night_son
Diamond Member
When I was a young boy my grandfather, a half-Massawomeck Native American and veteran WW2 paratrooper pathfinder, would sometimes tell us these parable-like stories about yesteryear. Thing is he'd never tell them to us grandchildren directly, only to other present adults, however, we came to know these tales were really for us because he would tell them in a special volume of voice so we could all hear them too from out favorite corner of the kitchen behind the old wood stove. Two of his stories stand out in my memory, favorites among the rest.
Sometime during the 1960's, during the annual volunteer fireman's town carnival, dozens of members of the Pagan motorcycle gang descended on the festivities and set about causing all manner of mayhem including the looting of game booths, groping of local womenâmost of them wives of the town menâand otherwise turning what was perhaps the most anticipated yearly event in a town of less than two thousand people into a waking nightmare. The police department there at the time consisted of two officers: the chief and one patrol cop, both of whom had served in the Army with my grandfather. According to my grandfather, who has been gone for five years now, a group of town men gathered with the police chief, went home and armed themselves (many of the men including my grandfather had brought German or Japanese weapons home from the War), and then proceeded to engage the Pagansâfirst with words and shots over their heads and then ultimately with coordinated, precision fire. Apparently several of the Pagans were wounded and many of their motorcycles destroyed. Of course, my grandfather's version of the story was much more colorful and exciting. Funny thing about all of that? Many years later I ended up dating the daughter of the President of the Pagans. A man so full of integrity he once threatened to kill his daughter for not returning an expensive gift he had given her on her birthday. I guess some breeds of men never change . . .
The second story is very similar, I'll spare you all the details. Again a direct threat came to that same small town, only this time in the form of some kind of exotic wild goats escaped from a nearby circus, and once more the men of said town, along with my grandfather, banded together and killed the rampaging animals to the last. My favorite part of this story is my grandfather's description of one of his war buddies aiming down the sights at a wild goat, about how the man tracked the beast with the weapon's muzzle and did not fire until the beast leapt above a stand of grass far out in a local field. Shot it dead through the heart on the run . . .
The point of all this? A simple series of questions, really, I suppose. Where are the rest of the sons and grandsons of men like my grandfather and his WW2 buddies? What has become, what is becoming of the American man in our day and age? There was a time (so cliché sounding I know) when the American man, a majority of them perhaps, were ever at the ready to risk life and limb to defend the lives of their family and neighbors and communities from agents of chaos in any form. Whether or not to do so wasn't even a question. In short . . . what the fuck is wrong with most American men these days? You know I see those commercials online with men going on an on about shaving their balls so they'll be more appealing to the ladies and I can't help but wonder: can those boy-girls even find their testicles in the first place? I sure as hell hope so because both the Pagans and the wild circus goats have descended on all our small towns or they're about to.
Sometime during the 1960's, during the annual volunteer fireman's town carnival, dozens of members of the Pagan motorcycle gang descended on the festivities and set about causing all manner of mayhem including the looting of game booths, groping of local womenâmost of them wives of the town menâand otherwise turning what was perhaps the most anticipated yearly event in a town of less than two thousand people into a waking nightmare. The police department there at the time consisted of two officers: the chief and one patrol cop, both of whom had served in the Army with my grandfather. According to my grandfather, who has been gone for five years now, a group of town men gathered with the police chief, went home and armed themselves (many of the men including my grandfather had brought German or Japanese weapons home from the War), and then proceeded to engage the Pagansâfirst with words and shots over their heads and then ultimately with coordinated, precision fire. Apparently several of the Pagans were wounded and many of their motorcycles destroyed. Of course, my grandfather's version of the story was much more colorful and exciting. Funny thing about all of that? Many years later I ended up dating the daughter of the President of the Pagans. A man so full of integrity he once threatened to kill his daughter for not returning an expensive gift he had given her on her birthday. I guess some breeds of men never change . . .
The second story is very similar, I'll spare you all the details. Again a direct threat came to that same small town, only this time in the form of some kind of exotic wild goats escaped from a nearby circus, and once more the men of said town, along with my grandfather, banded together and killed the rampaging animals to the last. My favorite part of this story is my grandfather's description of one of his war buddies aiming down the sights at a wild goat, about how the man tracked the beast with the weapon's muzzle and did not fire until the beast leapt above a stand of grass far out in a local field. Shot it dead through the heart on the run . . .
The point of all this? A simple series of questions, really, I suppose. Where are the rest of the sons and grandsons of men like my grandfather and his WW2 buddies? What has become, what is becoming of the American man in our day and age? There was a time (so cliché sounding I know) when the American man, a majority of them perhaps, were ever at the ready to risk life and limb to defend the lives of their family and neighbors and communities from agents of chaos in any form. Whether or not to do so wasn't even a question. In short . . . what the fuck is wrong with most American men these days? You know I see those commercials online with men going on an on about shaving their balls so they'll be more appealing to the ladies and I can't help but wonder: can those boy-girls even find their testicles in the first place? I sure as hell hope so because both the Pagans and the wild circus goats have descended on all our small towns or they're about to.