Thoughts On Patriotism

#26

Two matters my parents talked about my entire life. One was Hurricane Hazel which devastated the NC coast on Oct 15th, 1954. From Haiti to Toronto it killed 1,200 people. The
other matter was the July 4th picnic held every year in the community in which my parents were reared. My parents were reared within 2 miles of one another living in houses that
had survived the Civil War and which are still occupied until this day by relatives.  The picnic was held on the grounds of the small four room schoolhouse where all the children in the community attended school. There were no school buses or any of the present day technology and conveniences. It was the only time in the entire year that these country people actually had ice.

Of course, this was before the electric lines or the telephone lines. One of my
uncles would take a team of horses and wagon to the nearest town and buy a large block of ice.  So, with the fried chicken, potato salad, pies and cakes that the woman in the community provided for the big picnic, once in the year they could have iced tea or milkshakes.  The day was spent with just visiting, playing games, and of course baseball on the large school baseball field.  Occasionally, some state or county politician would stop by and make a patriotic speech. The local churches, Baptist, Methodist, Quaker, and even the heathen all
attended this annual festival.  These delightful days of their youth, as well as the dismal day of hurricane ravaging of crops and buildings were etched in their memories. 

For many years, I owned an apartment in New York City where I stayed briefly, usually once a month.  This was an excellent catapult site for my world travels.  A great joy to me was my membership and activity in an organization called ' Volunteer services for children' comprised
of wealthy, international minded citizens of New York. Shelters or orphan homes were sponsored around the world, and this facilitated the travel of the world for many members. My first trip to China, following its opening, included several lawyers and judges who were members of this group. At one of our meetings at the Large Hilton New York on Avenue of the Americas and West 53rd, I became disoriented after going to the men's room and found myself in the wrong meeting in this large hotel.  Of course few people are going to question a blind man coming in and taking a seat.  They had nice refreshments and several engaged me in conversation probably thinking that I was one of the group. (it turned out to be a Communist club within one of the cities large unions).

I started to enjoy my conversations with these unusual people, they learned I was a disabled veteran who had traveled the world and had particular knowledge of Russia and Mongolia. They were fascinated with my train trip across the Gobi Desert, were I had maneuvered myself under blankets and photographed Russian missile silos and hid the 2 rolls of film in my crotch (because the Russian agents count your film upon entering and leaving the train and one does not wish to tangle with these female Russian police train agents.) But, as with this meeting where I was not invited, blind people are usually non threatening. One asked me if I cared to go with him to another meeting on the West side where Gus would be speaking.  I learned later after meeting him that this was Gus Hall, chairman of the Communist Party USA, who was old at that time but who died in 2000 at age 94.

I was amazed to hear him talk of the exploitation of my country, the already determined system of destruction by fire (matches were not invented until 1827, few things are more plentiful today And one described how easily when the wind is right setting fire to curtains and bedspreads all over any city one can easily burn a city down, particularly with the disabling of fire trucks.) I listened to these things then as I listen now, without having to go to any special West side nest, and realize that many so called Americans are very willing to hand over our country, not in an ash heap,  just because we have flaws. 


Woodrow Wilson, 23rd President of the United States, who spent some time here in Wilmington just 2 blocks from my house, graduated from Princeton in 1879, received his PhD
from John Hopkins in 1886, the only US president to receive such a degree. He became president of Princeton in 1902 and became President of the US in 1913. He spent 1914 through 1917 trying to keep America out of the War in Europe.  At the end of World War 1 he was instrumental in the founding of the League of Nations at the Treaty of Versailles. Historians generally have come to regard Wilson's failure to win U.S. entry into the League as perhaps the biggest mistake of his administration, and even as one of the largest failures of any American presidency.

He became incapacitated in 1919 from a stroke that left him mostly blind and died in 1924. Along with a small number of Americans such as Helen Keller, Cordell Hull, and George Dewey, he lays buried in the floor of the National Cathedral in Washington DC. The Americans buried in the floor of our National Cathedral such as blind Helen Keller and partially blind Woodrow Wilson or the millions that lay buried in military cemeteries such as the 17,200 in the American cemetery in Manila, Philippines, or my hard working parents and the many that did or did not accomplish much for our country. One thing runs true in most Americans lives, not the destruction but the protection of our country and American way of life.