April 6, 1969. New York City.
I landed at McGuire Air Force Base the day before after a three year stint in Europe curtsey of the U.S. Army. Not being partial tomilitary installations, army towns and being that I'm from New York in the first place, I was on the first bus I could catch from Ft. Dix to The Port Authority in The City.
I was in uniform, as was about 25% of the population of Port Authority, and was easily surprised when walking towards 8th Ave to be graciously approached by anti war students with leaflets, urging me to attend the Easter Anti War March the following day.
On Broadway below my Great Grandma's apartment was a hippie boutique where I could purchase proper clothing so I would not stand out the next day as a GI. Silly me.
I got downtown early and took a place where I thought I would be able to see the peace march approach and pass. I was happy to be a spectator. Being out of the country three years, this was my first opportunity to observe a anti-war march and rally. I was excited and prepared to see the march pass in front of my vantage point atop a garbage can.
I could see the march approaching, then thunderous sounds of people and music. Colorful banners and signs were visible from blocks away. As the march got closer to my vantage point, I grew more excited to witness this (for me) historic event.
Hundreds of thousands of people were approaching my corner. The sound was incredible. More incredible, was the front ranks of this march. One thousand, yeah, 1,000 mostly men, but women too, with American flags, signs and banners but they were different. These marchers were wearing combat fatigues, dress blues, dress whites, jeans & fatigue jackets and uniforms and patches representing every branch of the U.S. Armed Forces.
I was dumfounded!
I still am. I never did get to see the march pass in front of me. One look at that crew and I was amongst them. I've never looked back and my life has never been the same.
(Hal Muskat, April 6, 2011)
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