

Tomorrow, when Vicus does regale us with a story about men with rectally-borne turnips, I shall have a historical account of Romans, statutes against adultery, and black radishes.

And I’ll still pity that woman, for she knows damn little of whence she speaks.


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