PERSPECTIVE

     We have reached an apex of history which will never be understood by future generations.  The disintegration of the Communist block of nations may continue until they are forgotten, a concept this generation finds unimaginable, but which is true, non-the-less.

     Communism may become forgotten.  Incredible.

     The World War II ended in conflict with them, and the Korean War was a war against those B-------s, squint-eyed little men who fought back and forth over a barren rock you couldn't give away in a cheap auction.  But from my meager perspective, the Vietnam War really cheapened the rhetoric.  I was not as proud to be in the service as I had hoped to be, and no one else seemed to be happy that I was there.

     Lest you mistake my sentiment, I am not sure all those political anti-communist nay-nesters were wrong, ill intentioned or foolish.  I am a devout anti-communist, and I can recite abuses, tortures, and stupidity of Communism in the most horrible proportions.

     But I don't relate well to all that.  I cannot relate to the deaths of zillions of people.  I cannot relate to billions of dollars spent on the cold and the hot wars.  I can relate only to fairly simple things.  I relate to my world, my turf.  I can relate to Danny.

     Danny Hallows.  My good friend.  We had plans.  We had dreams.  Dead.  Killed in a helicopter crash, by those little B------s.  A brand new Warrant Officer, scared to death, brave as Hell.  Dead.  I had always loved him as a friend, envied his place as a helicopter pilot and officer.

     I read the letter, got about half through it.  I am not very sure what happened next.  I couldn't see anymore, I had a hard time breathing, and God knows I was wimpy but I wasn't crying.  Marines didn't cry in those days.  I can still relate to that moment very clearly.  And the conflict between my sorrow and the cheapened rhetoric grew in me.

     I have met some of those commie individuals since then.  I discovered people who I can relate to.  I find they are not that bad, that awful, or nearly as single-minded as we... I... had supposed.  The average Frenchman, even some Europeans, smell worse than a Russian.  They are not a bad looking people.  They love their kids, their country, their homes.  And every one I ever met was determined to make a good show for the Fatherland.

     The Russians have their own opinions too, you know.  They are not sure they like being around a bunch of Americans who have an ego which is as obtrusive as their sickeningly sweet smell.

     Americans live in a country ridiculed for its wealth, but every American they know is looking for a way to make another buck.  It is the only place on earth where a poor man can DRIVE in a very nice car to get a free hand-out.  Russians in general feel that this is wrong, and feel pretty strongly about it.

     How can you argue with that?

     But it doesn't matter.  As badly as we Americans stumble through international politics, we have won; we have beaten the adversary so severely that he has dismantled himself.  The enemy has not become one of us, but his evolution will take him down his own path and he shall arrive at his own freedom.  He has no other choice.

     I drove down the road the other day and heard a British newswoman say that Gorbachev had beaten his coup.  Yeltsin has created a new flag for State of Russia.

     "A particularly bold thing for him to do at this time," she said, as though his standing on a tank and calling for overthrow of the coup didn't take some brass.  The colors, she went on, were white, and blue, and red.  With a star, a couple of bars…

     What?  What was that?  I pondered it over, the colors, and played it over and over in my mind.  Red, white and blue.  Where do you suppose he got those colors?

     Maybe we have won in a more far-reaching way than I had ever imagined.  I still cannot relate to the big picture.  But I can relate to Danny, and all he gave up for me.

     Thanks, Buddy.