Once Mike got his cream-colored Dodge two-door, and I got my dark green 1966 Mustang GT convertible, we had less money to fly to San Diego, so we began to drive there on a Saturday or Sunday, probably from late 1968 through 1971. One time we stopped at a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet in San Juan Capistrano on the way down. Another time we bought lunch at a Chicken Delight outlet in San Diego.
After Miss King, my English teacher at East L.A.J.C., encouraged me to write poetry and keep a journal, beginning with my trip to Alaska, I wrote constantly. My first poem "Tourist Trap" (an earlier post on this blog) had gotten honorable mention in the English Department creative writing contest, I felt further encouraged to express myself through writing.
The Vietnam War had been going on for several years now, and no end seemed in sight. I was meeting young men like James Mulaney in the Air Force and, later Daylin Butler, in the fall of 1968, and Pat Byrne at Cal State Dominguez Hills, who had been to Vietnam, both of whom having been in the Marines there.
One of the places we went to every time was the Point Loma military cemetery that overlooked San Diego beyond and the harbor below. At the Naval Air Station on Coronado Island beyond the entrance channel to the harbor, we could see the many chartered civilian airliners lined up to take more sailors, airmen and Marines to Vietnam.
Yet many might end up in the cemetery. On Memorial Day weekend, flowers and flags would appear on the many graves in the cemetery. One grave had some flowers and a small, hand written note from a very young boy to his brother who was buried there. It said, "We love you."
How could someone not be touched by the tragedy of that war and those times?
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