Category: The News

The word “hippy” used to conjure up some very strong emotions. WWII veterans would snort with disgust at the idea of a bunch of smelly, pot-smoking longhaired kids who dared to defy Uncle Sam by burning their draft cards. Why, such yellow cowards would have been tarred and feathered back in the day!

Youngsters had different point of view. Many admired people who would dare to live an unconventional lifestyle. And the idea of protesting a war that made less and less sense every day was easily related to. And long hair was decidedly cool. And you didn’t HAVE to smoke pot. Beer was easily obtainable in those days for Saturday night fun.

So many small towns sported their own versions of hippies. My parents were quite strict, so no long hair in the Enderland household. However, many kids’ parents were quite tolerant of their children’s appearance, as long as they stayed out of trouble. So Miami, Oklahoma had a few kids running around in tie-dyes, jeans, sandals, and sporting long, glorious hair.

We didn’t have any organized Vietnam protests in our cozy town of 10,000. But there were plenty of peace signs on t-shirts. There was lots of graffiti like “Draft beer, not our boys” scrawled prominently in places like the nearby Baxter Springs drive-in theater (The back side, of course. It wouldn’t be very neighbortly to ruin the movie screen). So while we saw “unkempt” youth wandering the streets, we watched the classic hippies on TV or viewed them in Life Magazine.

But hippies were hated by many who were not young. They were viewed as a serious threat to the very fabric of society. And they felt slapped in the face by these young, mouthy protesters.

It’s not like their point of view didn’t have merit. Hippies weren’t known for tactfulness. It wasn’t unusual for outspoken hippies like Abbey Hoffman to deride anyone who didn’t agree with their views by trashing their opposers with obscene language and call them things like baby burners (or parents of baby burners, that hurt even more).

Of course, many hippies were simply kind, peaceful folk who didn’t like the turn society was taking. But they were lumped in with the loudmouths by the right-wing Hawks.

This led to bumper stickers like “You don’t like cops? The next time you need help, call a hippy!” But nobody was tarred and feathered, to my knowledge.

Hippies made their way into TV and the movies, besides the big weekly pictorial periodicals. Easy Rider featured the hippies on the commune out in the desert, cultivating the ground in vain, in Billy’s opinion. But Captain America assured him that things would work out well for the gentle rebels. Dragnet would frequently feature mouthy hippies being taught a tough lesson by Joe Friday. And Mod Squad attempted to meld youthful idealism with more traditional values with three cool cops (who also crossed paths with hippies from time to time, but attempted to relate a little more than Friday).

The Summer of Love in 1967 put hippies front and center. As they gathered at Haight-Ashbury at San Francisco, the rest of the world watched nervously. The previous year, opposition to the war was sparse. But in 1967, every peace sign was seen as a nose-thumbing (once considered an obscene gesture) at The Powers That Be. Suddenly, there was organized resistance to Vietnam, led by these long-haired freaks.

Well, society didn’t crumble. The war mercifully ran its course. We now do business with the same commies in Vietnam that many, many brave young men and women died to eradicate. Life is pretty weird.

Maybe the hippies who began living their lives in such an unconventional manner so long ago had a better grasp on reality than we thought.

This column is not about opinions. There are plenty of them to go around without adding mine. Rather, it’s about the sadness that exists when children are raised in an environment where war is considered normal.

My first coherent memory, as my regular readers know, was the assassination of John Kennedy. At the time of his death, American soldiers were being deployed as “advisors” to the nation formerly known as French Indo-China, now split into North and South Vietnam. Within two years of the President’s murder, the United States would be embroiled in a quagmire of a war that would strongly divide a nation, that would reek of bureaucratic mismanagement, and that would cause many mothers and fathers to weep tears of agony.

I have many, many memories of the Vietnam War. Both of my brothers served during that time, one in the Navy on an LST, the other in the Air Force flying C-130 missions. Thank God, they both came home okay.

But I also recall a widowed neighbor across the street who twice became hysterical and had to be comforted by family, friends, and neighbors. The first time was when she received news that her son had been wounded. The second, about a year later, was when she was informed of his death.

The war was something that dominated the news every night. Scenes of napalm bombings, of big guns firing at unseen targets, and of soldiers running through gunfire became repeated so many times that they lost any shock value that they might have had on a seven-year-old. Only Life magazine delivered the true horrors of war to my mind, as I stared breathlessly of images like the street execution of a Viet Cong operative, the Buddhist monk setting himself on fire while a Vietnamese soldier watched and searched for a lighter for his cigarette, and the children running and screaming as they are hit by splashes of flaming napalm.

The nation was deeply divided over the unfortunate conflict. The veterans and their associations would never dream of questioning what their Commanders-In-Chief were asking of them, or their offspring, for that matter. But as the war was handed from President to President, its focus seemed to wander, its backing from its own government seemed to become dubious, and ultimately, history made its entire purpose one big question mark. Vietnam is now a Communist nation with considerable freedom compared to, say, North Korea. And, in fact, it’s a nation that does business with the United States.

Yet, many brave young men lost their lives trying to protect the nation from Communism. Perhaps they would have better been used dispatching Cambodian homicidal madman Pol Pot, who executed a large percentage of his nation’s population in the Killing Fields.

The war caused much protest, many times the violent sort, and that was a steady source of news coverage in those days as well. Anyone can have an opinion, but when returning servicemen were reviled and spat upon as “baby burners,” well, that just sucked.

That’s like chewing out the checker at Wal-Mart because their employer does billions in business with ANOTHER Communist nation: China.

Indeed, the world is a convoluted, complicated place where what’s right and what’s wrong often cross over each other to a great degree.

One of the great societal changes that took place during the 60’s was the banding together of the nation’s youth under a common shared cause.

That cause was protesting the war in Vietnam. The war itself was a drawn-out affair that was mired in red tape and bureaucratic rules of engagement, and the only sure thing that was coming out of it was lots of young men in the primes of their lives being sent home in bodybags.

By the end of the decade, protesting had reached its acme, as students at universities all over the nation staged protests, some peaceful, some, like that at Kent State University in 1970, tragically violent.

Four students gave their lives on may 4, 1970. Another suffered permanent paralysis. But one can’t simply point a finger at the Ohio National Guard and cry villainy. There is more to the story than that.

Sometime around 1990, I read James Michener’s book Kent State: What happened and Why. It was a real eye-opener to me, and I recommend you search your own local library to see if a copy is available.

Michener painted a picture that is far from that described by those who would decry the incident as a case of trigger-happy Guardsmen who decided to take out students in an act of murder.

The protests at the university were caused by Nixon’s April 30th speech announcing his plans to accelerate the war by invading Cambodia. A noisy protest took place the next day on the campus’s commons area. Plans were made for a further demonstration on May 4.

That evening (May 1), large groups of students were gathering at downtown bars, still seething over the latest news from Washington. By now, according to Michener’s account, professional rabblerousers were strategically whipping the students into an uncontrolled frenzy.

A fire was lit in the middle of Kent’s Main Street, windows of businesses were broken, and the cops showed up to close down the bars.

The next day, a Saturday, the mayor of Kent called in the Ohio National Guard to help maintain order. Students held another protest on the campus, and someone torched the ROTC building. Incidentally, the building itself had been boarded up and was soon to be demolished.

Again, Michener presented evidence that outside entities set the building on fire, making it appear that the students were behind it.

Then, there are the Guardsmen themselves. Some of them were, indeed, patriotic WWII vets who despised the fact that the students were defying Uncle Sam. But many of them were youngsters themselves, the same age range as the kids on campus, and many Guardsmen of all ages were sympathetic to the students’ cause. But the overwhelming emotion that the troops felt was fear. An unruly, angry mob is a frightening thing indeed, especially when driven by those whose business it is to stir up trouble.

On Monday, May 4, students gathered to attend the rally which the school itself had announced had been canceled. About 2,000 students gathered anyway, and attempts were made to break up the assembly. This climaxed with a thirteen-second volley of shots being fired, causing the four deaths and nine injuries.

Much investigation took place afterwards, with officials at the school being given the primary blame for what had happened. Two of the dead students had never participated in the protests, one of them being an ROTC member. The injured and dead were all a goodly distance away from the troops when shot.

All in all, it was a tragic, terrible mess. And, according to Michener’s book, the ones that were most responsible all got away scot-free. Hey, that theory holds a lot more water than the average Oliver Stone fantasy.

The date was November 24, 1971. A man on a Boeing 727 flying from Portland, Oregon to Seattle passed a note to a stewardess. The note said “I have a bomb in my briefcase. I will use it if necessary. I want you to sit next to me. You are being hijacked.”

Thus began the only unsolved airplane hijacking in US history. The man called himself Dan Cooper. He had done his homework, and had a plan to escape from the plane without getting caught. In fact, some speculate that he did just that, although the prevailing thought seems to be that he failed to survive his 10,000 foot parachute jump into a driving rainstorm.

The note demanded $200,000 and four parachutes. Once the actual existence of a bomb-looking device in a briefcase was established, the money and the parachutes were gotten together. The money, $200,000 in twenties, had all serial numbers recorded. Once the goods had been sent to the Seattle airport, Cooper gave the pilots permission to land.

Cooper had them dim the inside lights to deter a possible sniping. The plane taxied to a remote end of the runway and one person was instructed to deliver the ransom.

Cooper then had the 36 passengers released, and also had meals brought for the flight crew. The plane was refueled and then took off, with Cooper and the four-person flight team.

Cooper wanted to fly to Mexico City at an altitude of 10,000 feet at a slower-than-normal speed. But the pilot informed him that the plane would be sucking so much fuel at the low altitude that they only had a range of about 1,000 miles. So Cooper had them fly to Reno. When they crossed SW Washington, the crew felt a pressure change and saw a warning light come on. Cooper had dropped the rear-facing stairs at the back of the plane. A few minutes later, they heard a bump as the stairs bounced up against the plane as Cooper leapt from them. The crew flew on to Reno and landed.

Upon landing, the plane was rushed by the FBI, who confirmed that it was short one very significant passenger. Thus began a manhunt which continues today.

The SW Washington area was combed by the authorities, who found no trace of Cooper, his parachutes, or his cash. The area was quite wild and woolly, so searching was difficult. Cooper was smart enough to jump out during a rainstorm, making it impossible for tracking Air Force jets to see his parachute, so the area to be searched was quite large in scope.

Authorities interviewed a man by the name of D.B. Cooper, but quickly determined that he was not their hijacker. However, the name D.B. Cooper was repeated on newscasts and other media so many times that eventually Dan Cooper “became” D.B. Cooper.

Evidence of Cooper was finally found in 1978. A placard showing instructions for deploying the 727’s rear stairs was discovered. It was from Cooper’s plane.

But the real breakthrough discovery was made in 1980. Eight-year-old Brian Ingram found 294 bundled twenty dollar bills in shallow water in the Columbia River. The bills were badly deteriorated. And they had serial numbers which matched those of the ransom.

Did Cooper survive? Nowadays, most doubt it. His backup chute was a dummy, and the design of his main chute was such that only an expert could land without getting injured.

Cooper is popular nowadays. He’s been featured in books, movies, TV shows, and the town of Ariel, Washington has an annual D.B. Cooper festival. Periodic findings of evidence put his name back in the news. For instance, in 2008, a parachute was discovered, but determined to not be his. Plus, his overall congenial treatment of the passengers and flight crew, and the fact that nobody was killed in the hijacking, make him almost admirable.

You gotta give him one thing: he had guts!

Golf, the TV sport, has lived and died by the charisma of its dominant players. When Tiger wins, everybody watches. When Billy Mayfair wins, not so much.

Golf has enjoyed recent good years, TV-viewership-wise. It can be summed up in one word: TIGER. But other charismatic players have caught the public’s attention, as well. Phil Mickelson, Vijay Singh, Ernie Els, and many others are recognizable by the average person, the demographic required for the success of broadcasts.

TV golf wasn’t doing so well in the 1950’s. It was new, and boring. Ben Hogan was the sport’s big name, but he was already in decline when broadcasts began being aired. And the public wasn’t hooked by names like Doug Ford and Dow Finsterwald. That all began to be changed when a Pennsylvanian by the name of Arnold Palmer won his first tournament, the Canadian Open, in front of a TV audience watching the first airing of this particular tournament (in Canada). Who WAS this guy? He would take a drag on his cigarette, toss it to the ground, and determinedly step up to the tee and take a mighty rip, his style looking more like a Sunday hacker than a pro golfer.

But the ball would take off like a rocket and land 300 yards away, no small feat with a persimmon driver and a wound ball whose roundness was checked by the caddy before the round. Even the balls the pros got were known to be sometimes out of round.

Arnie’s celebrity status, and golf’s audience, soared mightily when Arnie won his first Masters in 1958. This time, the whole world was watching. When he donned that first green jacket, he was king of the PGA. And the PGA was quite happy to have him reigning.

Suddenly, working stiffs who had never swung a club were tuning in on Sunday afternoons to see this blue-collar phenomenon (Arnie had actually quit playing for a time to join the Coast Guard) take mighty rips at the ball and hearing “Arnie’s Army” roar in approval.

Another factor drives golf viewership: a rivalry. This is much more difficult to accomplish, because it requires TWO superstars at the peaks of their games who are consistently dominant over the rest of the field. In 1960, a chubby amateur named Jack Nicklaus lost by a single stroke to Arnold Palmer in the U.S. Open.

The next few years would be very good for golf, indeed.

Jack turned pro two years later, and he and Arnie were familiar sights at the tops of leader boards. For example, Arnie won the 1962 Masters. Jack won it the next year. In 1964, Arnie won it back.

The public instantly loved Arnie. It took a while for Jack to grow on them. Jack was lacking charisma in the early days, but as the 60’s wore on, he slimmed down, lost the flattop, and kept winning. Arnie, in contrast, was like a bright, shining star. His game declined noticeably, although he won as recently as 1973.

Golf started the Senior Tour in 1980, and it drew more viewers than the main tour for events like the Senior PGA, which Palmer won it in its inaugural presentation. Ironically, the regular tour’s PGA was the only major tournament which eluded his grasp, having finished 2nd three times.

Arnie won ten Senior events, putting the new tour on a very solid foundation. I would say that it owes its existence to Palmer, because it could have sputtered and died in those early years.

Tiger is the Man these days. But we Boomers have fond memories of Arnie hitching up his pants, glaring down the fairway, and taking a rip at the ball with a swing that was a lot like us weekend golfers.

Many Presidents have had brothers who were also in the limelight. Most notably, our site’s namesake, JFK, had two famous siblings who also chose political careers.

But arguably, the most entertaining presidential brother as one William Alton Carter III, otherwise known as Billy.

Jimmy Carter came from nowhere to become the Democratic presidential frontrunner in 1976. The press were intrigued by this Georgia peanut farmer who had captivated the public’s interest so quickly and so thoroughly.

So small town Plains, Georgia suddenly became a haven for news crews from all of the networks, as well as many powerful print publications. They all wanted to know more about what made Jimmy Carter tick, especially his family.

They weren’t disappointed. Among his relatives were many colorful characters, but surpassing them all was his baby brother.

Billy was born on March 29, 1937, in the little Georgia community. Billy was thirteen years younger than his big brother, and was doted upon by his father, who feared that he had been too strict with the older Carter children.

Billy and Earl were inseparable, and Billy was deeply devastated by his father’s death in 1953. Earl’s death at a young age from pancreatic cancer would be tragically replayed in the Carter family again and again.

Jimmy, away in the Navy, moved back to Plains to run the family peanut business. Sixteen-year-old Billy wasn’t happy about it, and went off to join the Marines as soon as he was old enough.

Four years later, he was back in Plains, working for his older brother in the peanut biz.

Jimmy began pursuing politics in the 60’s, serving as a state senator. Billy ran the peanut operations while his brother served in public office, and did quite well.

In 1975, now Georgia governor Jimmy began his run for President. Billy was soon in the limelight as the press discovered the plain-spoken, beer-swigging businessman, now owner of his own gas station. Billy was always good for a quote.

We don’t know what was said at private family gatherings, but Jimmy staunchly kept pursuing the presidency (and ignoring his brother’s doings) while Billy entertained the media. In 1976, any embarrassment his younger brother might have caused was outweighed by the public’s resentment of Nixon’s pardon, and Carter defeated Ford.

Now the President’s brother, and ever the businessman, Billy sought to cash in. He created Billy beer, which, for some reason, bombed. It certainly wasn’t from lack of publicity. The public’s view of his hijinks began to change from innocent country-boy fun to those of an out-of-control alcoholic. Billy once relieved himself on the airport tarmac in front of the press and VIP’s who were there for his arrival.

Billy soon sank into financial hardship as his beer venture failed. He ended up selling his house to pay IRS back taxes. The peanut farmer/service station owner eventually took on a job as a foreign agent of the Libyan government, picking up $220,000 in shady-looking loans in the process. He also made comments that sounded strongly anti-Semitic, though he would apologize later.

The Senate investigated, the scandal grew, and Jimmy ran for re-election. The bad press didn’t help his brother’s cause, and he lost to Reagan in a landslide.

Billy eventually publicly admitted his alcoholism, gave up drinking, and strove to help other addicts.

But in 1988, at the age of 51, he succumbed to the same pancreatic cancer which killed his father, his mother, and eventually his two sisters.

Thus ended the saga of Billy Carter, who lit up the headlines and talk show circuit in the late 70’s. Of his many quotes, this is my favorite:

“My mother went into the Peace Corps when she was sixty-eight. My one sister is a motorcycle freak, my other sister is a Holy Roller evangelist and my brother is running for President. I’m the only sane one in the family.”

Rest in peace, Billy.