First of all, I'm a vet so I can get away with writing this. Second, for my fellow and fellowette vets: welcome home. For those still in uniform: thank you for your service. So, that being said, please forgive a little history lesson:
Veterans Day was not always Veterans Day. Before President Eisenhower proclaimed November 11 as Veteran’s Day in 1954, it was observed as Armistice Day, named for eleventh day of November, 1918. At eleven o’clock that morning the guns of the allied and German forces fell silent across Europe. That did not mean the war was over. It just meant the shooting had stopped. Officially, The War To End All Wars, as it was known, was brought to a close the following year when President Wilson signed the Treaty Of Versailles.
Armistice Day was not established as a national holiday by congress until 1938. I first learned about Armistice Day in 1953 when I was a nine-year-old cadet in military school where I learned to shoot a rifle, march in formation, and be an insufferable little prick who asked his father to not come on visiting day unless his shoes were shined and his car was washed. That request accelerated my return to public schools.
Armistice Day at military school entailed a special formation. We cadets were lined up in ranks to hear one of the adult officers read something patriotic. I don't remember what was read, but I'm pretty sure the reading was not the following prayer written by an anti-war troublemaker following America’s 1898 land grab of Cuba; Puerto Rico; the Panama Canal Zone; the Philippines; Guam and the Marianas, known as the Spanish American War, which was started under mysterious circumstances with an unexplained explosion aboard the battleship Maine in Havana harbor. The author of the prayer was Mark Twain.
Veterans Day was not always Veterans Day. Before President Eisenhower proclaimed November 11 as Veteran’s Day in 1954, it was observed as Armistice Day, named for eleventh day of November, 1918. At eleven o’clock that morning the guns of the allied and German forces fell silent across Europe. That did not mean the war was over. It just meant the shooting had stopped. Officially, The War To End All Wars, as it was known, was brought to a close the following year when President Wilson signed the Treaty Of Versailles.
Armistice Day was not established as a national holiday by congress until 1938. I first learned about Armistice Day in 1953 when I was a nine-year-old cadet in military school where I learned to shoot a rifle, march in formation, and be an insufferable little prick who asked his father to not come on visiting day unless his shoes were shined and his car was washed. That request accelerated my return to public schools.
Armistice Day at military school entailed a special formation. We cadets were lined up in ranks to hear one of the adult officers read something patriotic. I don't remember what was read, but I'm pretty sure the reading was not the following prayer written by an anti-war troublemaker following America’s 1898 land grab of Cuba; Puerto Rico; the Panama Canal Zone; the Philippines; Guam and the Marianas, known as the Spanish American War, which was started under mysterious circumstances with an unexplained explosion aboard the battleship Maine in Havana harbor. The author of the prayer was Mark Twain.
The War Prayer
It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.
Sunday morning came. Next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams -- visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation “God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest! Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!”
Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory.
An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"
The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside -- which the startled minister did -- and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:
"I come from the Throne -- bearing a message from Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import -- that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of -- except he pause and think.
"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two -- one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this -- keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.
"You have heard your servant's prayer -- the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it -- that part which the pastor -- and also you in your hearts -- fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. the whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory -- must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!
"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With them -- in spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.
After a pause he said: "Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!"
It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.
# # #
Also, novelist, vet and sterling fellow Ken Babbs offers a Veterans Day perspective on his swell web site: http://skypilotclub.com/ . The site includes a link to his semi-autobiographical novel, Who Shot The Water Buffalo, about a Marine helicopter pilot in Viet Nam during the early 60s, and a tribute to his late friend and neighbor Ken Kesey, author of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest and Sometimes A Great Notion.
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Comments and Indictments:
War. I have most often looked at our violent nature from the biggest perspective - that humans are flawed and cannot seem to find answers to conflicts without hands-on barely newsworthy retaliations in unmonitored hallways of my own apartment building, or with thousands as witnesses on our world's blood-splattered battlefields, accounts immortalized in history books, winners and losers lifted up or maligned. "I won" is always the mentality.
My brother was my hippie soulmate in the sixties, and yet he marched off to Viet Nam not once, but twice, and came home even more fucked up than any amount of bipolar alcoholism could have done. I sobbed when he left, I cheered when he came home, and I respected what he had to do and still do. I love him, and know without a doubt that he's an honorable, amazing human being in so many ways.
We have discussed war, he and I, and how proud I am of his convictions, that he did what his country asked, and we've also shared how sad we are that this is what man comes to in the face of disagreement. It's not an easy discussion, but we are drawn to have it, perhaps just wanting our past decisions to somehow be good and clean and right in a world of hatred. He and I have always been lovers of nature and humanity and brotherhood, hippies in the best way, we always thought. Yet, he is a Vet, and I want him respected by all for his bravery and that he wanted to do right when right is often so cloudy.
I don't pretend to know his heart in this entirely. I was not there and did not see. I only know that I'll always defend his actions no matter how sad I am for the flaws of man. It's a dilemma, I realize, but like so many things in life, we find our way through maniacal struggle at times, through deep and completely silent thought, too, speechless in the awe. We pick up guns, and we put them down and embrace just as fiercely.
War. Perhaps we should always remember the raw and horrific scenes and bravery in battle, and too, just as vividly the hands and hearts and faces of those who pray for peace. -- Zoey
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Thank your dear Mike. -- Fay
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Extremely well done! I was bracing myself for the part where the Messenger of God added that the man's enemies had prayed for the same thing on their side, and that their prayers would also be heard and granted. But that might have been going too far. And thanks for the great links! -- Trog
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Now you have made me cry ...thanks for sending and writing this. Very important message indeed. -- Tammy
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STOP SENDING THIS TO ME I ALREADY ASKED YOU ONCE TO STOP SENDING ME THIS JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO ASK YOU TO STOP SENDING ME THIS -- ECHO
Okay. I can take a hint. MB
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As always, an eminently readable and worthwhile message, Mike.
Thanks for sending it. -- Ann
Thank you for reading it. MB
__________
Thanks, Mike. Another great T-Man Times... made even greater by the fact that it introduced me to a bit of Twain I'd never read. A most excellent post all around. -- Sum
__________
Yes, perfect response to those who claim religious approval for acts of war. -- Tab
__________
Yep, the Spanish American was the product of William Randolph Hearst, actually, due to his 'yellow' journalism. My dad who taught at Marymount High School and College noted to us (and he never forgot) that he was told by one of the Willy Randolph Hearst grand daughters who was in one of his classes, quote: "You know it was my grandfather that started that war, don't you?”
-- Peggy
Peggy’s dad is in his 90s and is still in excellent health. He even has a full head of hair and the appearance of a matinee idol. He was a vaudevillian who shared billing with an up-and-coming troupe known as the Marx Brothers.
William Randolph Hearst is attributed to have told a news photographer regarding the sinking of the Maine in Havana: “You supply the pictures and I’ll supply the war.” But Hearst never said that. It was said by Orson Welles’ character of Charles Foster Kane in “Citizen Kane,” which was loosely based on Hearst’s life, and which Hearst tried to suppress. Hearst did (forgive the pun) foster the term “yellow journalism,“ which has come to mean reporting based more on sensationalism than fact, but which originally referred to the cheap yellow newsprint favored by tabloid newspapers at one time. MB
__________
Nice stuff...perky little stewerdesses, huh? Tell us more. -- Gambatay.
No.
________
I talked to my best buddy from Vietnam today. We are hoping to meet up in NYC this December. He tries to meet me there every year. My daughter and I have been going since 2002 and my son and wife joined us last year and will again this year -- Doc Holliday
Doc’s son, Ryan, is an Air Force captain who was designated Rescue Officer Of The Year by the Pentagon last month. MB
________
Just for that, I'm gonna write my congressperson and suggest she introduce a bill to establish Starving Poets Day in your honor, sir. MB
__________
Comments and Indictments:
War. I have most often looked at our violent nature from the biggest perspective - that humans are flawed and cannot seem to find answers to conflicts without hands-on barely newsworthy retaliations in unmonitored hallways of my own apartment building, or with thousands as witnesses on our world's blood-splattered battlefields, accounts immortalized in history books, winners and losers lifted up or maligned. "I won" is always the mentality.
My brother was my hippie soulmate in the sixties, and yet he marched off to Viet Nam not once, but twice, and came home even more fucked up than any amount of bipolar alcoholism could have done. I sobbed when he left, I cheered when he came home, and I respected what he had to do and still do. I love him, and know without a doubt that he's an honorable, amazing human being in so many ways.
We have discussed war, he and I, and how proud I am of his convictions, that he did what his country asked, and we've also shared how sad we are that this is what man comes to in the face of disagreement. It's not an easy discussion, but we are drawn to have it, perhaps just wanting our past decisions to somehow be good and clean and right in a world of hatred. He and I have always been lovers of nature and humanity and brotherhood, hippies in the best way, we always thought. Yet, he is a Vet, and I want him respected by all for his bravery and that he wanted to do right when right is often so cloudy.
I don't pretend to know his heart in this entirely. I was not there and did not see. I only know that I'll always defend his actions no matter how sad I am for the flaws of man. It's a dilemma, I realize, but like so many things in life, we find our way through maniacal struggle at times, through deep and completely silent thought, too, speechless in the awe. We pick up guns, and we put them down and embrace just as fiercely.
War. Perhaps we should always remember the raw and horrific scenes and bravery in battle, and too, just as vividly the hands and hearts and faces of those who pray for peace. -- Zoey
__________
Thank your dear Mike. -- Fay
__________
Extremely well done! I was bracing myself for the part where the Messenger of God added that the man's enemies had prayed for the same thing on their side, and that their prayers would also be heard and granted. But that might have been going too far. And thanks for the great links! -- Trog
___________
Now you have made me cry ...thanks for sending and writing this. Very important message indeed. -- Tammy
__________
STOP SENDING THIS TO ME I ALREADY ASKED YOU ONCE TO STOP SENDING ME THIS JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO ASK YOU TO STOP SENDING ME THIS -- ECHO
Okay. I can take a hint. MB
__________
As always, an eminently readable and worthwhile message, Mike.
Thanks for sending it. -- Ann
Thank you for reading it. MB
__________
Thanks, Mike. Another great T-Man Times... made even greater by the fact that it introduced me to a bit of Twain I'd never read. A most excellent post all around. -- Sum
__________
Yes, perfect response to those who claim religious approval for acts of war. -- Tab
__________
Yep, the Spanish American was the product of William Randolph Hearst, actually, due to his 'yellow' journalism. My dad who taught at Marymount High School and College noted to us (and he never forgot) that he was told by one of the Willy Randolph Hearst grand daughters who was in one of his classes, quote: "You know it was my grandfather that started that war, don't you?”
-- Peggy
Peggy’s dad is in his 90s and is still in excellent health. He even has a full head of hair and the appearance of a matinee idol. He was a vaudevillian who shared billing with an up-and-coming troupe known as the Marx Brothers.
William Randolph Hearst is attributed to have told a news photographer regarding the sinking of the Maine in Havana: “You supply the pictures and I’ll supply the war.” But Hearst never said that. It was said by Orson Welles’ character of Charles Foster Kane in “Citizen Kane,” which was loosely based on Hearst’s life, and which Hearst tried to suppress. Hearst did (forgive the pun) foster the term “yellow journalism,“ which has come to mean reporting based more on sensationalism than fact, but which originally referred to the cheap yellow newsprint favored by tabloid newspapers at one time. MB
__________
Nice stuff...perky little stewerdesses, huh? Tell us more. -- Gambatay.
No.
________
I talked to my best buddy from Vietnam today. We are hoping to meet up in NYC this December. He tries to meet me there every year. My daughter and I have been going since 2002 and my son and wife joined us last year and will again this year -- Doc Holliday
Doc’s son, Ryan, is an Air Force captain who was designated Rescue Officer Of The Year by the Pentagon last month. MB
________
What's all this brouhaha about Veterans Day? Why should animal doctors have a day for saving cats? We don't have too many cats as it is? Do people doctors have a day? No. Before animal doctors get a day, we shoud honor people doctors, and nurses, and physical therapists. But who gets a day? Animal doctors, and they get the one that used to be Pharmacists Day. Okay, pill pushers should come before animal docs but not before all those other medical guys, including occupational therapists and technicians. This is how silly we get by not demanding a Lawyers Day. But great piece. I'm just disappointed reading Mark Twain instead of you. -- Sunne
Just for that, I'm gonna write my congressperson and suggest she introduce a bill to establish Starving Poets Day in your honor, sir. MB
