Introduction

Returning from Vietnam in the spring of 1968 where I had been an army medic, I flew to St. Louis to convince my family I was whole. While there, the phone rang one afternoon. My mother answered it, called me, and shrugged when I asked who it was. The man on the other end of the line called himself "Mr. Hernandez" and offered me the chance to continue my army life insurance policy now that I was out.

Up to that instant, I had been cocky inside my unscathed skin, convinced there were no ill effects lurking to sabotage my life. Hadn't I been righteous? Hadn't I been a Conscientious Objector and a medic? Hadn't I treated our side and theirs as well? There were no deaths to wash my hands over. I had worn the uniform. I had carried my weight. I had done my duty. Hadn't I?

But his voice in my ear that day... so normal, taking care of business, supporting the family, buying the dog food, was a rusted nail slid deep into my brain. "You mother fucking blood sucker," I screamed,"shove your stinking insurance up your fucking ass." I slammed the phone back onto its cradle. I turned to face my stunned and silent mother and sister and began to shake. Greasy tears slid down my cheeks and I raged for the rest of the day.

I left home soon after and the years since have shown me nobody escapes. We are soft wax , our lives written by "Le Senor," the envelope sealed, impressed by that cruel ring. It isn't even a question of memory. Events change our shape. Our arms are twisted and we obey. But, once twisted, we never can find our true alignment again.

I am grateful that all this was so long ago and that I am alive to see my children. But so many continue to die in so many stupid ways that I am more frightened now than I ever was then. And still, the only thing necessary to change it all is for us to renounce the eroticism of violence.

But here and now, a man stood on a roof top partying with friends. He suddenly pitched forward onto his face. An instant later, the percussive slap of a shot arrived. On the street below, two boys, the front of their pants swollen with power, stared at each other, goggle-eyed at the ease with which they had become as gods.