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Edited on Mon Dec-12-05 12:59 AM by The Whiskey Priest
Today, it seems appropriate to talk about the Sixties. In respect for the man who did more to stop an insane war and a man who gave me laughter in the time of that war. The Sixties were a time of great hope and valley’s of despair.
We took a look at American society and found it wanting. A thirsty child could not get a drink of water in the South, because they were black, everyone was standing on their own little island of commodities as the society rained more crap over them, our best were taken from us in a hail of gunfire and the worst seemed to become the norm.
We had our Wavy Gravies and our Tom Haydens. We wrote impressive manifestos and “Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road.” We came together at People's Park, Columbia and Woodstock. We saw our friends die at Khe Sanh, on the floor of the kitchen in the Ambassador Hotel, Los Angeles, on a balcony of the Motel Lorraine and we died each night in front of the television.
We ran from gas in Chicago, we fell to bullets in Kent State and we shut down the New York State Thruway and in the end we saw Nixon come to power. We gathered in Washington D.C to wade in the reflecting pool and to confront the pentagon, but Norman Morrison had been there before us.
Thoughts of the Sixties would not be complete without “Clean” Gene the poet who lost in New Hampshire, but started us on the road to winning the end of an insane war. As for Richard, what is to be said, the man was a genius and he let me laugh when I needed that laugh.
Richard, Gene...you are missed already. I will be there shortly, I shall look forward to having a beer with both of you.
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