A Green Story of War and Fisticuffs

I was stunned, watching the log fly over the courtyard fence at the Green Lantern Pub, I could not believe my eyes. That log was hucked at three boys out in the parking lot. Angry and drunk, the National Guard guy, who threw it, had clearly lost his way. One of the boys had been hopping up and poking his head over the fence. Each time saying some derogatory thing or another. Most of us were just trying to ignore them. Before the kid started his shenanigans, I had been having a rousing argument about Bush's War with the young guardsman. He had not deployed yet, and was full of his opinion about the need for this war. It was 2004 and there was still a lot of energy in the issue of the Iraq War. Using all the catch phrases of the Cheney/Rumsfeld team, he was convinced already, and to him I was a hippie freak. At the time my hair was down to my waist, I was long hair pony-tail guy, it's true.

When I told him I was an former Marine, who served in combat, and that I was clear about my right in America to think freely, without being intimidated by him. He was quieted, for a moment. Then the debate really heated up. I was comparing Cheney and Rumsfeld to guys who start fights at bars and watch as other guys fight it out. It is easy to talk big talk, much harder to back it up. America was being taught a lesson at this time, it would be much later that we would learn. In 2004 the faultiness of our cause and our strategy in Iraq was first revealing itself. It would be many years until we learned our lessons.

In the midst of this debate around the fire, at the Green Lantern, this kid began his routine. Apparently, they had tried to come in the bar, but were underaged and not allowed. When it first started up, the guardsman yelled back at him. Fired up, he kept shouting back every time the kid jumped up and poked his head over the fence. The kid was hollering stupid stuff. Like, "I @#$%@# your mama!", and "You all are a bunch of Bi$##es!" At one point, the guardsman had grabbed a log and ran towards the fence, threatening the kid. "Hey!" I called out, "Stop with that! You can't hit him with a log! The bouncers will deal with him! Sit back down! I was just telling you about why this war is going bad. Because those in charge of it don't know what war really is. None of 'em, not Bush, not Cheney, not Rumsfeld, and not Condi!"

I was irritated at the spectacle of the kid, because I was just turning the corner on the argument. To be interrupted while this was happening was frustrating. Plus, I had to use my marine command voice with this young soldier to get him back on line and sitting down. There were several other guys around the fire, talking amongst themselves, trying to ignore both the kid at the fence and our political argument as well, I am sure. The guardsman sat back down, and I used the incident to talk about the problems we face, when we use to much violence to deal with security issues and why this war would not turn out the way we want. Just as his log approach would not have worked out the way he wanted, it would clearly started more problems than it solved. I was in full form. Outside of the bar we could hear the bouncers yelling at the kids, "Hey! Get outta here or were calling the cops! Beat it!"

The kids yelled back, but we could hear them moving around the corner and through the back parking lot. Suddenly, over the top of the back fence now, the kid popped his head up. He let loose with a string of profanities and insults, in our general direction. That was it for the guardsman, he snatched up the log again and hurled it over the fence at the kid. "There it goes!" I thought. In these moments of real violence, time slows down. I remember my thoughts occurring, and at the same time watching the log loop, end over end, as it sailed towards the kids. "I hope they don't get hit. Wow! That log could hit a car!" Listening now for impact. Hearing the log strike the ground and skid. Listening, as the kids yelled out in anger at being assaulted by a flying log! My brain kicked into gear. "They are going to pick that log up and throw it back!" I look up, and yep, sure enough, I see the log sailing back across the fence. Right at me! Before I could react the log slammed violently into my leg!

Of course, it was me. Even in that moment I recognized the irony of me paying the price for their nonsense. It was funny, for a moment. As I was turning to the guardsman and saying, "You did this! I don't blame them, I blame you. Can't you see that this is your fault. I got hit in the leg by the log you threw! Just like Bush! Who pays the price for your stupidity? We do! That's who!" As I am pressing my point with him the Log War escalated. Two beer bottles soon followed the logs. Falling amongst us like artillery shells, they exploded in a spray of glass and liquid. Fortunately, no one was hit. That was it for the guys around the fire they blew out of their seats en masse, rushed out of the bar and into the parking lot after the kids. Still pressing my argument about Bush's War with the guardsman, we were left around the fire. I get up, saying, "Look, now I am going to have to go out and stop those guys from beating the crap out of those kids and I was the one who got hit by the log! This is all you man! You started this and now it is out of control! Just Like Bush and Cheney!" With that, I turn and run after the rest of them.

I got out to the parking lot just in time. One of the guys from the bar had the main kid down on the ground and was swinging solidly for the kids head and face area. I ran up and hooked his arm before he imploded that kids face. Now I was locked in a struggle to keep him from hitting the kid and also to keep the kid, who was now striking out, from hitting back. Speaking low and urgently, "Stop. Stop. Stop. Just Stop." I remember, I was holding one guy back with one arm and the kid away with the other as we wrestled on the ground. Finally, the bar guy, who knew me, said "alright Larry. alright!" and with that he quit. I let the kid up and we all got up. Everyone was yelling. One of the other kids had socked the bar owner, who was trying to break it up too, and his nose was bleeding. I was yelling at the kids, "Just get out of here! The cops are coming and you will be arrested!" Treating them like children, I started counting down from thirty. We could hear their sirens. "Here they come in 30 seconds, 29,28,27,26........" Finally the kids ran.

Assessing the scene the cops would find at this moment was easy. Just us standing around and the owner, with a bloody nose. What they did not find was a young man, bloody and broken, lying on the ground needing medical attention and a bunch of adults, trying to explain themselves. Violence begets violence, that is clear. In the midst of the chaos, its tendency is to escalate. Unless there are agents, such as my role that night, who take personal risks to bring it down to reasonable levels, violence will perpetuate itself. There will be regrets. There will be damage and associated costs. Each act is its own, each blow has an identity behind it and an identity in front of it. People are real and real damage is irreversible.

This story of violence in America occurred in 2004, after it was clear that George Bush's war in Iraq was going badly. As an ex-Marine and social worker, who did not believe that this war was just, I was distraught nearly all the time. The very first casualty of the Iraq War was a Marine whom I served with in 1992, Lt. Therrell Childers, he was a personal friend of mine. I was shocked and in disbelief, when I read of his death in the NY Times. The cost of war is always personal to those who pay and to those who don't, they just keep on living their own way. Mostly, here in America, the Iraq War and the Afghanistan War, are ideas, metaphors of the personal politic, not a personal reality. If you have friends and family in harms way, it is real. It was hard on me to know that my friend payed that price. His life. He always was that guy, the one who cannot stand by when there is something to do. That is the reality of service. Sometimes the price to pay, is your life. He was a Marine and he served willingly, and that is our great strength and our great responsibility.

I was always looking to get into a political discussion during this time. Furious with not only the Bush-Cheney war, I was also very upset at the clear lack of adequate strategy being employed. If we were going to fight, establishing control with enough troops on the ground is always the key. Oddly enough, President Obama is currently toying with the idea that less is more in war. So not true. More is More. Boots on the ground win wars. And mother's pay the price. You cannot prosecute a war half-heartedly. There was so much energy in this country for the Iraq war at the time, to voice a different opinion often invited verbal abuse or outright intimidation.

The Iraq War was equated with loyal Americanism and, at least in Walla Walla, to not be for it labeled one an Anti-American. As an ex-Marine, who was in combat during Desert Storm, I can not only out shout you, I have proven my Americanism beyond the level of most who would argue with me. I have earned my right to have a constitutionally protected minority opinion. Period. Plus I know what I am talking about, when I talk about war. Something George Bush, Jr., Dick Cheney, Condi Rice and Don Rumsfeld do not. The only one who did was Colin Powell, and he was marginalized quickly during this time. Which brings me to my point, it is always the little guy in the back, with the big mouth, who starts the fight and then relies on others to fight it for him. This to me, is a perfect metaphor for the Bush/Cheney War in Iraq.

In postlude, later that night I was laying in bed. Still jacked up on adrenaline, I was reviewing the events in my head. Suddenly, I heard running footsteps outside my window. At the time, I lived only three blocks from the Green. I heard a police officer yell, "Get on the ground!" Looking out my window, I see a cop tackle and arrest the kid. Right in front of my house! An hour and a half later the kid resurfaces and the cops are there to arrest him. How's that for ironic? After all that. Just for me, it seemed, to see the reality of justice prevail, so that I would know the final consequences of my action. That kid had started a lot of balls in motion that night. He will pay the price for his choices, just not with his blood, thanks to my intervention. Later, the bar guy would thank me for preventing him from beating up a teenager. I am here to serve, that's all. This is just one night in my life and there are so many more to go.