Roman citizens for Nero
heathcliffe
location: woods
listening to: silence
registered: 2008.11.18
posts: 956
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The year was 1944. To fill a vacancy in the forest fire-fighting (oficially Fire Suppression) and Blister Rust control in the Rogue River National Forest in Oregon, I had replaced, for the summer, a Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC)member after he had been called to war.The camp housed 144 high school students, all CCC replacements.Every Friday night we listened to the Hit Parade. Frank Sinatra, my favorite girl singer, Jo Stafford, Tony Bennett, Dick Haymes, and a variety of other singers and musicians found me huddled on the top bunk in a tent, lighted only by the radio dial, and in which a dozen or so others lived, all of whom shared this Friday night reverie of dancing cheek to cheek at, say, a Tommy Dorsey concert, with girls back home, mainly in Oregon, but from as far away as Alabama and Georgia. Any number of swing dance bands played in our gymnasiums, dance halls, and pavillions.Friday nights and a radio smuggled them in to our tents and lovesick hearts.The world was ablaze with war. Our nation was more at peril than we were being told. What little we cared, the Hit Parade let us forget. Favorite singers, groups, and orchestras, commanded our attention. I had lost an uncle on the battleship Arizona, but other than that, for us, the war was for others to worry about and fight about. I wonder, is our nation in peril today, economically, educationally, scientifically? Certainly our wars are far away, and an all-volunteer army--Plato's Guardian class--gets less attention than the draft-filled ones of boys next door of yesterday's wars. Sacrifice at home is barely noticed, except the price of gas is higher, but no A or B ration stamps of WWII.No war bonds being bought, no taxes levied on the rich to support the war.Wall Street terrorists lob their bombs, and we pick them up, wipe them off, and give them back to have them lob them at us again. Combiine that with the increased health insurance premiums we've seen this year of reform reaching, and the sickness they're supposed to shepherd cures to evolves into different but equally dangerous strains, such strains as bankruptcy, foreclosure, and suicide, to name a few.Creditors are from abroad. Foreigners, who threaten our position in the world, economically, educationally, and scientifically, and, who profit enormously from our trade imbalances.Jobs thrived, I will say that, in 1941. We even learned that women made a pretty effective workforce.Jobs are scarce today. A single Senator can 'object' to an extension of unemployment benefits, which for another Senator, if granted, would keep job seekers from seeking jobs anyway, as they live lavishly (my word)on the government checks.Oh, what I'd give to be able to reminisce about my favorite music groups, but, alas, I can't. I can't listen to Nero less I forget the country's on fire.
H
heathcliffe
(view)
The year was 1944. To fill a vacancy in the forest fire-fighting (oficially Fire Suppression) and Blister Rust control in the Rogue River National Forest in Oregon, I had replaced, for the summer, a Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC)member after he had been called to war.The camp housed 144 high school students, all CCC replacements.Every Friday night we listened to the Hit Parade. Frank Sinatra, my favorite girl singer, Jo Stafford, Tony Bennett, Dick Haymes, and a variety of other singers and musicians found me huddled on the top bunk in a tent, lighted only by the radio dial, and in which a dozen or so others lived, all of whom shared this Friday night reverie of dancing cheek to cheek at, say, a Tommy Dorsey concert, with girls back home, mainly in Oregon, but from as far away as Alabama and Georgia. Any number of swing dance bands played in our gymnasiums, dance halls, and pavillions.Friday nights and a radio smuggled them in to our tents and lovesick hearts.The world was ablaze with war. Our nation was more at peril than we were being told. What little we cared, the Hit Parade let us forget. Favorite singers, groups, and orchestras, commanded our attention. I had lost an uncle on the battleship Arizona, but other than that, for us, the war was for others to worry about and fight about. I wonder, is our nation in peril today, economically, educationally, scientifically? Certainly our wars are far away, and an all-volunteer army--Plato's Guardian class--gets less attention than the draft-filled ones of boys next door of yesterday's wars. Sacrifice at home is barely noticed, except the price of gas is higher, but no A or B ration stamps of WWII.No war bonds being bought, no taxes levied on the rich to support the war.Wall Street terrorists lob their bombs, and we pick them up, wipe them off, and give them back to have them lob them at us again. Combiine that with the increased health insurance premiums we've seen this year of reform reaching, and the sickness they're supposed to shepherd cures to evolves into different but equally dangerous strains, such strains as bankruptcy, foreclosure, and suicide, to name a few.Creditors are from abroad. Foreigners, who threaten our position in the world, economically, educationally, and scientifically, and, who profit enormously from our trade imbalances.Jobs thrived, I will say that, in 1941. We even learned that women made a pretty effective workforce.Jobs are scarce today. A single Senator can 'object' to an extension of unemployment benefits, which for another Senator, if granted, would keep job seekers from seeking jobs anyway, as they live lavishly (my word)on the government checks.Oh, what I'd give to be able to reminisce about my favorite music groups, but, alas, I can't. I can't listen to Nero less I forget the country's on fire.
