Fifty Years Ago

Fifty years ago, on June 10, 1963, President John Kennedy, in one of his greatest speeches, called for a “strategy of peace.”

Fifty years ago, on June 11, 1963, Governor George Wallace, who famously said, “Segregation Now, Segregation Tomorrow, Segregation Forever,” stood in the schoolhouse door at the University of Alabama to deny an education to Afro-Americans.

Fifty years ago, on June 12, 1963, Medger Evers was killed.

Fifty years ago, on June 13, 1963, Vostok 6 lifted the first female astronaut into space.

I remember all of those events, though the last one is vague and it’s not clear how aware I was of any of them on the day they happened. They have all entered my historical consciousness, probably more after the fact than during. But I remember well what happened the next day.

Fifty years ago, on June 14, 1963, the NSTS Patrick sailed from Yokohama, Japan, to Oakland, California, filled with military personnel, their wives and families. My brother and I were with my parents on that voyage and it marked a real turning point in my life.

I wrote about that sailing in a very early post on this blog. You can read about it, including the pirate flag under the Golden Gate Bridge, here.

Today though I’m thinking about the three years in Japan that ended on Flag Day, 1963. I had attended Zama American High School from the seventh through ninth grades and I would describe those years as the happiest, most carefree of my early life. I was old enough to be out and about on my own, or with my friends, and living on an Army base in the early sixties was about as safe an existence as one could imagine. I doubt that my parents ever worried about us – well, wait a minute, they were parents, so of course they did – but they also knew we were safe.

Two best friends come to mind. Will Buergey was my age; he was tall and thin and very good-looking -- more so than in the only picture I have of him (left). Unfortunately he didn’t live on the same base as I did and, even though his was only a few miles away, it meant I saw him mainly at school, not in the neighborhood. We reunited stateside at the New York World’s Fair. He became a pilot and the chair of the Delta Master Executive Council of the Airline Pilots Association, Intl. I haven’t seen him in decades, but we’ve talked; it’s possible he piloted a plane I flew on.

My other friend was Gary Winston, a year younger than I. We became buds in the summer of 1962 and remained best friends through my last year at Zama. I have fond memories of playing pool at the teen club; taking long, slow walks home on sultry summer nights; talking endlessly on his front porch; and riding busses to basketball games (he played on the JV squad). He wrote my all-time favorite nine words as he signed my ninth grade yearbook: “To the best friend a boy could ever have.” I have – obviously – never forgotten those words, or him. Alas, I have never seen him since that bright day in June, fifty years ago today. Along with many of our friends, he was waving goodbye as the ship slid away. I stood at the railing until the pier was no longer visible and then headed to my cabin where I cried the night away.

The 60s quickly became a very tense, and intense, decade. We were back in the States only five months when John Kennedy was killed. Then there was the war in Vietnam, the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy, the Poor People’s March on Washington, the police riot at the Democratic National Convention and, just into the new decade, the killings at Kent state and Jackson State.

I remember all of that very well, but I also remember a peaceful, idyllic sojourn in the quiet countryside of Japan. It was a time when I was eager to learn and eager to experience new things and new people. I walked through life with my eyes wide open and my heart near bursting with happiness.

Oh where has that young optimist gone today?