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Stratemeyer and Frederick A. Franklin, Augustus. Anne Melbourne; or, the Return to Virtue. A Tale of Boston Boston: H. Williams, Freelance, Radical [pseud. Google Books Frisch, Karen. With the Compliments of Chas. Frothingham Boston. Grant, printer, Washington St. Henry M Snyder. Gallagher, Kevin. Boston is central to the story. But he finds that all land within 30 miles of a railroad has been taken up by speculators. He struggles for five years to pay off a loan and get title to his farm, and then a storm destroys his wheat just before harvest.

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Boston, October, New England edition Boston: H. M'Glenen, The Ray was a series of theatre programs. Meritt, Paul. Concrete poetry Mills, Anita. Montague, Charles Howard and C. Office, Boston Mass. An Ode in Time of Hesitation In Gloucester Moors and Other Poems. Boston Inside Out! Sins of a Great City! The Fallen priest. Story founded on fact. John Rantoul James R.

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Robert Casilla. But many millions go hungry, because they are subjected to an economy controlled from the Yankee north, which sees to it that the Brazilian government usually conducts the national economy and politics in the interests of the United States. I do not recall how much of this sunk in, but I do remember that it felt wrong that I should be ostracized because of something American adults did to the Brazilians. I got to see quite a bit of this majestic land.

My father took our family to Rio de Janeiro, still then the wonderful capitol. I climbed up to the gigantic figure of Jesus Christ, Cristo de Corvocado, and took the swinging chair lift to Sugar Loaf Mountain, where I learned that I had a fear of heights when I can not control the apparatus. Most everyone buys aerosol cans of intoxicating perfume. It is like a gaseous deodorant, which people spray over one another. It produces a euphoric high, something like I later learned marijuana does. During carnival many people smoke marijuana and drink a great deal of booze, especially cachaca.

Carnival is a special time for the poor to release their pentup feelings stemming from poverty. People, especially women, use much of the year preparing for this three to five day holiday. They pinch a penny here or there for garn to make their own colorful costumes. Carnival is also an occasion for many to settle scores with an enemy, a neighbor one dislikes or someone who has done you wrong.

The police are busiest in these times, trying to cope with many murders. My father and I took a canoe tour into the Amazon river, an unparalleled spectacle. I saw many animals: monkeys, apes, crocodiles and poisonous snakes. Once, Maria saved me from the deadly poisonous bite of a small snake, which I had picked up from the dirt road in front of our house. I sailed a few times with a fisherman on his jangada, a very light balsa raft with a small sail.

Jangada fishermen fish with a line and hook or a net. They sail with their catch, or troll them to a beach not far from where I lived. There, fish is sold to housewives and family maids. I learned again that the sea is your friend but one to respect for its many dangers, including sharks. One time I thought sharks were about to devour me as I was taking my usual afternoon swim.

There were only a couple of commercial pilots resting on the beach when I dove in and swam out. All of a sudden, up popped a large fin, and then another. They were headed for me. Believing they were sharks, I swam to the beach faster than I knew I could. When I climbed out of the water, their finned backs were nearby. The pilots laughed. I reproached them for making fun of my danger.

They told me that the fins belonged to dolphins. Then I saw that they were the friendly mammals as they began springing about. I returned to the water to play. To this day, dolphins, along with chimpanzees and deer, are my favorite animals. Another danger of the sea is its ability to snatch bathing trunks from boys in puberty. I was still a virgin in my 14th year, but with all the sensuous female bodies about me on the beaches and streets, at the exuberating carnivals—Recife is known for its wild carnivals second only to Rio—and with all the sex talk I heard, my loins were exploding.

A sergeant, who befriended me, was a tall handsome charmer. One of his several women accompanied me to the beach one day. She was sexy in a bikini, and she was not shy about having sex with men other than her airman friend, but she was not taken by my youth.

She did let me fondle her body in the water as we swam, but laughingly resisted my stiff member. When she left the water, I stayed in and sought to coax her back. I feigned that a wave took them, but I think I helped remove them more than the wave. She picked up a towel and teasingly told me to walk towards it.

She held it in front of her fine body and watched me walk towards her from the water. She had fun watching my nakedness but she did no more than wrap the towel around my waist and told me to hurry home and dress. When I got home, my mother saw me running up the stairs with the towel on. I told her what had happened, at least the part about the enigmatic wave. She repeated it to father, who relished in telling his military friends in a mutually understanding undertone about my escapade with the wave.

We took a bus to a red light district near the fish market. The prostitute houses were just across from the wide beach. The boys told me they had had their first women and it was time I did too. She was taller than me and had a wide, smiling mouth. She was dark-skinned with a mixture of bloods in her hot veins. She took my hand and led me upstairs. She unbuttoned us both as my body pulsated. I could not relate to foreplay and penetrated quickly.

My juices soon leapt into her. My friends awaited us and asked how it had gone. I remember looking out at the jangadas and the turquoise clear, starry-lit sky, and suddenly fainted. I fell on the sand. Momentarily, I opened my eyes to see three worried faces looking down upon me. When the woman saw that I was alright, she laughed. She may not have meant it to be a mocking laugh, but it sounded so to me. There were other prostitutes looking at me from their windows and they laughed too. I was so embarrassed that I ran away. I ran and ran, until I reached home.

When I came inside, I rushed upstairs to my bedroom. I could only mumble yes. I was simply too overexcited and overexerted. The next day, it pained to urinate and pus formed in my penis. I got scared, remembering airmen speaking of venereal diseases.


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I was horrified that I might have something like that and that my parents would find out. I went to the naval doctor at the US naval base and made him swear not to tell anyone. When I healed, I wanted sex. I made someone suffer for my horniness, which I have regretted. I began courting a middle-class Brazilian girl, who had to be chaperoned. I wanted her sumptuous body, but she always put me off with pecking lips. She had to be married before she would bestow anymore.

I was no marrying catch. This only frustrated me all the more. I had to so something with my lust. I decided to impress her with my Yankee wealth. My mother kept a box of jewelry and I rummaged about it to find a gift for the sophisticated girl. I took a bracelet, which I gave her on one of our walking dates.

She was gleeful and gave me an unusually warm kiss. I was all the more horny when I returned home. The third maid was to babysit me that evening. I walked over to the stairwell holding onto my penis, stiffening in my hand as I waved it at her. She stood up and stared at me, laughing. I paraded about, asking her to fuck me. I had some pocket money from my parental allowance. Not long thereafter, my mother discovered that a piece of her jewelry was missing and asked if I knew anything.

I felt awful. I felt all the worse as I lied. I cast suspicion on the maid I had made to fuck me. Mother and father decided to fire her. My parents never told me that they believed I had lied. That was one of the dirtiest things I have ever done. Besides introducing me to sex and disgrace, Brazil was my introduction to imperialism. I saw it in real life before I became cognizant of its reasons. Imperial domination is primarily economically motivated. The rich, and would-be rich, earn enormous profits by exploiting people for their labor.

This domination is superimposed by the mightier nations over the less economically developed nations, especially in the warm south—the so-called Third World. This is a battle much like bullies on the block lording over smaller kids. I will recapitulate a bit of that history here, in order to explain what I learned about this phenomenon first hand. Brazilians are a mix of indigenous natives, black slaves, and the national mixture of white Portuguese and other Europeans with the oppressed people of color.

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They are a tough breed. They have fought many battles for their sovereignty. In , they were one of the first peoples to throw off their colonial shackles. They were also the only nation in southern America to select a monarch of their own, a Brazilian called Prince Pedro. The national monarchy lasted for three-quarters of a century until Pedro II stopped the slave trade, in This affronted the power of the Christian Church, national plantation owners and the army, which combined to overthrow the king.

There followed three decades of strife between the emerging national leaders and local leaders. The first strong presidential leader was Getulio Dornelles Vargas, who became president in with dictatorial powers. He put a stop to the power conflicts, and he dealt equally hard with ideological enemies, both fascists and communists. In , Vargas brought the nation into the Second World War on the side of the allies. After the war, he fell from power. A more sharing-the-powers constitution was adopted in , yet the new president prohibited the Communist party.

Vargas was reelected in Vargas was a classic caudillo leader, a nationalist popular with the have nots and local businessmen. He was anti-communist and anti-fascist, and ruled with a hard hand, which all western powers appreciate when the hard hand rules in their favor. But he came into ill graces with the United States, because he sought better economic profits for national producers. My father came home mad the day Vargas committed suicide. My father viewed the United States as innocent, a bountiful land in all ways, replete with charity. Brazilian congressional investigations, economic institutional analyses, investigative journalistic reports, and US Federal Trade Commission reports show why Vargas committed suicide.

We tried to defend the price and the answer was such violent pressure on our economy that we had to give in. That was long before the Brazilian people voted overwhelmingly for one of their own: Luis Ignacio Lula da Silva, a factory worker and union organizer. More than half the coffee sold in the world is consumed in the United States.

Just after the US put its preferred military dictatorship into power, in , the price of coffee for US companies decreased significantly. Six US coffee concerns controlled much of the coffee leaving Brazil, and another six US companies controlled the coffee entering the US.

They gouged the difference. US iron and steel corporations confronted Vargas with the same threats as did the coffee cartel. Four days later, Brazilian generals—many trained in the US and some at the School of the Americas, which instructs in the use of torture—forced Quadros to resign. Goulart escaped with his life but was forced into exile. In , they chose Humberto Castelo Branco. He prohibited previous democratically-elected leaders from participating in politics. He banned all political parties, forbad strikes, sent thousands of protestors to their death and jailed many others.

Branco graciously pleased Hanna Mining Company by offering it the great wealth of iron under the Paraopeba valley. There is no limit to the percentage of the registered capital that may be remitted as profit After the death of Vargas, foreign capital flowed into Brazil in great magnitudes. Since then more Japanese came to live in Brazil than any other land outside Japan. My father could not have known all of this. Nevertheless, I believe that even had he known it would have made no change of life for this myopic American Dreamer.

US Americans possess a strange and unique psyche in the history of national psychologies. They negate any American responsibility or criminality regardless of how many wars they start or engage in, regardless of how many people they kill, even torturing people into vegetables or to death; no matter how many people suffer needless hunger and starvation, needless illnesses and diseases and early death, in order that a few people many of them Americans can be richer. They do not wish to see their employers as their exploiters for the profit, or their politicians as being in the pockets of the rich.

This phenomenon has even affected the direction of communist opposition to US capitalism. I looked up to my father in my early years. I admired him for his honesty and dependability, for his knowledge and large vocabulary. He would often send me running to the dictionary. Yet he was also self-righteous, impenetrable to critique, authoritarian, and never accepted criticism of his fatherland. On balance, though, he nudged my curiosity about life, which in a few years led to our parting of ways. No more Master Ron being served cocktails in a hammock.

Many changes were about to occur as the summer of began. We were readying to return to the United States, again to Midwest City when a letter arrived from my birth mother. Norma had finally decided to leave her husband, and, with grandmother Nana, sought to gather all three of her boys in one home. She wanted me to help make this new home in Mansfield, Ohio, close to where most of the Hyatts and Ridenours had been born. I had mixed feelings about this proposal but was mostly excited. I wanted to be loved by my real mother and get to know my brother.

I had fond memories of my years with Nana. I must have had kisses and hugs from my step-mother and father, but I do not remember them. We had a rare father-to-son talk. He related that my mother had been the cause of their divorce, since it was she who bore a son out of wedlock while he was off fighting for the fatherland. We all moved into a small apartment in Mansfield, all, that is, but Richard.

His father refused to let him go with his mother, and sent him to live with his paternal grandmother. Mother was downcast about the separation but attempted to set up the new home, hoping John would eventually give in. I took a part-time job as a package boy in a market. Mother got a job as a cashier. Nana took care of the apartment and most of the cooking. Jim and I started school. I was in the 11th grade. I had been oblivious to the entertainment developments in the land of my birth and it felt strange to hear the melancholic tales of James Dean films and his sudden death, and the new rock music of the wild Elvis Presley.

In an effort to integrate myself into this odd world, I joined the high school football team. My slender build was unsuitable for tackling and being tackled. In one practice game, I caught the passed ball and was running when a bunch from the opposite team tackled me. They pounced upon me, one after another, until my brain received a concussion. Gerald Ford, for example, was a popular football player. His football skills and military history played a significant part of his political campaign for the presidency. Mother taught me to drive her car. As I turned 16, I took and passed the drivers exam.

That was my one achievement before mother decided to return to her husband. At the time, I did not relate to her loss as much as I did to my own perceived needs. I felt a disdain for Norma, even contempt, for her weakness and lack of resolve. Jim and I had just begun to get to know each other and were still in the stage of finding our own identities and rank order. The break-up resulted in his returning to the step-father he hated.

Jim had a temper and was a scrapper. Even as a young boy, he had challenged John for hitting his mother. Jim never got over the pain of humiliation and impotence. At 14, he was strong enough that John never dared to lay a hand on him or his mother again. Although I felt left out by most students, and did want to be popular, I could not stand the popular ones: bubble-gum smacking, chauvinistic and obnoxious braggarts.

I did try joining with the mainstream once. I attended only one meeting. I was thoroughly turned off by the mumbo jumbo secret passwords and blind codes of honor and obedience. I did better at my school lessons than in becoming popular. I earned mostly A and B grades, mainly because studying through correspondence taught me to be a disciplined student. Looking over my archive copies of the newspaper, I see that I tried to integrate myself by writing about football games and visiting military recruiters.

Reading these articles now, I can see the editors were not demanding ones. Another way of trying to be popular was to have a motor vehicle, so I took a part-time job as a shoe-shine boy in a barber shop when my father was away on a military assignment. I earned enough to buy a used motor scooter. I distinctly recall driving in a suburban neighborhood when I saw a little girl standing on her lawn by the street. I stopped to say hello and we chatted before her mother came stalking out the front door to admonish her daughter. I drove off feeling a chill of estrangement. How horrible it feels that people are made to feel afraid of what harm strangers could do to their children.

When my father returned from his assignment, he was angry that I was shinning shoes. This was not work suited for whites. He forced me to stop. I got a job as a package boy again, this time at the largest supermarket, Safeway. Here, I learned more about alienation of an economic nature, though without understanding its alienating causes. I somehow felt it justifiable to occasionally take coins from the cash register. A neighbor boy, two years my elder, had worked the previous summer at a large forest under the jurisdiction of the federal government. He was to return and asked me if I wanted to come along.

One had to be 18, and I was only 16, but he said I could lie on the application. I took the chance. It was a long bus ride to northern Idaho, to the beautiful great northwest country. I took a room in the little logging town closest to the national forest. I applied and was accepted for the brush crew, those who clear the earth from foliage, in order to prevent brush fires.

We slept in log cabins on bunk beds and got up early. It was hard work and we ate like lions. Our early morning breakfasts included as many eggs and bacon, or even steak, as we wished, with potatoes, pancakes, fruit, juice, milk and coffee. I was smaller than most of the men and the youngest of the lot, but I had the energy and sinewy strength to keep up. And I was too young to spend my good earnings on drinking bouts, so the foreman offered me a promotion after a month on the job.

He needed a lookout tower man, those who keep watch for fires. It was a job of responsibility with greater pay. I was pleased. But before I could start, paperwork had to be sent to the federal government. It was here that they learned I was l8 months under aged. When my foreman received this information, I had to be fired. It was still reasonably safe to hitch-hike in , but I had to stand many hours in the rain with my thumb out.

I got rides mostly from truck drivers, who used hitch-hikers to keep them awake. One such ride scared me to death. It was late at night and he was dead tired. I told him I had no idea how to drive this huge truck with so many gears. He quickly showed me how to shift gears and insisted I take over. I tried, but was too scared. I pulled over and left his truck. I eventually arrived in Ohio. I was flat broke and Pap got me a job at the raincoat factory where he worked.

I got the same wage. This seemed unjust to me, a boy of 16 earning the same as his grandfather of retirement age. I worked alongside my grandfather for a few weeks and had many a good laugh with him. It was the last time I saw Pap and my grandmother Eva. They both died not long thereafter. I had earned enough money to take a bus to New Jersey to see my brother Jim and my mother.

Jim and I got along better this time. I was cool with mother, who was full of remorse. The last time I saw my step-father was at his vacuum-cleaner store in New Jersey. He always had policemen drop in for a whiskey in the back. Cops respected him for that. Moreover, he said that he sometimes told women that their cleaners needed new parts when they were simply clogged up.

These women were poor and most often black. My stomach churned bile as I listened to this asshole. I also felt contempt for my mother for sinking to such opportunistic levels, living with a man she despised or ought to despise. I now believe that my personal disappointment over my mother's lack of true family values, her weakness for material wealth, influenced me to hold wealth at a distance. My father never spoke about religion. I believe he was agnostic. Jean believed in god and church but rarely attended church.

Once, Jean went to church with me and a girl I was keen on. An evangelical preacher conducted a captivating delivery. I sought connection with my step-mother and the pretty girl, and I became somewhat mesmerized by the preacher. I stepped forward to take communion. When we exited the church, I was bubbling over. I did not return to the opiate institution. We senior students were required to take an intelligence test.

The adult responsible would not tell us our score but she indicated in which areas we were more or less capable. The woman clearly did not want to disillusion me but she hinted that I had large holes in my intelligence. My ability to abstractly understand intangibles was is severely limited, as are my mechanical and electrical skill capabilities. These limitations were no small barriers in the practical world. The one area that saved me from retardation was my ability with words.

Soon thereafter, my father and I were listening to the radio in the autumn of , as political events in Hungary were exploding. There were different fractions contending for political direction. Battles occurred on November 4 and in a week the Soviet troops had crushed the opposition. My father was proud of this decision.

As I was only 17, my father had to sign a waiver for me to leave school and enter the military. In , Columbus landed at the Caribbean island now known as the Dominican Republic. He became popular after his travel letters were published in Originally, Yankee referred to those living in the North during the liberation-colonial war and afterwards.

Yankees became a dirty word, referring to the imperial government and soldiers, and civilians, who identify with this manifest destiny. It is the common usage and, thus, expedient. Chapter Three Air Force: A decade after the black boy was shot, an incident I had long forgotten, I joined the United States Air Force to fight for freedom.

But I nearly did not make muster. Before being accepted into the military, everyone must take tests to ascertain intelligence and capabilities. It is possible to be so ignorant or retarded that one is rejected. After I took the five tests, I was called in for an interview. An airwoman held the scores before her. That is the lowest possible score. And to your credit, you have an honor background from high school. So, we can accept you. I was now a basic airman with serial number AF I was to learn how to conduct myself as a proud American.

I was assigned to flight We were forty young men under the lead of training instructor TI , airman second class Arlington. I volunteered for any duty, striving to prove myself to my fellow recruits, the TI, and especially to my father. I kept my bunk bedcovers tight, my locker in neat order, my shoes shinning spick and span. As bivouac training neared, MR.

Arlington informed me personally that our flight would start last in the company of four flights and it was our duty to come in first. He placed confidence in me to set a quick pace and find the right moment to maneuver around the flights in front of us. While I was zealous to perform, I was not the only young proud American setting out on bivouac that day.

When I quickened step, the others in my flight tried to follow. Though most fell in, others stumbled. The TI scolded their clumsiness, which I took as an indirect praise of my quick and steady steps. Encouraged, I concentrated on the flight we neared, glancing about for the right moment to pass them up. The last line of recruits just ahead zig-zagged in front of me and broke line.

They were not playing by the rules and this angered me. The recruits in the other flight sought to out-maneuver us and our formations broke up. I heard several TIs shouting something, but I did not hear their message, or I ignored them. Now in a trot, I saw a large man with several stripes on his sleeves standing directly ahead of me.

He roared at us to stop. I could not. It was my duty to come in first. There were men running all about me now, and he was a big man. He did not. I ran smack into him, toppling him. All was amok. Only fear prevented chaos. The man I had run down was the top sergeant, over all the TIs.

The company was called to attention. The sergeant boomed at us. He demanded that the culprit or culprits reveal themselves. Who was responsible for this mess? I guess I thought my TI would say something, but he did not, so it must be my responsibility to speak out. We are responsible for our actions, my father stressed. I had often heard about our first president and how he had come forth to admit that it was he who had chopped down the cherry tree. I raised my hand above the heads of hundreds of young recruits. The sergeant roared for me to come forward. My TI stood beside him and confirmed that I was his flight guide, though he did not tell the top sergeant what he had told me.

I said in my defense that I tried to pass the flight in front of me in the interest of competition for first place. Whether or not the first sergeant saw the point of free competition, he ordered me under a sort of house arrest. I was to join in all the bivouac activities and when we returned in four days to our barracks, I was to report to him for punishment. I performed the bivouac tasks well enough though with a lump in my throat.

My TI was very angry with me and removed me from the privileges of scribe and guide. When we returned to our base, the top sergeant ordered me to dig a big hole by my barracks. When I was finished, he ordered me to dig deeper. Then he ordered me to fill the hole back up. I got very little sleep that night and never regained my earlier status as a model airman. I would learn to track aircraft and prevent the enemy from flying over our territories. I was existed. Soon, I would be put to use for the upcoming attack against the communists.

But, as so much in military life, I must wait. I was placed on permanent KP kitchen patrol until the class began. This seemed unnecessarily strict to me—KP was long hard hours of heavy and dirty work. One morning, after my first night away from the base in two weeks, I was violently awakened before dawn. The intruder ordered me out of bed for KP duty. My head pounded from a groggy. I informed him that I had received relief from KP duty yesterday as I was to begin school after the weekend.

As we were marched in darkness towards the kitchen, a cohort and I stuck off. We had had enough. We spent the day playing like kids. In the afternoon, we were discovered and taken to the school director. The commander would not hear of the conflict between promises and expediency. In the military, one is required to obey orders, no matter the reasoning or lack of such. Radar operator training was interesting enough. I learned how to spot aircraft and track their flight patterns on the radar screen.

Plotters wrote backwards so that officers, standing on a dias behind the radar equipment, could see where aircraft were located and in which direction they were headed. If the officers judged something amiss, they were to order action, which could be scrambling jets to intercept aircraft that did not belong in the area. The jets could also be ordered to shoot down intruders. In my spare time, I took and passed a general educational development test for high school level and soon received a diploma from Midwest City High School.

I played poker and tennis. I made the base team and played in competition, both singles and doubles. My partner was a black man. On the one occasion we went to the town nearest base, we were chased away from entering a bar. I reported this to military authorities and was told that it was not our concern what went on in town. In the future, we should keep ourselves to the base. Upon graduation from radar training, I received orders to a radar site in Japan.

At that time, April, Japan was still under American occupation. During my leave, my father told me not to expect to be sent to Europe to fight the commies, because US politicians were too spineless. If he had ultimate power there would be war against all the communists until the last was killed or surrendered.

Strangelove, was fashioned after General Lemay. Lemay, the Pentagon chiefs generally, and corporate America did not appreciate this honesty. Neither Eisenhower nor other American Dreamers could allow that, not even for the sake of democracy. I had to change planes three times to cross the United States from Mississippi and over the Pacific Ocean to Tokyo, some 10, kilometers. It was an arduous and exciting trip. A long bus ride around the gigantic city, then over bumpy country roads, and up a mountain dirt road, led to my new home, Site 4, th Aircraft Control and Warning Squadron.

We were only a few hundred kilometers from Peter the Great Bay at Vladivostok. We felt consciously close to our enemy. At the Quonset hut headquarters I was assigned to a barracks where about 20 white men were quartered. We slept in two-tiered, steel-framed bunk beds. We had the privilege of having a defeated native clean up after us. Across the way was the mess hall where we ate American and some Japanese chow. Behind this building was the black barrack.

The commander, Mayor Harold Hopkins, honored southern traditions. Though we worked side by side for the democratic model of the world, white and black GIs lived segregated. Before starting my first shift—we rotated three eight-hour shifts each week—an officer instructed us new radar operators about our mission: vigilance and control over the skies. Normal operation dealt with keeping our military planes, and commercial aircraft, from crashing into one another. Inside the dark radar hall, we scrutinized the electronic devices and chalked flight patterns on the plexi-glass screen.

It was a constant strain on the eyes and wrists. We sat at the scope an hour at a time. After a short break, we took up plotting for another hour. After a four-day shift, we had from one to three days free. In my free time, I took walks on the Mineokyama mountain top through the numerous pine trees. Looking at photos of that period, which have been kept in boxes for nearly half-a-century, I can see a likeness to my thin frame and face, and bushy crew-cut hair. Veteran barrack mates prepped me for my first night on the town. There are commies about. We had to obtain a pass from the sergeants in charge of our shifts.

We were transported by bus to the nearest town, Awakamogawa, 20 kilometers from Site 4. The bus ride took us alongside numerous rice paddies, small water fields where men ploughed through mud.

10 Forgotten Women in American History

One managed the plow while another led an ox drawing the wooden plough. Behind the fields stood straw-thatched, small huts. Awakamogawa was a small town. A handful of us walked along narrow dirt streets lined with small shops and wooden houses. Some had tiled roofs and wooden balconies. There were few cars and many bicycles. We stopped at one of the GIs haunts, Bar Loge. The women dressed in pretty kimonos or tight-fitting, colorfully-patterned dresses, which covered their tiny bodies from neck to ankles.

The Japanese bartender served me whisky, which I downed quickly to take off the edge of excitement. He chattered with the women. Girls giggled as they watched my face twist at the taste of strong alcohol. I entered the WC to pee and was surprised to see a woman sitting over a toilet bowl. She laughed at seeing my face. She told me, in broken English, that this was a unisex bathroom, and she offered me a trick. She led me to a room which contained little more than a narrow bed with a hard mattress.

She sucked my penis hard and then guided me into her. This was my first experience with fellatio and the best sex I had had since Brazil. I would become a fast customer at Bar Loge. I volunteered on the small staff of the base newsletter, Radar Echoes. I was readily accepted since I could use a typewriter, and I learned to churn out the sheets on the mimeograph machine.

I also received my first stripe, and sewed my airman third class emblem on my uniforms. I earned a commendation certificate for instruction in code of conduct and weapons familiarization firing. I was proud, yet there were things nagging me. That must be the reason, I thought, why we violated those treaties. We sent two reconnaissance aircraft from our military bases in Japan over Soviet skies each day.

Additional US sites were responsible for sending other spy aircraft. It was the logic of: attack first before being attacked, a preventive war. During the year I was stationed in Japan, I never saw or heard of any intruding Soviet aircraft. Moreover, the Soviets did not shoot at our spy planes, not until after my tour of duty when they shot down the U-2 spy plane piloted by Francis Powers, on Mayday This was the first time that the Soviets decided to shoot down a US spy aircraft.

They did so in order to embarrass the United States and let it be known that Russia also had the technology and determination to defend itself. I also felt ill at ease with the base segregation and put-down language white airmen routinely used against black GIs and the Japanese people.

The leading clique decided to invade the off limits part of town, where our houseboy lived. We were a dozen white men in civilian clothes marching down the main street and into the Red district. We boldly shouted Yankee chants and songs. A rock or two were thrown at some possible symbol of subversion.

One window was smashed. He was surprised to see but only smiled, and he welcomed us to his humble home as we guffawed. His wife made us tea and we soon departed. Word of our forbidden adventure circulated the base and the commander called us into his office. He chastised us but did not punish us. After all, our infraction was conducted out of a sense of patriotism. I earned a three-day pass into Tokyo. I was awed by its architecture, the bright lights and the multitudes.


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I entered a modern bar. A tall woman in makeup and western dress engaged me in conversation. She spoke intelligently in good English. She was also a prostitute and invited me upstairs. We began to kiss and pet. I groped between her legs, and suddenly pulled back my hand and dashed out the door. Back at the base, I resumed visiting the local. She gave complete fellatio, which thrilled me so much we spent a lot of time together. And we did more than fuck.

We went swimming, took hikes, and once we rode a bus to Futomi, a small fishing village. The thatched houses were crammed together in rows near the sandy beachfront where small fishing crafts anchored. A group of boys stood on a sea wall fishing with canes. They were dressed in school uniforms with shower clogs for footwear. I see, in another photo, that I am squatting beside a stone Buddha, half my height. A photo of Keico Dynamite and me in bathing suits indicates we shared dark hair and skin color, but her nose is broader than my rather long narrow prominence.

When the United States military occupied Japan, it made whores of many of the needy women. My eyes were opened to new information kept from me by our military. I, of course, knew there had been atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki--which were off limits to us--but I had no idea of the extent of wanton destruction, and the fact that vital information about the wasting disease that follows radiation contact was kept from Japanese doctors.

For several months following the bombings, hundreds died excruciating deaths in hospitals every day, yet the US denied there was any atomic radiation. Some , people, mostly civilians, died directly from these two nuclear attacks. Hundreds of thousands more died in the coming years from the radiation and other hundreds of thousands suffered pain while alive.

They killed over , civilians. Over 20 square kilometers of city were burned to ashes; , buildings destroyed. Years later, I came across the figures of destruction and read of the terrible suffering the people experienced. The Australian war correspondent Wilfred Burchett was the only western journalist to enter Hiroshima and wrote on-the-spot observations just one month after the bombing of Hiroshima. This new information from Keico, and my own experiences, led to frustration which I needed to act out.

I made my first attempt to write a short story. It was a metaphor of hell at Radar Site 4. I hung my story on the central bulletin board in front of headquarters. He reprimanded me angrily and set me to several days of KP. My stripe was stripped from me again. One night as I walked out of Bar Loge, staggering from drink and fornication, an older Japanese man stood before me. He shouted at me angrily in his tongue. Before I could understand his wrath, he had thrown me on the ground with quick hand and foot jabs and stormed away.

I later learned that he was wrought with despair at the immoral Yankee domination over his land and his women. I was not yet prepared, however, to give up the greedy pleasures of that immorality, but I endeavored to balance fairness with injustice. And I was curious. It was unjust to prostitute people, but since it existed and was institutionalized, despite any theoretical objection I might have, it was also unfair to discriminate among the underdogs. Heads turned toward me as I entered the packed room, however no one looked at or spoke to me aggressively as I ordered a drink.

Black GIs engaged me in conversation and we drank together friendlily. There was more dancing here, a more lively atmosphere. I had sex with one of the women and rode the last bus back with the black airmen. It snowed on our mountain the next day. When I returned to the barracks from my shift, several roommates grabbed and carried me outside and dunked my head in the snow.

I could not fight them.


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  7. They were many, and most were bigger and stronger than me. Nevertheless, I could not relent else I could not live with myself. I would not be immoral, at least not entirely. After my act of defiance, black GIs looked at me differently than they did most other whites. One day a young black GI walked to the front steps of my barracks. I was lying on my bunk when I heard him call my name from the porch. Two men inside the barracks rushed out the door and pushed him off the steps.

    I saw his face before he turned away. He was seething. Then the agitated whites turned on me. They threw me up against a bunk bed. While some held me, one went after an aerosol can filled with DDT insecticide. They all wore their favorite headgear. They sometimes even strutted about the base in uniform with these out-of-uniform hats. No superiors saw fit to stop this.