We hear people brag that they can go from zero to sixty in five seconds. That's putting the pedal to the metal, burning rubber, and going down the road like you were shot out of a cannon. Big deal. That's nothing!
My friend, Tom Deits, from Madison said it best. On the occasion of me reaching the "Age of Medicare," he said, "Who'd have thought one day we'd wake up. and living in the sixties would mean we are living in our sixties?" Boy is he right. We went from the Age of Aquarius to the Age of Medicare in the blink of an eye. Now that's fast!
Tom and I came of age in the 1960's, a defining, tumultuous decade in America and also in our lives. The sixties was an interesting time for Tom and me, and everyone who lived through it. It's surprising that any of us made it into our sixties.
The events of that decade be gan quietly enough for me, as I endured the traumas and joys of high school life. Most of those experiences are nothing to write home about. I began dating, graduated from high school, attended college, lived away from home for the first time, learned how to smoke and drink, drove milk truck, attended art school, got drafted, got engaged, became an army medic, took part in the Vietnam War, saved some lives, took some lives, got married, graduated from art school, and became a commercial artist working for a living as the decade came to a close. For me, as well as most people of my generation, the sixties was one heck of a decade! Certain events really stand out.
On November 22, 1963, I was cleaning the barn when I heard on the radio that President Kennedy had been shot and killed. The country came to a standstill until after the funeral.
In the fall of '64 I headed back to Madison to study Commercial Art. The war in Vietnam was in the news, but it still didn't concern me and I paid little attention. My cousin Sandy's husband, Lou, was sent to Vietnam with the 1st Cav during the fall of '65. My parents put a large map of Vietnam on their living room wall to keep track of where he was. Little did they know at the time, it would remain on the wall for the rest of the decade as I took my turn, and then my brother, David,
October of '65, I received my greetings from the President of the United States to report for induction into the armed forces. My world quickly fell apart and completely changed from the one I had expected when the year began.
In July of 1966, I left for Vietnam on a troop ship. The old Howard died at some point during that year and a new, older version emerged from the ashes.
July 4, 1967, I returned from Vietnam, slightly disoriented, fifty pounds lighter, but still in one piece.
Eighteen days after returning home, Linda and I were married. My body was home and present, but my mind was missing in action, still half a world away.
The hippie culture of the '60 was flourishing. Everyone was getting high, making love, and dropping out. I felt very old, like an outsider who didn't belong among the young students I found myself surrounded by, who were only a couple years younger than me. The war was on the nightly news. Both the war in Vietnam and the war at home in the streets. I just wanted to forget about the whole sorry mess and not be reminded of it every day.
The summer of '68, my brother, David, was drafted. When he left for Vietnam, I never expected to see him alive again. There was no way both of us were getting out of Vietnam alive.
In '68 Martin Luther King was shot and killed. Bobby Kennedy was shot and killed. Rioting Blacks burned Watts to the ground. Madison streets became a war zone, as protesters battled the police and National Guard. America was in chaos and it all seemed to stem from the unpopularity of the war. My war.
While the country was in chaos, three men headed for the moon in December, 1968, aboard Apollo 8. On Christmas day they circled the moon and could see no borders between countries or wars being fought on earth. They saw only a peaceful, beautiful planet floating in the blackness of space.
July 21, 1969, Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon as I watched on television one evening.
In August of '69, 500,000 flower children of the sixties descended on Woodstock, New York for a love fest. I wasn't among them.
Late December of '69, my brother also returned—alive—from the war. We had both made it home and would live to see the dawn of another decade. The sixties ended on a happy note for us.
Now as I look back on the sixties, I see them as a time when I lost my youth and innocence and never found them again. The sixties did that to people. Now I'm living in the sixties again, only this time it's the Age of Medicare. As Tom and I look back, and ahead, we can't help but wonder, maybe this is the dawning of a new Age of Aquarius for us?
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