In Memoriam 2: Basket Case

In wartime, what is the highest price one can pay?

Death?  Nope.

Savage disfigurement, where death would be a mercy, in lieu of continuing to exist as a literal piece of conscious meat??

Ding-ding-ding!  We have a winner!!

Such was the plight of one Joe Bonham in Dalton Trumbo's epic anti-war novel "Johnny Got His Gun."  On the last day of the Great War - aka WW1 - Joe was "volunteered" to be a member of a small "graves detail;" ie, a small unit whose mission is the recovery of bodies from the battlefield to enable proper burial.  As luck would have it, Joe's squad had to deal with heavy rain, as well as a heavy artillery barrage.

They were forced to scatter before the job was done, due to small-arms fire, but were unexpectedly devastated seconds later  by a long-range 155mm artillery shell that killed everybody in Joe's detail, except Joe himself.  The blast turned 75% of Joe's body into bloody pulp - both arms, both legs, and the whole of Joe's  face and ears were shredded instantly.  Yet he remained alive, and - unbeknownst to anyone save himself - regained his ability for conscious thought, once the aftermath of the trauma wore off.

What happened next was literally a permanent visit to Hell-on-Earth: 

Can you imagine what that must have been like to experience first-hand?  Boggles the mind, no?  Yeah, I know you're probably saying "Oh come on, Chris.  It's only a fictional story - nobody actually went through something like that!!"

Au contraire, my good friends.  I did a fair amount of research on Trumbo's epic many moons ago, and learned that there were indeed two soldiers maimed in this exact fashion near the end of the Great War.    Both from Canada, as I recall.  And both were kept alive for several years as research studies.  They were officially listed as K/MIA, then were quietly taken to a brand new hospital in London.  Although it's still not clear whether either or both of them were conscious as Joe was, even the mere notion that they were is horrifying enough for me, thank you very much.

BTW - severe injuries like Joe's coined the phrase "basket case," for what I trust are rather obvious reasons.  And I'm sure there have been many more Joes in the full century of wars that followed his wounding.  Such is the lot of a soldier - gambling your life during a war, and the possibility of life IN death after said war.  Not the most hopeful of dichotomies, true; but in the endgame of Existence I've a sneaking suspicion that such sacrifices like Joes will merit extra-special recompense and reward..........My Lord...........

Hope y'all had a pleasant Holiday - hug a Vet when you can for me, OK?

Stay tuned!

In Memoriam 1

For this Memorial Day, I'm going to shake things up a little bit.  Please carefully consider the following:

Hands down, my all-time favorite Charlie Daniels tune.  Not only that, I've also had the distinct pleasure of playing it live in front of numerous Vets over the course of the last quarter-century.  The responses from selected Vets to date have been  99.9% positive, and I cherish one and all.

If I had to single out one specific gig where we did SIS, the obvious highlight would be Memorial Day 1998.  I was just back in The 'Lou from my stint out West six months previous, when we landed a Memorial Day Festival booking in Peoria Illinois.  As I recall, the headliners were Marshall Tucker, and Molly Hatchet.

That was all well and good, but I was much more focused on polishing SIS to diamond-shine intensity, than getting off on the fact that we were again rubbing elbows with Legends from back in the day.  Besides, at that time, neither band sported their "classic" lineup, so it was easy for me to keep the odd star or three out of me eyes, whilst still being properly respectful of accomplished Colleagues.

Come time for our set, we were more than ready to hit the  boards at a dead sprint, which is exactly what we did.  The crowd, bless their collective hearts, actually got into our mess early on.  And as far as the eye could see, there were Vets a-plenty - ranging from not one but THREE WW1 Vets, to newly-minted Persian Gulf "Peacekeepers," this being a few years after Desert Storm, and the resulting quagmire that continues to this day.

In keeping with the spirit of the holiday, I was decked out in my trusty old Viet Nam Tiger-stripe camouflage top, newly shorn of its' worn out and ripped-up sleeves, along with my equally-trusty Tiger-striped boonie hat.  Little did I know that there was a particular chap sporting the exact same set of togs in the audience, boonie hat and all.  True to form, he quietly made his presence known just as we began SIS to close our first set.  Even from my vantage point at the back of the stage, I could easily see how he literally towered over virtually everybody near him.  "Six-and-a-half feet tall, and six-and-a-half feet wide," he was.

And he seemed to be looking straight at me.......

"Scared sh*tless" is a gross understatement of how I felt at that moment, but I was somehow able to quickly channel my apprehension back into my playing.  The kicker was the fact that SIS is the type of song you can't do acrobatics to - you've just got to play it.  Play it like your life depended on it.  Thus robbed of my usual bag of tricks, I simply doubled down, and tried my damnedest to bring home the bacon any way I could.  All the while, the big dude remained still, his gaze now locked unwaveringly on Yours Truly.  Don't ask me how it happened, but the crowd went totally bananas once we flourished SIS to a close - all except for Man-Mountain, who remained motionless and seemingly aloof to it all.

Or so I thought.  After hitting first the loo, then the nearest beer tent, who should we bump into but Man-Mountain himself!!  For perhaps fifteen seconds that seemed like hours we just silently stared at each other.  Finally, Man-Mountain cleared his throat, and I braced myself for at the very least a broken beer bottle upside the cheek and neck, or perhaps a weighted pool cue bounced off me noggin.  However, Man-Mountain clobbered me with a far more devastating weapon - he Smiled at me!

"Nice outfit, Man.  Looks good on ya."  Yep - voice like a foghorn.  I mumbled "Likewise," and firmly shook his proffered hand.  He continued smiling as he shook the other cats' hands in turn, finally saying "I can't tell you how much I enjoyed that Charlie Daniels tune just now.  You guys nailed it, and then some!"  None of us knew what to say, other than a bewildered "Thank you," which he promptly turned around with a "No, thank you for that fantastic tribute.  Does my heart good to see honor and dignity isn't lost on you kids today."

LSS, we had a good chat for the next 20 minutes or so, before we reluctantly went back on the boards again.  Man-Mountain resumed his choice spot just below front stage, but now he was all smiles as we closed out our work for the evening.  We shared a few more beers and several hot dogs with him post-show, promised to keep in touch, then finally parted company to cap off a rather amazing turn of events.

Over the course of the years since that day in May almost two decades ago we did indeed keep in touch, right up until the day Man-Mountain got his ultimate Reward, and departed the mortal realm in late 2009. 

I still think of him frequently, and miss him terribly.  BUT, I can still do right by him, as if he never left us - simply by always honoring Memorial Day in proper fashion.  

Which neatly brings us right back to the start of this post, dig?

More shortly - pleasant Holiday, Boys & Girls!!