"What's Wrong with this country?"
Blogspot 8-9-07
What’s Wrong with America?
That was the question asked and answered at Tuesday night’s Democratic debate before the AFL-CIO at Soldier’s Field in Chicago. It was asked by a tearful woman who told about her husband’s death in the Sago mine disaster and how the Bush administration had turned its back on workers and allowed business owners to totally ignore workplace safety. What are you going to do about it? She asked, echoing the sentiments of all others at the event. The most poignant moment in the evening brought the entire crowd of 16,000 to its feet in the only standing ovation—not for one of the politicians but for a poor working man. He had devoted 35 years of his life to a company that declared bankruptcy and removed more than a third of the pension he’d paid into all these years. And, now, he said with his voice choking up, he sits across the kitchen table from his wife and wonders how he will pay for his wife’s health care after she has devoted her life to him and his children. “What’s wrong with America?” He asked, and “what are you going to do about it?” The answer may lie in the Neilsen ratings: less than 1 million people watched this the most important, liveliest and most interesting of the many debates.
-o-
A few weeks ago, the Independent Weekly asked readers for dog stories to accompany a “dog days” issue. My own memoir of Duke the Pacifist Dog was published in the August 8, 2007 Independent. My story is below. For other dog days stories, go to www.indyweek.com
Duke the Pacifist dog
Perry Deane Young
The first time we saw Duke the Dog, he was riding a bright red surfboard into China Beach in front of the general’s beach house.
The heavily guarded military compound, with high walls topped with razor wire was right next door to the Pink House, a busy little operation where the Mama-san could get you just about anything you were willing to pay for. It was our own private little press retreat on the beach. There had been a big lull in the war that summer of 1968—dog days even there--after all the excitement of Tet and Mini Tet. My news buddies and I reacted instantly to the surfing dog: Great pictures. Great story.
I interviewed three of the Marines who had been wounded enough times to get re-assigned to the beach house, but not enough times to get sent home. They said they’d rescued Duke. He was a combat dog who couldn’t hack it with all the killing.
Like Duke, they had had enough of the war, too. They worried that Duke
was going to get left behind when they finally got shipped back to the world. A photographer took some great pictures of the young Marines and good ol’ Duke riding the surfboard and I quickly dashed off the story and sent it into UPI/Saigon.
I had been in the war for several months at that point, but nothing I wrote about human beings killing each other got near the play this story got. The story of “Duke the Pacifist Dog” must have been printed in nearly every paper in the country.
The response was overwhelming. People sent money into UPI’s New York office. Jack Parr said on his show that he’d pay whatever it cost to bring home this noble warrior dog. People were outraged that a patriotic American dog had been trained to serve his country, but was being abandoned once he’d done his duty. Some people were also surprised the Marine general even had a beach house in the midst of a war.
Great story, it turned out, but not quite true. A bevy of Marine information officers summoned me into their office in Danang. They clearly wanted to lay into me the way they’d verbally attacked the three Marines. With great restraint, they explained that I should know that these combat patrol dogs could never be de-trained. When they were no longer good for service, they were euthanized on the spot. Furthermore, Duke was not one of these American-trained dogs, he was a native Vietnamese dog!
The story went on for several news cycles and the Marine command grew more and more mortified with the inquiries from back in Washington. Finally, they called in the three Marines and told them they were all being given an “early out,” being shipped home weeks and months before they were supposed to leave. “And you WILL take that goddamn dog with you.”
Three very happy Marines stopped by to see me at the UPI office in Saigon on their way home. One of them said Duke would live out his days with his family on Long Island. Would that all my war stories had such a happy ending.
What’s Wrong with America?
That was the question asked and answered at Tuesday night’s Democratic debate before the AFL-CIO at Soldier’s Field in Chicago. It was asked by a tearful woman who told about her husband’s death in the Sago mine disaster and how the Bush administration had turned its back on workers and allowed business owners to totally ignore workplace safety. What are you going to do about it? She asked, echoing the sentiments of all others at the event. The most poignant moment in the evening brought the entire crowd of 16,000 to its feet in the only standing ovation—not for one of the politicians but for a poor working man. He had devoted 35 years of his life to a company that declared bankruptcy and removed more than a third of the pension he’d paid into all these years. And, now, he said with his voice choking up, he sits across the kitchen table from his wife and wonders how he will pay for his wife’s health care after she has devoted her life to him and his children. “What’s wrong with America?” He asked, and “what are you going to do about it?” The answer may lie in the Neilsen ratings: less than 1 million people watched this the most important, liveliest and most interesting of the many debates.
-o-
A few weeks ago, the Independent Weekly asked readers for dog stories to accompany a “dog days” issue. My own memoir of Duke the Pacifist Dog was published in the August 8, 2007 Independent. My story is below. For other dog days stories, go to www.indyweek.com
Duke the Pacifist dog
Perry Deane Young
The first time we saw Duke the Dog, he was riding a bright red surfboard into China Beach in front of the general’s beach house.
The heavily guarded military compound, with high walls topped with razor wire was right next door to the Pink House, a busy little operation where the Mama-san could get you just about anything you were willing to pay for. It was our own private little press retreat on the beach. There had been a big lull in the war that summer of 1968—dog days even there--after all the excitement of Tet and Mini Tet. My news buddies and I reacted instantly to the surfing dog: Great pictures. Great story.
I interviewed three of the Marines who had been wounded enough times to get re-assigned to the beach house, but not enough times to get sent home. They said they’d rescued Duke. He was a combat dog who couldn’t hack it with all the killing.
Like Duke, they had had enough of the war, too. They worried that Duke
was going to get left behind when they finally got shipped back to the world. A photographer took some great pictures of the young Marines and good ol’ Duke riding the surfboard and I quickly dashed off the story and sent it into UPI/Saigon.
I had been in the war for several months at that point, but nothing I wrote about human beings killing each other got near the play this story got. The story of “Duke the Pacifist Dog” must have been printed in nearly every paper in the country.
The response was overwhelming. People sent money into UPI’s New York office. Jack Parr said on his show that he’d pay whatever it cost to bring home this noble warrior dog. People were outraged that a patriotic American dog had been trained to serve his country, but was being abandoned once he’d done his duty. Some people were also surprised the Marine general even had a beach house in the midst of a war.
Great story, it turned out, but not quite true. A bevy of Marine information officers summoned me into their office in Danang. They clearly wanted to lay into me the way they’d verbally attacked the three Marines. With great restraint, they explained that I should know that these combat patrol dogs could never be de-trained. When they were no longer good for service, they were euthanized on the spot. Furthermore, Duke was not one of these American-trained dogs, he was a native Vietnamese dog!
The story went on for several news cycles and the Marine command grew more and more mortified with the inquiries from back in Washington. Finally, they called in the three Marines and told them they were all being given an “early out,” being shipped home weeks and months before they were supposed to leave. “And you WILL take that goddamn dog with you.”
Three very happy Marines stopped by to see me at the UPI office in Saigon on their way home. One of them said Duke would live out his days with his family on Long Island. Would that all my war stories had such a happy ending.
posted by Perry Deane Young at 6:50 AM
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