FollowHow I Discovered the New Jersey Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial. Remembering Scottie McMillan: a three year boy murdered. How I Became a Flexitarian. November 14, 2014 Calvin Schwartz
a statue at New Jersey Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial
the panels of names memorialized
I was in college through most of the sixties; Pharmacy school and internship became a seven year commitment. They were turbulent times with many of my generation serving and dying. I have always been haunted about what the war did to the fabric of my generation. I’d never been to The New Jersey Vietnam Veterans Memorial; somewhere deep within, there was an element of needing to be there and express my gratitude and caring.
Cut to a brutally cold and windy February Friday afternoon seven years ago as I headed south on the Garden State Parkway; my exit is 123 south; I’ve been getting off the exit there for 18 years. Yet something this day made me drive- by my exit and continue south. I passed the next contingency exit and still headed south. My car vibrated in the extreme wind. I finally knew what I was doing. Something in the universe was taking me to the Vietnam Memorial and I wondered why so random a journey on such a cold desolate windy afternoon.
a part of the Vietnam Era. I finally made it to Haight-Ashbury in San Franciso a few weeks ago. I posed with my niece and two hippie holdouts. BUT I observed my hair was longer than the hippie guy.
the entrance to the Visitors center.
There were no cars in the parking lot adjacent to the Vietnam Era Museum & Educational Center; it was close to 3:30PM so I knew they still had to be open. Damn, it was cold. I walked briskly through the entrance and approached the front desk where two receptionists stared me down. I knew what they were thinking; why was I here? No one else was there. And I told them bluntly, something made me come here this day. “Where is the Memorial?” It was a short walk in brutal cold and wind.
The Memorial is made up of 366 panels for each day of the year, January 1 through December 31 and leap year; soldiers are memorialized on the day they died (all 1563 New Jersey soldiers who were killed or listed as missing) I looked at each name in 10 degree wind chill. It took a long time to scan all the names and somehow I stopped feeling cold. Something told me to pick two random names and hold them close and think about them as best I can for the rest of my days and so I did. Here’s thinking of Arthur J Abramoff and Albert Potter; in my thoughts often these last seven years. And now I think of a song title, “What’s It All About Alfie?”
I’ll always try to remember 3 year old Scottie McMillan
looking forward to many Thanksgiving celebrations with my great precious nephew Hudson Avery
Last week news came from Philadelphia television of the brutal murder of a three year old boy, Scottie McMillan; there was an accompanying picture of this angelic boy’s face. He was beaten and tortured for three days and hung upside down by his mother and her boyfriend. There are murders everyday here in the tri-state area but this got to me and I can’t find the words to express myself. I paced and walked around the house. A few days later, I heard about a memorial for the little boy so I found a candle and walked outside at 7 PM in a tee-shirt, sweat pants and socks and stayed there in the cold staring at a clear sky and bright moon, verbalizing to something up there that I don’t know what to do. I still don’t.
Finally Thanksgiving is approaching and soon Christmas. It’s my favorite time of year. I savor every moment and conjure memories of family and friends, many long departed. I have a bucket list; one year when I’m ready, I’ll go to northern Montana in a snow storm ( I wrote this into my novel, ‘Vichy Water’) and go to Midnight Mass. It’s something I know I have to do. Thanksgiving is a time of turkeys and giving thanks and being grateful. I’m grateful to something up there that made me stop eating red meat in 1975. It’s a healthy life style. The other day I read an article that reinforces how deleterious red meat can be. Red meat contains carnitine, a compound that interacts with stomach bacteria to become a third party which hardens the arteries. I have not eaten anything with four legs since 1975 but I do eat chicken, turkey and fish. Here is my journey to becoming a flexitarian. And thanks to Hoop La Ha for letting me reprint my story originally published by them.
I posed with this cow at a Rutgers basketball game and I assured it that I do NOT eat any of its 4 legged relatives.
No more wire hangars and no red meat from any 4 legged creatures.
In 1975 I stopped eating red meat, perhaps for the wrong reason. With one lapse in commitment, I’ve been an adherent. I didn’t say I was a vegan and no animal products in my diet nor leather sandals on summer feet. A Swedish Facebook friend said I was a Flexitarian. I remembered that Amanda reassured that flexitarianism, not that there’s anything wrong with it, is an omnivore who predominantly eats a plant based diet but also eats animal meat occasionally. That’s me, Miss Crabtree. I do eat some chicken and turkey and fish just no red meat.
Back to the future; in 1975, I was just divorced; single again but out of the loop for five years. I hit hip book stores for contemporary guidance on dating. Every first chapter seemed to perseverate on finding commonality in early dating. I yellow highlighted commonality. Along comes a spider (annoying relative) who gives me a girl’s phone number with instructions to call. Spiders are bad news for me. Six months later, the spider continues to annoy so I finally call the girl. Walking up the 1/4 mile from the curb to the mansion, I pondered life. The castle door opens and a 6’ tall blonde blue-eyed girl (I’m 6’5 ½”) invites me into the library.
“What are we doing tonight?” she asked.
“I thought we’d go into Manhattan for a movie and dinner.”
“The movie’s good but I can only eat in two restaurants.”
“Why?” I was confused.
“I’m a vegan and there are only two places with vegan menus.”
Remembering the yellow highlighted word, commonality, I said, “I’m a vegan too.”
Noticeably, her face lit up. “You’re my first vegan date. How long have you been?”
I also like honesty in dating. “Not long,” thinking six seconds.
She lasted two dates but staying a vegan appealed to me but not my pot roasted, corned beef mother. Six months later, mother and I compromised. No red meat but poultry and fish. In social settings, I liked saying that I don’t eat red meat. It was cool and as the months transitioned to years, it felt good saying I don’t eat red meat. The longer I kept at it, the more investment it was to honestly say I don’t. And that’s the story of my 39 year journey of abstinence; nothing more than silly pride, stratospheric will power and honesty with a growing concern to health issues. There was once a transgression; I decided to go off the diet for a week 25 years ago. I’d map out (before MapQuest) some good delis in Jersey and ingest every imaginable processed red meat concoction. A business newspaper simultaneously reported upswings in restaurant take-out business during transgression. My second wife came from a long line of specialized brisket creators and I gently battled with new mother-in-law over my no red meat status. But on July 21st 1989, I was back to a strict adherent.
Becoming more involved with environmental issues, I realized the value of being away from red meat and not supporting an industry that uses monstrous amounts of increasingly precious water for cows grazing in the grass. Caring about earth obsessively now, and realizing it’s all we got, I’ve been changing my life style. Joan Crawford in the movie ‘Mommie Dearest’ yelled to her little daughter, Christina, “No wire hangers;” they were rich and could afford fancy hangers. It was a scary movie scene; obviously impactful. The next day I told my cleaners, “No wire hangers” so that I get clean folded shirts in a recyclable bag; that’s what the green writing says. Look at the interplay; no red meat and no wire hangers as I’ve evolved into an environmentally conscious earth denizen.
My blog is over for the day. I am grateful for that something in the universe that makes me think and write these things. I want to believe I’m closer to understanding myself. But I’m not.
Happy Thanksgiving.
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