Forgotten War

Watching a parade of Korean War vintage movies last week I realize how much chauvinist blather was fed to my generation and how readily we swallowed it, trying to emulate our fathers and older brothers who served in Word War II. Without complaint we served, froze, saw our friends die, without being missed by our countrymen who were busy building careers, raising families and getting rich.

Educational exemptions for the affluent, draft or enlist for the rest of us. 37,000 dead; amputees whose wounds were attributable to frostbite due to poor winter equipment rather than combat wounds; an issue conveniently buried in piles of other statistics. Well insulated boots, called “MIckey Mouse” boots, arrived the second winter, not in time for the leg less victims of the winter of 1950-1951.

On July 27, 1953 an armistice ended the fighting in Korea, an occasion neither observed nor celebrated by American, the end of a war that never happened. For most Americans life went on. we were barely missed. When we returned we were not spate on nor called baby killers. We were just ignored.

Ring

Watching the history channel yesterday, a special on the city of Venice showed the ruler, the Doge, symbolic wedding to the sea, by throwing a gold ring into the water while reciting “I wed thee.” I was struck by the similarity of my custom of throwing my ex-wives wedding rings into the sea on the eve of my subsequent marriages, symbolic of a finality,

a letting go, closure.

OK, so I’m not Venetian and it’s not such a big deal - but still - there is some basis for comparison, n’est pas ?

Cousin Artie and the Purple Nipples

My only excuse for writing this piece is to exorcise an irrelevant, but persistent, memory of a singular, and singularly pointless, episode involving my distant cousin, Artie Lisker, while walking along the beach at Orchard Beach, the Bronx, during the summer of 1943. My usual contacts with cousin Artie were chance encounters at the corner of University Avenue and Tremont Avenue in the Bronx. We were of an age although we tended to hang out in different social groups, rarely tangential, except for these chance encounters. He lived within a block of me, on Andrews Avenue, perhaps even attended the same school but we rarely had any society, indeed I never knew what side of the family we shared but we knew one another as cousins.

Artie was a jazz musician, played trumpet, and if I recall correctly may have gone to Julliard and later played in the Navy band, if memory serves. Back in 1943 we rarely met; after that never but I digress.

Of late, my TV frequently offers up a cartoon called “Harold and the purple crayon” and, YUP ! immediately I see that title on the screen I am reminded of cousin Artie on Orchard Beach but Hell -

We were walking along; two groups of young kids, separated by 20 feet or so when suddenly Artie, who was ahead stood stock-still, his head canted 90 degrees left staring, pointedly at a young, topless black girl, changing out of her bathing suit. Artie, a touch nearsighted, perpetually wore glasses, and as we caught up to him, the sun glinting off is lenses, he said “Did you see, her nipples were purple ! ” Not to call too much attention to this gaffe, we tried to move Artie along, down the beach less he achieve some unwanted attention from the muscular young black guys in “ Purple nipples “ group - but Artie was having none of it. Like a mongoose transfixed by a cobra ( or the other way around.) Artie continued to stare - repeating his declaration “her nipples were purple.”

Racial tolerance in 1943 was somewhat limited but Artie’s fascination with the coloration of this young lady’s teats was not. As he seized my arms and urged me to look, we collectively grabbed Artie and dragged him down the beach. To this day, references to the purple crayon bring back a recollection of this pointless episode which I hope will now be forever exorcised.

The Swan Song of J. Alfred Pruf-rot

In the room where women no longer go

No one speaks of Michelangelo

They echo empty - dusty now

No fog rubs the window panes

Windows now the dust’s domain

Memories long forgot

No longer question where to part

The hair, once there, did now depart

You have grown old

Your feet grow cold

Your trousers hang without a fold

But no one’s looking

None will see

Whether you've rolled them

Past your knee

So go ahead and eat your peach

but be careful walking upon the beach

Randy Ludacer

America is not a Flag

As we approach June 14, and the air is filled with saccharine platitudes and advice as to which color goes where, it is important to remember that America is not a flag, it is a wonderful idea which was born over 200 years ago to a group of inspired people who were no longer content to be dominate by Kings or tyrants, but instead set about to create a government ruled by its own people and answerable only to them. They stitched together 13 rebellious colonies with diverse and conflicting interests and priorities, emphasizing those issues which unified them and structuring compromises to minimize the importance of those issues which proved divisive. The result of those efforts became our Constitution which, together with some critical amendments, became the heart and brain of America. Over the succeeding two centuries we have fought wars to preserve our America, protecting the idea which gave us birth and the country which grew out of it. While it is appropriate to show reverence for the symbols we have selected for our country, we should not confuse the symbol with what America still is, a wonderful idea about how people can govern themselves, and not a flag.

My Brother was a Soldier

I have written little about my brother Ed, his quiet courage and qualities as a young man nor how proud I was of him. When the family moved to Arizona then Baldwin, then Miami, Ed was still a youngster, yet he took the moving, the bouncing around and the displacement in stride; for years lacking both a stable home and a support structure.

In his quiet way he survived and flourished, making friends, becoming educated and growing into a likable, self reliant young man. Once settled in Miami, Ed came into his own, becoming popular and political in Coral Gables High School, surrounded by a circle of nice loving friends and developing a quality of self-confidence and charm which served him well. Active in a variety of youth activities, he became the Boy's State governor of Florida and we Ludacers were proud of little brother.

Some financial impediments prevented Ed from immediately pursing college and he enlisted in the Army in 1953, posted to Ft. Jackson S.C.for his basic training. Although he has always been modest regarding his military skills, at 17 years of age, first time on the range, Ed qualified as "expert" on the M-1 Garand rifle, a bear to shoot. No small achievement,usually achieved only by lifers and country boys, especially for a kid with no shooting background but Ed still refuses to brag, saying "I was 17 when that happened." After basic he opted for the Army language school in Monterey. There he ran into some substantial difficulty with the study of Vietnamese, then the largest class in the school. Apparently, U.S. officialdom had quietly decided to pull France's chestnuts out of the fire and was beefing up its linguistic skills for the task. Ed, having inherited the Ludacer tin ear was unable to cope with the Vietnamese sing- song subtleties and had much difficulty with hearing the tonals. Eventually he transferred out and was posted to the Army Security Agency at Ft. Devens Mass, where he finished his service. On discharge, he was shortchanged by the U.S.G. ; denied G.I. Bill educational benefits since the Korean ceasefire ended hostilities in the summer of 1953. Undaunted, Ed "sucked it up" and went to work, putting himself through the University of Miami, working part time jobs while living at home, no small achievement. Later a retrospective GI Bill was no avail for him since they would not compensate him for working his own way at his own expense.He did it by himself, the hard way.

He embarked on his career as an accountant, quietly working his ass off and advancing his interests, changing jobs and moving frequently. Along the way he acquired a wife and two sons who are his prize and the apple of his eye, rejoicing in their accomplishments as a proud father should. His work moved him all over the country, a lifestyle not unlike a career military officer, except in the business mode.

Recent reports indicate he will soon become a grandfather, something he has long

wished for. I wish him all the love and success he can garner. He has earned it. He has paid his dues many times over during the years, hardworking and uncomplaining. So - here's to you Ed - I am still very proud of my "baby" brother.