My father owned only two Johnny Cash Albums - Show Time on Sun Records and Johnny Cash's Greatest Hits Volume 1 on Columbia. He played them often. But especially when he was cleaning or polishing the furniture. Once, when it was just the two of us ( I was either nine of ten years old), he was playing the Columbia compilation and took pause from his chores to listen intently to The Ballad of Ira Hayes - it was almost as if he knew this Ira Hayes. I listened along but really, at age 9/10, lot of it was beyond me... so I asked him about it. He got thoughtful for a minute and then told me, as simply as possible, who Ira Hayes was. Ira Hayes was an American Indian who served his country & helped raise the American Flag at Iwo Jima February 23, 1945. He was born a Pima Indian in Arizona and was raised, in poverty, on a reservation and enlisted in The Marine Corp in (August 1942). He not only helped raise the flag that day but he also helped identify the others who were alongside him. As a post war civilian Ira suffered from what we now call PTSD (though no one knew about this until the late eighties) and alcoholism. This hero became a destitute alcoholic who would eventually die of exposure and alcohol poisoning in a ditch on January 23, 1955. (On November 10, 1954 he attended the dedication of the Marine Corps War Memorial in Arlington County, Virginia, which was modeled after the photograph of Hayes and five other Marines raising the second flag on Iwo Jima.) My father had his own post war demons that he battled right on up until his death in May 1983. Known on his jobs as "The Whistler" my father, throughout his life, whistled the Ballad of Ira Hayes ( written by NYC Folk musician Peter LeFarge).
Our Veterans sacrificed everything for our freedom while experiencing the unthinkable. And more often than not, they have suffered in great silence. Around late 1969 my brother's best friend Alan Vogel returned from Vietnam missing the lower part of his left leg and was partially blind in his left eye sporting an intense facial scar. I remember how hard and sad it was to see him when he arrived home to Pearl River, NY. I also remember how much time my father spent with him over cans of Schlitz Beer in our kitchen whenever he came over. And I remember my father doing his very best to explain it to me. When Vietnam Veterans came home they were literally spit upon by Leftists - who, as we see now, are always on the wrong side of everything. Many experience drug addiction, crippling depression, (PTSD) . Too many are still homeless and suffering. Pathetic, since we owe them everything. Thank a Veteran whenever you can, I do. And do what you can.
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