disagreement and respect

. We believed that it was most desirable that the North should win; we believed in the principle that the Union is indissoluable; we, or many of us at least, also believed that the conflict was inevitable, and that slavery had lasted long enough. But we equally believed that those who stood against us held just as sacred conviction that were the opposite of ours, and we respected them as every men with a heart must respect those who give all for their belief.

Garden of Good and Evil

My time in the garden of good and evil

A blazing, steamy, tropical heat, not the dry heat of Saudi Arabia, but the soggy, sweltering, jungle heat of the Philippines. This is what greeted me upon my arrival at Clark AB, Republic of the Philippines. "Toto, you’re not in Kansas anymore;" I thought while departing the contract aircraft, a second hand 747 flown by Flying Tiger Airlines. I was immediately exposed to the 98 degree, 98 percent humidity air. It was air you could eat; so thick and heavy it was like breathing hot fog. Sweat leapt from my entire body; any breeze however, would provide immediate cooling, and relief from this incessant tropical heat.

I was finally in the Philippines, a nation that has suffered the effects of natural and physical disaster at every turn. This lush tropical paradise has experienced a virtual genetic 5-car collision over the last few centuries, forever altering the gene pool of its inhabitants. The influence of the Chinese, Japanese, Spanish, in the 1700’s and 1800's, United States Armed Forces in the 1900,’the Japanese again in the 1940's, and Our contributions since then have given the PI a diverse and rich culture.

This naïve 27-year-old Airman would experience the most life changing experience of his life. I would discover myself, and not like what I would find, here on my first overseas assignment.

After securing quarters, I called my new supervisor and was told to rest. This I did as sleep came easily after that marathon 18-hour flight to the other side of the civilized world. My personal adventure would begin after dark.

My boss arrived at dusk. We were to embark on my first adventure outside of the gate. "Going to Dodge City to see Miss Kitty," I heard from some unknown party animal, as we departed through main gate. “It was Dodge City alright!” I noticed the noise, smells, and sensations of the area. To my left were the rows of moneychangers all offering to give you the Peso best rate for your dollar. The rate was actually better than the bank and illegal, but no one was enforcing that ordinance. I felt the press of the crowd. I heard the train pulling in with the sounds of poultry and pigs being offloaded. My first passive sensory input was the pungent aroma of garbage. This was revolting, but there was another scent I recognized there in the distance. Using my nose as a direction finder, I turned away from the heady smell of rotting cabbage to the sweet delicious aroma of BBQ. I had died and gone to heaven; an offering made by fire for a sweet savor unto the Lord. There were pork ribs, chicken, and something that looked like beef. It cooked like beef, and smelled like beef.  I didn’t ask any questions, because I was very hungry. We dined sumptuously on that mystery meat; it was pleasure, pure pleasure.

I was the "green bean," a new fresh one; a "Cherry boy" unlearned in the ways of Southeast Asia. One of those most notable experiences that night was hearing, and then seeing the "Cobras of Balibago". They were everywhere. You could hear the hiss emanating from a darkened doorway, then a voice that uttered "Hey GI you look for girl."  Hours later I was poured back into my room; it was 3 am. I thanked God it was a Friday night.

Waking at 3 pm. the next day, I decided it was time to venture alone in the City of Dodge.  Actually it was Angeles City, RP.  I am from another City of the Angels; however, I had a feeling that this was not going to be quite the same. After leaving the base, I personally met my first Filipino; a smallish rough looking man, riding a small motorcycle with an attached sidecar.  He spoke in this broken mixture of English and Talagog (the main native language) "Ride u Pati"? Meaning "would you like to use me as your personal transport and guide." This was all done for a small fee of course. We journeyed through town meeting mostly his relatives. Then came the pitch. “You look for girl?”  “Shields UP!” I thought to myself; you see I was from South Central LA, so I may have been born at night but it wasn’t last night. This learning experience caused me to seek out one of my co-workers that lived in town. I asked him to help me adjust. He did just that, he was the greatest of guides.

I noticed after my arrival that the towns near my work area had no electricity or running water in their homes. I remember taking baths from a 55-gal drum that once held motor oil; a ladle hanging precariously on the drum was the means of maintaining personal hygiene.  This was necessary on those occasions when I would miss the ride back to base, at the request of close personal friends.

On one of these misses, I met my first girlfriend, Amour. She was unlike all of the others; she was tall dark, and exotic. To this day just seeing Tia Carerre brings back memories of her, if just for an instant. We traveled the countryside extensively.

After few months for reasons unknown to me, it ended just as quickly as it began. I was angry. I learned however; I was just a “GI in the PI". This meant that the rules that you learned growing up didn’t apply here. Who was I to convert the masses?  I took the attitude “if you can't beat them join them. I could play the game as well.” From that point I sought to indulge in all manner of bacchanalian delights without a hint of remorse.  I was on a personal crusade, a jihad. I was General Sherman, driving through Georgia to the sea. I was Ahab, and Angeles was my white whale.

 Six months into my tour of duty I had become a seasoned veteran, a “Rice Patty Daddy.” After a time in my sober moments I struggled with the mores and instructions of my youth. I felt that I had lost my way. My emphasis changed. I wanted to know more of these people that were so different.  I did not become a saint, but I did take the intensity down quite a bit.  I found myself taking long bus trips, to the far reaches of the Island. I would buy a ticket to the end of the line; I didn’t really care where it was. I kept a map, and checked off the places I had been. I had a new mission to discover what the real people of the PI were like. In a strange town randomly selected from my map, in some remote region of the Philippines. I would rent a room for the whole weekend, which was about 30 dollars including meals. I learned all people were not the same. There was a different PI and it was only 30 miles from the gate. These “other” Filipinos were warm and friendly; a sharp what a contrast from my Angeles City experience.

Another thing that left an indelible image on my life was the amount of death there. This was the place where death went for basic training. Snakebite, rebels, infant mortality, car wrecks, and working for the wrong political official could all get you killed, let alone just being an American.

On my first incident I was driving the shop truck when a motorcycle suddenly appeared in front of me and sped past. Minutes earlier I had heard the distinctive sound of automatic weapons fire, but that was not out of the ordinary, as that happened often.  I was stopped by some of our security personnel and told we would have to wait. One of my good friends looked like he had eaten something very bad, and was losing it. I saw what caused his distress. Two men were killed at a checkpoint; not just killed, but massacred. One of the perpetrators had stood on the hood of the victim's car and fired a full magazine from an M-16 rifle through the windshield. He then administered the coup de grace to the pour souls with a pistol once each to the temple. I lost it right there on the side of roughly hewn dirt road next to my friend.

The second was having some of my friends killed in a case of mistaken identity. While driving a personal vehicle home from the site after working late, a practice that was discouraged on many occasions.   Four of my squadron mates were mistaken for government officials and shot down at a different checkpoint.

This left me jaded. I take little seriously. I have seen the evil that men do. I have seen lives destroyed for the sake of power and influence. Murder and Sex were just a few of the attractions in this Disneyland of the flesh.

 What was I then to make of the weddings, festivals, and family gatherings that I witnessed, and later invited to participate in during my cross-country journeys of personal discovery? 

A duality, the yin and yang, the good and the evil is what we are. We build great monuments to God then burn them down. We fight for life then take life again, and again. This was my maiden voyage in the real world. It changed me. Am I a cynic? Yes. Am I jaded? Yes. But I cannot help remembering cool breezes, and relaxing evenings. As my memory drifts, I find myself sitting on a chaise lounge casually looking at a bright orange sun sinking ever so slowly into the South China Sea. I sense the subtle aroma of delicately seasoned steaks on a flaming altar, sharing a tall cool one with one of my shop buds, now I am the guide, thinking, “this is how man was meant to live.”