Fog City

I was asked by a 17 year old high school student studying in Switzerland, how old was I, what was I doing, what was my opinion of, and what was the mood and climate in society, especially the protests, of 1968. We've never met but I was happy to oblige.

My Response:

Re: Questions from Natalie
Thomas Raher <tomraher1@yahoo.com>
To:
Thomas Raher

Apr 28 at 1:44 PM

Hi Natalie,
    I'll try to be forthright and lay a bit of my historical landscape. In 1968 I was 20 years old, and it really does seem like a very long time ago. I was serving in Uncle Sam's Army, having been drafted in 1967, and was stationed in Germany. Consequently I was isolated from actively protesting and the military mandates as little outside news, especially public outcries against the military, as possible. Let me go back a bit. Prior to service, as a teenager, and product of divorced parents and a radically dysfunctional family, I rebelled. I had black friends and lived with a black woman, while immersing myself in the black culture. I learned a great deal. Back to the Army. While hanging out in the barracks with black buddies, listening to the soul of Motown, the news of Martin Luther King's assassination spread like wild fire. Of course I was dumbfounded and tried to express my shock to my friends. But the pot was simmering and rage was palpable. They asked me to leave because, obviously as a white man, I was a symbol of all their oppression.
    So you can imagine an entire society torn, the fabric frayed. The political climate as I quickly learned, was divided along racial lines and those pro and con for the Viet Nam war. The manifestations of this climate, this hurricane, were many. Blacks said no more, expressed by the Black Panthers, students opposing the draft protested and took over college administration buildings. The police, well they just got more aggressive. But still being in the Army, I was insulated and only slowly becoming aware of the push and pull of the right and left, and black and white. I saw who was being shipped to Viet Nam, and it wasn't Joe College. Poor whites and an inordinate number of young blacks were fodder for the whims of the military industrial complex. My philosophy on many things was evolving and expanding.
    The events of 1968 radicalized and numbed me, and my opinions solidified then, have varied little. My opinion of the power elite and their class war hasn't changed. In '68 I was of the opinion, with the emergence of left leaning politicians, and the ongoing civil rights movement, that a thread of social justice and fairness for all, would seep or creep back into our collective consciousness. King was murdered, Kennedy was murdered, I'm afraid that opinion was short lived. Skepticism and suspicion ruled.
    The protests went on and would go on for years. Young men were burning draft cards. The nightly news, which we saw very little on the base, reported the number of deaths each day. Families were divided, those believing in stopping Communism, and those who saw the war as waste. My time as a soldier was winding down, and I was becoming ever more grateful I hadn't been sent to Viet Nam. I believed it was wrong, and I didn't want to die. I was siding with the protesters more and more. I was frustrated and saddened, and after the horrific assassinations, my only sliver of hope was a Humphrey victory at the riotous convention in Chicago. He lost and my hopes were dashed. I guess '68 was when I actually became cynical. Cynicism resides firmly in my psyche.
    Nothing has changed actually, from then to now, and I suspect things could be considered worse now. At the time, protests, passing civil rights laws, ending the war, ousting Nixon, we mistakenly felt we made a change. But look at what's happening now. Right wing governments are xenophobic and fostering hate. Trump is building a wall and trampling on civil liberties. Brexit has divided England. And if worrying about the social climate isn't enough, our actual climate is teetering on collapse.  The protests continue for all manner of human rights, and here the police continue to kill unarmed blacks without repercussions. A football player, Kaepernick, protests police brutality and there's protests in the form of white backlash. Racism. Endless war. Corruption. It's been 50 years and.......

Natalie, I hope I haven't been to off putting, but I really don't see the world through rose colored glasses. Although your mom's photos have a positive affect. Thanks for listening. Good luck with the project and your future!!

P.S. My wife read your questionnaire and wanted to respond, I think she'll be sending you her thoughts. OK?

A snapshot or two of me in the Army, circa 1968!

Fog City

LIVE LIFE TO THE FULLEST

I’ve often heard the line, “live life to the fullest.” What exactly does that mean? Usually I notice said refrain, after someone experiences a near death occurrence. Cancer patients in remission, near fatal car accident victims are some common proponents of grasping more tightly to what they’ve been given. And when given a second chance, just what is it we become more aware of?

When I put myself in those shoes and think how could I live life to the fullest, my mind reels. My perception or concepts tend to see exaggerated efforts, huge and risky endeavors, and experiences beyond mundane, daily activities. Like climbing Mt. Everest, parachuting period, single handedly sailing across an ocean, or hiking North to South America, things I’m not going to do.

Are these grand efforts and all they entail really living life fuller? Say you slip on Everest ice and slide to your death, or the chute doesn’t open and wham, or a raging storm sinks your boat and you drown, well your fans can sing, he lived life to the fullest. I don’t know, I tend to approach the idea of a fuller life a bit differently. Say I know I’m going to die, which I do, we all are, and I’ve been given a relative time limit. I ask myself, how can I be happy, or happier? What makes me happy and is happy what I want, and is happy equal to fullest?

Let me just interject, knowing I’m going to die does not make me happy. I’m a septuagenarian and have given considerable thought to the subject of a full life. I’m also a pragmatist and understand clearly, happiness (fullest) is personal and subjective.

Happy 1, marked by joy
Happy 2, marked by good fortune
Happy 3, eagerly disposed to be of service
Happy 4, well expressed and to the point

So if I stir these ingredients into the stew of a full life, I honestly don’t see traipsing up mountains as a goal. I can though, use the examples of two figures I admire, Gandhi and Mother Teresa, who climbed mountains and sailed oceans daily, humbly smiling, fortunate to be in service to their fellow man.

I think it’s important to realize a full life is a personal domain. The defining qualities of a full life are not determined by others, but by you. Various monks, Buddhists, Trappists et al, dedicate their lives to austerity, compassion, and harmony, attributes I consider quite fulfilling. This is where I turn inward on my quest for a full life. Knowing I don’t have the resources or desire to triumph over obstacles like mountains and oceans, I can strive to see clearly – to see what makes me happy, calm and joyful and express it.  Understanding is triumph. When I’m silent like now, thinking of these words and what they mean to me and trying to convey them, I’m joyful, I’m happy. Can’t this moment be considered living life to the fullest? I say yes.

The funny thing is I apply this logic, my logic, to all my actions and observations. Each morning when a flock of geese honk their way over my house I revel in our connectedness. When the neighborhood children stop to play in my wife’s fairy garden, and hold the small seashells to their ears, listening for the sound of the ocean, I appreciate the harmony. I can climb two city blocks and see both the Pacific Ocean to the West and turning East, the City’s striking skyline downtown. My Everest. Most significant of this inward looking triumph is family. Logically I reflect, contemplate and dwell on my good fortune, which is my wife, my sons, their wives, and my grandchildren. This family web of consciousness spreads and covers most all my world. All that I see or do has links to family. Fullness.

I won’t bore you with my medical history, but I can attest to being faced with the notion, “I better live my life to the fullest.” What is the fullest? I subscribe to the idea, the mundane, our daily life, what we do and don’t do, are the components necessary. Being aware, being aware of yourself and your surroundings. When you are sitting in your chair and worried about living your life to the fullest, you are. Know it.

P.S.
I would be remiss if I didn’t include a note about the flip side of living a full life. I have some experience in the field and I know more than a few who would discard or discount my earlier thoughts. Those, who would embrace the vices as a means to fulfillment, and shirk all responsibility while diving head long into final debauchery. Oh well, death awaits either way!