Things have changed a lot since 1971

Today’s my birthday. Oh, yippee skip, joy joy. I was born in 1971 and looking back, it’s remarkable how much things have changed.

My mother was in the hospital by herself at the young age of 21. When her water broke, she had to ask the neighbors to drive her there, which they did — in the back of their pickup.

There was only room for the man and his wife in the front, so mom rode to St. Joseph’s in the canopy. Dad was in Saigon. It would be several more months before he came home. However, he was in the signal corps and was able to talk his way into using a radio to make a phone call back to my mom. She told him they had a boy and laughs remembering how she was required to say “over” after each statement. She understandably missed Dad, so I ended up with his name. Thank God, because the name they had picked out prior to his deployment was awful (I’m not going to say it here, that’s all I need is to inadvertently insult somebody).

I still have the baby book around here and it’s funny to see which people came to visit her at the hospital. Everybody brought blankets and assorted “baby” things, except my grandfather. I was his first grandson and he insisted on coming to the hospital with a pair of tiny boxing gloves and a cap gun. (You’d have to know his humor). One of the people who came was the woman who, years later, would become my step-mother (or “Mom 2” as I think of her). It’s kind of cool for me to know that she was there, way back at the beginning.

Reading through all the newspapers and such that my mom kept from back then, it’s interesting to read about a president who was involved in a scandal and conspiracy. Not too long after I was born, Washington, D.C., was jammed with politicians, lawyers and the media demanding answers. Sides were drawn, but the evidence was overwhelming that the president was lying and attempting to cover it up. Hillary Clinton was there as part of the House Judiciary Committee (where she was fired for unethical behavior).

Apparently there was a lot of turmoil in the Middle East with everybody at Israel’s throat. Africa was experiencing genocide as warlords battled for control. Japan experienced a huge, devastating tsunami.

Back home, we had a terrorist in our midst by the name of William Ayers who was blowing people up. President Nixon kicked off the “war on drugs” and the country was involved in deep discussion about marijuana. Left-wing protesters were marching and often getting quite violent. Cars were overturned and/or set on fire. Rocks and bricks were thrown, business windows were smashed and the clashes with the police were becoming more physical. The U.S. dollar was substantially devalued.

And, of course, there was that dirty, nasty “sorta-kinda war” that we were engaged in. Troops were sent to some far-flung third-world country to combat a philosophy that we felt was dangerous to our safety. We sent far fewer troops than we should have, guaranteeing that we would get nowhere fast. The war was fought with all manner of silly “rules” that were dictated directly out of Washington, D.C., instead of by the generals in-theater, and they would change day-to-day.

We tried to use soldiers as “peacemakers” to win the “hearts and minds” of the locals. We sent “surges” of troops, only to pull them back out again. We tried desperately to arm and train the locals we felt would be on “our side” in the vain hope that they would be able to take over and succeed. There was no front in this war. The enemy was everywhere and could be anybody. Bombs were thrown into Jeeps and trucks by women and children. It was extremely demoralizing and took its toll via public opinion back home over whether or not it was really necessary for us to be there.

Ultimately, we left after several years of slugging it out in a brutal environment with a blindfold on and one hand tied behind our back. Many say we were defeated by the enemy, but in truth we really defeated ourselves. When our troops returned, they were dismayed at the lack of care and concern they experienced at the VA, almost a “thanks for nothing” after their service to their country.

Yes, indeed, things have sure changed a lot since then, haven’t they?

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column as “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.