In the mid-1960s, Frank Sinatra
sang “The September of My Years” —
♫ ♫ One day you turn around and it's
summer
Next day you turn
around and it's fall
And the springs and
the winters of a lifetime
Whatever happened
to them all? ♫ ♫
I’m recalling this lyric because
in a few weeks I’ll be attending my fifty-year college reunion. Fifty years!
Whatever happened to them all?
I remember my father and
grandfather of five decades ago. They attended the same college as I, graduating
thirty and sixty years before me respectively, so 1968 marked a milestone year for
them as well. And though it was an honor to have three generations at homecoming
together, I was a little put off by how ancient they and their classmates were.
Now, even though I haven’t changed
a bit since graduation, I’m one of the ancients. I’ll go back, see my
classmates, and wonder, “Who are all these old people? And why can’t I remember
their names?”
These musings led me to few not-so-fond memories of 1968:
January — the “Tet offensive” escalates
the conflict in Vietnam, and Walter Cronkite says the war is “mired in
stalemate.” (It continued for another seven years).
February — an American army officer
tells a reporter “it became necessary to destroy the town in order to save it.”
This becomes a catchphrase for opponents of the war.
April — Martin Luther King, Jr. is
assassinated in Memphis, and riots follow in more than 100 U.S. cities.
June — Robert F. Kennedy is assassinated
in Los Angeles during the presidential campaign.
October — With raised fists
during the medal ceremony, Olympians Tommy Smith and John Carlos protest
violence against African Americans. (Fifty years later we’re still dealing with
that issue. “Plus ça
change, plus c’est la même
chose.”)
December — North Korea releases the crew of the USS Pueblo but keeps the ship; the Navy personnel had been held captive since January.
The year wasn’t all bad, of
course. I turned 21, got appointed to the Navy JAG Corps (thereby avoiding
enemy fire in Southeast Asia), and moved to St. Louis, my birthplace, which had
always been the “big city” to me while living in small-town Indiana.
Still and all, it wasn’t such a
fun time. And with apologies to Sinatra’s
“It Was a Very Good Year,” a new lyric won’t leave my brain:
♫ ♫ When I was twenty-one
It was an unhappy year
It was an unhappy year for
draft-age boys
Who went off to war
Their lives came undone
When I was twenty-one. ♫ ♫
