[soliloquy for thirty]
In his early twenties and right out of conservatory my dad accepted a position as an oboe/English horn player with the United States Air Force Band in Washington D.C.. Dad and Mom moved on to Bolling Air Force Base shortly after and gave birth to me thirty years and two days ago today.
After giving some thought to the impact the military industrial complex propaganda machine has had on me and my perception of the U.S. and western culture in general I thought I’d put fingers to keypad.
I was born on Andrew’s Air Force Base, a mile outside of Washington D.C. in the state of Maryland. While most people use cities or towns such as Kalamazoo Michigan, Tuba City Arizona, or Thunder Bay Ontario on their credit card applications or university financial aid applications as their place of birth, I simply put -A Military Base - on mine. (I’ve never gotten a question) Military bases occupy space on government soil. It doesn’t matter what state they happen to be in. That ground belongs to the United States Military and so does everyone and everything that lives on it.
Most military bases are like little cities. You’ve got everything you need right there. You’ve got your restaurants, grocery stores, gas stations, you’ve got your clothing stores, pools for officers’ kids and pools for enlisted swines’ kids, bowling alleys, parks to play in, movie theaters, clubs, dance halls, skate board parks, banks, barbers, salons, car washes, bars for the enlisted swine, bars for the officers, tennis courts, recreation centers, everything you “need” to survive. Basically, most everything a little back water town in the middle of no where would have to get you by. Military bases also have a few extra fun things that those little back water towns don’t generally have.
Things like the DIA.
For some time now I’ve felt that there is something a bit creepy about having spent part of my youth growing up in this utterly secret and protected community. In a way, I am a product of a gated and restricted world, (a microcosm of the USA) off limits to outsiders who don’t hold the secret military I.D. card to get on to “Base”. My friends that lived “off base” that wanted to come and visit “on base” had to get special permission, given a special pass and had to be cleared at the gates. Under no circumstances were they to do anything out of the ordinary or mischievous.
My parents lived in military housing on Bolling Air Force Base, smack dab in the middle of Washington D.C. until I was about three. At around four we moved off base to a rural setting just south of Annapolis, Maryland. I lived there happily until I was about eleven when my parents divorced. My dad moved back onto Base at this time and I spent the next several summers and weekends living with him until he moved into the burbs outside D.C. when I was around fourteen.
I don’t recall much about the military life there before I turned three. All I remember are the constant howls of planes taking off from Reagan International Airport (then National Airport) just across the Anacostia River.
From the time I left the base at three to the time I was eleven I listened to what seemed like thousands of military band concerts my dad performed in. I was the little toe-headed kid with the red corduroy cover-alls standing right next to Mom on the West-steps of the Capital Building waving the American flag in time with the band. I knew all the words to Off We Go Into the Wild Blue Yonder and the Stars and Stripes Forever by the time I was four. Shit, I could whistle along with the piccolo solo in the Stars and Stripes by the time I was five. There are so many war songs and military melodies rattling around in the back reaches of my mind I can’t begin to mention them all here.
Lets just say I was inundated.
Instead of plotting against the new baby sitter two nights a week like my friends, my childhood was spent running off with my dad to one military band concert after another. I was a sponge. I was hypnotized by countless American flags flapping in unison to the music at public military band concerts with the Capital Building, Lincoln Monument, Washington Memorial and the Jefferson Monuments as back drop.
Hell, I knew the homeless dudes that lived in the thick bushes that surround those monuments by name. They were my buddies. I would ride my skate board around the backs of those monuments in the dark while my dad was on stage performing and they would pretend to jump out and scare the shit out of me.
It was all really fun.
After my dad moved back on to base when I was eleven I spent two or three months of the summer and weekends back in my place of birth. I started going to air shows around this time. I was mesmorized by the aerial acrobatics of the Blue Angels and the low and slow fly-overs of heavy bombers like the infamous B-2 and cargo planes able to carry tanks, trucks, jeeps, bombs, rations and God knows what else in their behemoth bellies. I watched endless lines of parachutists jump out of planes like seeds in the wind. The fast fighter jets like the F-16 and high altitude spy planes like the SR-71 Blackbird always fascinated me most. They were the ones I collected models of. I used these models along with my hundreds of G.I. Joe figures to stage mock wars in the back yard with my friends. I loved this stuff. I ate it up. I was sold. As far as I was concerned, this stuff along with the toy guns and laser-tag gun games I had, was the coolest stuff a boy could play with growing up. In an attempt to encourage creative writing my Mom asked me to pick out a journal at the store when I was about seven. I choose the camouflage journal. It become the war planning and strategy book for my G.I. Joe and Star Wars figures…… It’s still around here somewhere.
Lets just say…….. I was completely brainwashed.
I am know trying to figure out how and when I started to see this world I grew up in for what it really is. All the military music pep-rallies with the beautiful white marble monuments in the back ground. The war-machine demonstration shows. The historical killing machines glorified and poised in strategic positions all around the military base as signs of Technological and Destructive might. Best friends of little model soldiers with their little guns and little ammunition boxes.
What am I getting at here? What am I trying to figure out?
I am trying to figure out why I am not ”blowing” the head off of some ”insurgent” with a sniper rifle right now. Or, piloting a cargo plane over Turkey on my way to Kuwait. Or, lying dead in some abandon, dusty house in Baghdad or Fallujah right now.
Why didn’t I volunteer on September 11th, 2001?
These answers are coming gradually. Somewhere, somehow along the way, sometime in my teens I choose a path of creativity and beauty. I chose a career in the Arts. A life of creation and imagination.
I chose to leave the destruction and evil behind me, back there on that military base in the heart of the Capital of the most destructive military force the world has ever known.
But what a bullet I dodged. I can’t believe I made it out alive. I look back and realize that it was unbelievably terrifying and amazingly mesmerizing.
For the children and adults who have never seen the destructive forces glorified at an Air Show or the military propaganda put to catchy melodies at a concert – count yourselves among the lucky ones.
Perhaps though, you should be counted among the not so lucky ones. If you’ve never witnessed it first hand, it might be difficult to know how sly and manipulative the propaganda machine truly can be.
In his early twenties and right out of conservatory my dad accepted a job as an oboe/English horn player with the United States Air Force Band in Washington D.C.. Dad and Mom moved on to Bolling Air Force Base shortly after and gave birth to me thirty years and two days ago today.
Peace.
27 responses so far ↓
Jose // February 15, 2007 at 1:51 pm |
I must say that sensitivity is the main characteristic of musicians and artists in general. A trait that does not permit them to be in contact with aggressions, wars, and above all with the military who are the epitome of those.
Pray that everybody were an artist.
1loneranger // February 15, 2007 at 2:59 pm |
I’d be out of a job if they were.
Kita Kazoo // February 15, 2007 at 6:38 pm |
I grew up in Maryland – Joppatown. Church was on base. A lot of my friends were on base too. It was a strange world once you crossed through security.
anticant // February 15, 2007 at 7:13 pm |
That’s a wonderfully evocative piece of autobiography, Brian. Good on you for escaping out of Dalek land to become a real human being!
BTW, is what you call the “English” horn what we call the “French” horn?
1loneranger // February 15, 2007 at 9:22 pm |
anticant –
Thanks for the kind words. The topic is something I’ve wanted to “get out” for a while.
I noticed a few days ago on your blog profile that you are a classical music fan. The English Horn is what you in Britain and in Europe might know as the cor anglais. It is the big brother of the oboe, a double reeded woodwind instrument. No relation to the brass – French Horn.
In fact, the cor anglais is not at all English. The instrument was developed in France a few hundred years ago. You would probably recognize it as the pastoral solo voice in Rossini’s William Tell overture.
I’m not sure how it got the “English” part of its name.
I didn’t catch the Doctor Who reference right away. But, thanks. I feel lucky.
Kita –
Joppatown? Where is that? I’m not familiar with the place. The town in Maryland in which I spent a good part of my childhood was called Mayo. It was just a little place on the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay, about ten miles south of Annapolis. It was an idyllic spot to be a kid as compared to the Military Base.
anticant // February 15, 2007 at 9:48 pm |
Of course, the cor anglais. How silly of me. If you’ve looked at my [almost] daily “Ah Dunno!” posty over in my burrow, you’ll probably gather that my mind is working sluggishly today. Not one of my best. But tomorrow is another day…….
1loneranger // February 15, 2007 at 10:03 pm |
anticant – Ah ha, I’ll have to check it out. Are you a regular symphony goer?
anticant // February 16, 2007 at 2:51 am |
Fear I don’t go anywhere much these days, except to hospitals for checkups. I’ve been pretty well immobilised by chronic illness for the past couple of years. But when I was your age I was a great concert and theatre-goer.
Can I e-mail you? [anticant@hotmail.co.uk]
1loneranger // February 16, 2007 at 5:35 am |
I am sorry to hear that. It is wonderful then, to have this medium of communication at your finger tips.
I can see from your blogs that you make the best of the situation. I will enjoy reading your thoughts and stories.
Being in London, I’m sure you have many great memories of wonderful concerts in wonderful concert halls.
jedi_oboe@yahoo.ca
Jose // February 16, 2007 at 7:27 am |
An artist at heart, 1loneranger.LOL. To be a musician is not an easy thing.
anticant // February 16, 2007 at 8:04 am |
When I first came to London in the late 1940s, you could get a season ticket for six weeks of the Proms at the Albert Hall, standing in the arena or the gallery six nights a week, for 35 shillings – £1.75!!! I did that for two or three seasons. It was a wonderful way for students and young people to absorb the classics, and some novelties as well. The BBC used to commission new compositions – I think they still do.
Aphra Behn // February 16, 2007 at 10:50 am |
That was a fascinating thing to read. That is the trouble with the military stuff, it is all such fun, until it isn’t.
Aphra.
1loneranger // February 16, 2007 at 6:05 pm |
Aphra-
You can say that again. To envision the US and others without national militaries is quite difficult. I am quite aware of the need for them. However, to glorify them and build them to such a vast size such as the US military is incomprehensible and terrfiying to me.
Jose-
You can say that again. But I’ve always said, I’ve never been able to imagine myself doing anything else.
Anitcant-
Wonderful. It is hard to find kids standing in the wings or under the balconies anymore in Canada and the States. Except for the Met. in NY of course.
I’ve stood in lines (cues) in snow storms in Pittsburgh outside Heinz Hall for student rush tickets many a night during my student days, (until, I figured out which doors to sneak in through back stage that is).
I sneaked into alot of the ‘big halls’ of the eastern US when I was a starving student.
erin // February 18, 2007 at 9:52 pm |
Dude,
I have always wondered what your childhood must have been like……I really enjoyed reading this.
I have always wondered if how you turned in to such a thoughtful human being. (I mean…that you have had a different path from most artists, not that we all don’t:)
I wound love to hear more about the “turning to the arts” part and the dedication of your life to beauty….When did this happen….How do you feel about violence and dominance, now?
I am also interested in your Dad’s perspective. Does he feel the same way as you?He was creating beauty as his profession but yet as part of the military machine. Does he have a different persepective?
Just sum thoughts,
eRin
1loneranger // February 18, 2007 at 10:28 pm |
Ah eRin,
These were ideas I was alluding to in my post and was wondering if anyone might inquire into them. I thought about getting a bit more detailed but decided against it for maybe not so obvious reasons. Also, it seems to be more interesting to me (knowing people are reading who may or may not comment on this site) to leave some holes in stories. It allows people to use their imagination a bit while reading as well as entices people to perhaps ask questions on a comment thread such as this…… so thanks girl.
I figured it might be someone who knew a bit more about my back ground that would ask these questions.
Obviously, I wouldn’t want to assume anything about my dad’s position or thoughts on this.
As you can see, he has yet to comment. And I know he has read it.
So………… ahem,
“Hello Pappy, feel like saying anything. That’s one reason this blog is here. Don’t feel like you have to, just a suggestion.”
Ah, as far as when I turned away from all that shit and or when I decided to start ignoring it…. I’m trying to figure that out myself. I think I’ve reached a point now where I’ve decided I want to look back and see how I made the moves I’ve made. As you know of me, I am not known to ponder much on the here and now, I seem to have a tendency to leave things to chance.
Seaton, as you know, had a big part in this life movement. He as well has yet to comment. But, he and I are on a rough road at the moment, as you know.
It has been a slow awakening of sorts for me. I imagine I’ll be one of those that hit the snooze button just before I veer off a cliff somewhere.
Thanks for adding to this thread. I’d be honored to see you here more.
Boldscot // February 19, 2007 at 2:08 am |
Respect, BigLoneRanger, Respect.
You have got a part to play in this big production.
Don’t forget to include Tonto.
And I am sure you won’t.
1loneranger // February 19, 2007 at 4:55 am |
Why thank you very much Boldscot. I’ll try. As for Tonto, we’ll have to wait and see.
Teresa // February 21, 2007 at 8:27 pm |
Hi 1loneranger,
I loved this post! You grew up in Nationalistic Millitarism, and I spent part of my childhood in Nationalistic Religionism, brainwashed into thinking it was good to suffer and die for God.
Now, the two have come even closer together to form a religio-millitary-industrial complex.
It’s frightening in the extreme to think what those three forces are capable of together.
1loneranger // February 21, 2007 at 9:31 pm |
brrrrrr. I’m getting shivers now. thanks.
Ken Larson // February 22, 2007 at 3:35 pm |
I have appreciated your perspective and the life transitions you discuss in your post. I am very familiar with many of the places and things you discuss, ……but from a different perspective. I spent the last 11 years of my 36 year career in your locale working on many of the weapons systems your forces are using as we speak. Here is my perception of the Military Industrial Complex:
In 1968, I came home from serving two US Army tours in Vietnam, having been awarded five medals, including a Bronze Star. During my second tour I acquired Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and Depression. Treatment would not become available for either ailment until the mid to late 70’s. Returning to the University of Minnesota at Morris, I found that most of my former classmates were either facing the military draft or were violently against the war. I was not their favorite person.
Feeling isolated and alone, I was unable to relate to my family due to untreated Depression and PTSD. Disillusioned with school, I moved to Minneapolis Minnesota and began a career in the Defense Industrial Complex that would span over three decades from 1969 through 2005. I thought that through working on defense systems, I could contribute to the quality and quantity of weapons that the next generation would take to war. Given a clearly defined mission and the best armaments and systems in the world, I believed that another Vietnam could be avoided for the American Soldier. In pursuit of this goal, I participated in the design, development and production of 25 large scale weapons systems under Federal Government and Foreign Military Sales Contracts. I worked in several different disciplines for the companies that produced these weapons, negotiating and controlling the associated contracts with procurement agencies in the US Armed Forces and in 16 allied countries.
By the time treatment for PTSD and Depression became available, I had such high security clearances that had I been treated for these disorders, the US Government would have revoked my clearances and my career would have ended or would have been sharply curtailed. This quandary led to my journey through the Defense Industrial Complex. I found that accepting extreme challenges and succeeding at them became a way to displace PTSD and elevate depressive moods. For extended periods of time this method of self-management led to a satisfying, although somewhat adventurous and diversified life. However, down periods always occurred, especially after the latest challenge had been met. A new challenge was then required. Family, friends and acquaintances were often puzzled by the frequent changes in my job sites and locations. Two marriages fell by the wayside.
I became known in the industry as a front-end loaded trouble shooter on complex projects, installing processes and business systems required by the Federal Acquisition Regulation. These systems included estimating and pricing, proposal preparation, contract administration, cost and schedule control, program management, design to cost, life cycle cost, export management and other specialties unique to US Government Contracts. Getting through government source selection boards and surviving audits during competition was a significant challenge for defense contractors. Installing required business systems after contract award, under ambitious cost, schedule and technical conditions, was an even more difficult undertaking. I became a leader in the problem solving and creative processes necessary to win contracts and successfully fulfill them. When my mood demanded it, there was always a new job, with a new challenge and a subsequent elevated feeling from success. It was not unusual for a career professional in the Defense Industry to move regularly with the ebb and flow of competitive procurements and associated government funding shifts.
I came to know many of the career military and civil servants who managed the government procurement process. These individuals never went away, regardless of elections or politics. They developed the alternatives from which elected officials must choose. The American Public rarely heard from these powerful insiders, while the insiders slanted the choices supplied to elected officials in a self-perpetuating manner. I recognized the mirror image way in which procuring agencies and defense contractors organized their operations on the largest systems acquisitions. Key executives regularly moved back and forth between government and industry. I often observed the short, happy life of a defense company program manager. Appointed by the powerful insiders to head a single project, he had no authority over company resources, he perpetually competed with other program managers for the same talent pool and he always took the heat from management when things did not go well. His counterpart in the government quarters had similar experiences. I often supported several program managers at the same time. They all were desperate to achieve success. They each believed they had the most important program in the company.
In early 2005, approaching age sixty, I found myself unable to self-manage an extremely deep depressive episode. The journey had simply wound down. This situation nearly resulted in . Recovering with help from my family and the US Veteran’s Administration, I now reside in a veteran’s home, volunteering through the Service Corps of Retired Executives (SCORE) to Small, Veteran-Owned, Women-Owned and Minority-Owned businesses that are pursuing contracts with the Federal Government. I provide advice, alternatives and business s based on my experiences. It is refreshing to witness the successes of small, motivated and flexible companies. I believe they deserve every special consideration they have achieved under our system of government.
After thirty-six years in the Defense Industrial Complex my greatest satisfaction came from watching “Stormin Norman” and his Gulf War Forces defeat the Iraqi Army in Operation Desert Storm. They used the Abrams Main Battle Tank, the Hellfire Missile and an array of communications and other systems on which I worked. I have had the privilege of meeting several young soldiers coming back from current conflicts in the Middle East who have praised these systems for their life saving performances.
Operation Desert Storm had a clearly defined mission to liberate a small country from an aggressor. We accomplished the mission utilizing the best weapons in the world. Unfortunately, we did not leave the area. The lessons of Vietnam have not been remembered and once again political factors govern our presence in several countries. This time it is the Middle East. A Future Combat System (FCS) is now under development geared for urban warfare with unmanned vehicles, state of the art sensors and remote standoff capabilities. The ist enemy has grown to become a formidable force, cable of striking without notice even within our own country. He threatens the world economy with violent disruptions in several domains at the same time. He is a product of our own creation, rebelling against the “US Police Force” with help from neighbors who play either benign or active roles. Our enemy knows his neighborhood far better than we do. US intelligence and military capabilities are strained to the maximum monitoring perceived hot spots all over the globe. We must face the fact that our long term presence in other countries is resented.
How much longer can we afford to be the “World’s Policeman”? We are spending over $500B per year for defense, homeland security and nation building. Investments we are making in developing new democracies are draining our domestic programs such as health care, stifling the education of our young people and limiting research and development in valuable commercial technologies. The largest corporations selling to our government are no more than extensions of our government in the cloak of industry. They are not in the business of making money for the stockholder. They are in the business of spending money for the government. As a result they are some of the poorest growth stocks on Wall Street. Recent consolidation in the Defense Industrial Complex has dramatically reduced competition. Only public laws mandating a twenty per cent allocation of Federal Contract Funding to small business have kept diversification in the mix. Even then, much of the moneys that flow to small business go through a select group of large business prime contractors who add their respective overhead and general administrative expense to the small business cost and pass it on to the government.
When we consider the largest evolving countries in the world today, such as China, India and others, we should note that they are successfully competing with us in a fast moving, complex world economy. These countries are not all pure democracies and probably never will be. No overt action on our part created these powerhouses. As we struggle to compete with them we must have education, research and development and a healthy work force to keep pace. How much can we afford to spend forcing our capitalistic ideologies on other societies? Events have proven that the world has become a tightly wound place economically. Countries who wish to succeed and grow will play the game anyway.
I hope that this account of my experiences has supplied useful insights into the US Government Defense Industrial Complex. My odyssey was driven by a need to manage illnesses acquired in warfare. I found a way to deal with the maladies for years by spreading myself thin and accepting every new challenge. I thrilled at success and moved on after defeat, pursuing a misguided goal. Out of necessity I have now been forced to look inward, wind down to a smaller perspective, take care of my health – begin serving the little guy.
Perhaps it is time for our country to consider a similar transition.
1loneranger // February 22, 2007 at 4:01 pm |
Ken-
I can’t thank you enough for that personnel and insightful account of your experience. It offers me a lot to think about and I feel privileged that you shared it with “us”. I will comment more later.
I wanted to make sure I got this comment back ASAP just to thank you for adding to the overall theme here. It is most appreciated.
Just briefly, my experiences living obliquely among the industrial complex as a child as compared to your own as an actual player for it and in it could, to an outsider, seem unrelated. That being said, I greatly appreciate the emotional side and its effects on one’s life and actions.
All the best to you. And thank you again for taking the time to comment here.
Please come back again.
Best
Jose // February 22, 2007 at 7:32 pm |
And interesting account of a whole life dedicated to the service of a country, indeed. Moral wounds are hardest to heal.
MerkinOnParis // February 22, 2007 at 11:32 pm |
Actually, a very sad post from Ken.
A life dedicated to What?.
Very honest, though, and you can feel his pain.
When we are getting stuck in to the neocons it is easy to forget that they are people. They fart and shit the same as the rest of us.
However, so do their victims.
‘And it’s the girl that makes the thing that holds the oil
that oils the ring that works the thing-ummy-bob
that’s going to win the war.’
From a song of Gracie Fields. http://geobay.com/3a8d8f
MerkinOnParis // February 22, 2007 at 11:55 pm |
Sorry, guys. I am not suggesting that Ken is a neocon of the sort we are fighting against.
He is a guy who has obviously worked hard to do the best he can. I only disagree with the ideology he has espoused.
So, let us turn it around a little.
If, at the start of his career, he had been told that his lifetime’s work would be to benefit Bush, Cheney, Haliburton et al would he have accepted the job?.
I would like to think ‘ not’.
That Gracie Fields song was actually, in some strange way, an endorsement of a Marxist view of ‘the division of labour’.
Me?. I agree to an extent. Insofar as I can never do much more than ‘ keep my corner clean’ and hope that others can do the same.
That is why I blog comment.
ma // February 25, 2007 at 11:43 pm |
cor anglais = “angled horn”
1loneranger // February 26, 2007 at 1:08 am |
Ma-
“Hello” to the voice in the darkness, my lovely Mom. Thanks for the clarification. You are right!! As always.
Don’t be a stranger now ya’ hear.
Love,
your one and only son
AFBEE // August 24, 2008 at 9:03 pm |
I have to say that I enjoyed growing up in a military family, living on military bases and getting the chance to move around the world. I also love serving in my nations military. It’s not for everyone but I did enjoy the read and appreciate your honesty and perspective.