Hippies Throw Oranges?

            “At least its not like Vietnam and everyone supports the troops.”

            “Oh look at you, living in your tiny bubble.”

            I received mixed reactions from different groups of people in my life when I enlisted.  My family didn’t quite know how to react and usually just asked if I was sure I wanted to commit to something like that.  Most of my friends were the same way since not too many of us joined the service.  A lot of people were just curiously excited to know someone about to go to a once in a generation war.  One irate female cussed me out in front of a restaurant full of people.

            “So hey guys, I decided to enlist over spring break,” I mentioned.

            “Are you a fucking idiot?!” a girl yelled as she stood up at the table.

            “Probably.”

            “Did you at least sign up to be an officer?”

            “Nope.”

            I definitely didn’t see that reaction coming.  It was my first encounter with a strongly opinionated person that wasn’t fond of the idea of war.  I let her vent and feel good about herself and then quietly left.  The things that people say about events that are set in motion won’t matter in the long run.  Ultimately that girl was the “fucking idiot” for attempting to humiliate a guy that just wanted to go on an adventure helping a country that couldn’t help itself.  There’s nothing wrong with voicing an opinion, but for God’s sake at least find out why somebody enlisted before assuming they did it in the name of killing other human beings.

           

            Off I went to the army and my first duty station was at Fort Lewis, Washington.  Hello west coast.  On the weekends we would do anything to get out of the barracks.  Along the I-5 corridor the three major cities for “Joes” to go party at are Seattle, Tacoma and Olympia.  Tacoma was the closest place to base and although the locals loathed our primitive behavior, we supplied a lot of money to their economy so they put up with us.  Seattle was 45 minutes north and far enough away that people maintained a “support the troops” attitude, but it was close enough so that college boys recognized our hair cuts and stayed out of our way when talking to college ladies.  Olympia was another story.

            “You’re in the service aren’t ya, boy,” an old man grumbled with a sneer.

            “Yes, sir,” I replied with a smile.

            “Then fuck you! FUCK YOU! Fuck all you baby killers!”

            I was in shock.  Then I was angry.  Then I was just confused.  Olympia, for the most part, was home of the hippies.  They didn’t care what your reasons were for joining or what was really going on overseas.  They just wanted somebody to hate.  Our haircuts easily gave us away in a city where musicians and white Rastafarians roamed the streets.  Some bars solely existed for political gatherings.  That old man at the bar almost got pummeled, but we decided to walk it off to the next bar.  From that night on we tried avoiding places of that nature.

            After my first deployment, our Strykers were loaded onto huge ships and we flew home, except a small contingent of soldiers that stayed with the Strykers for security thru pirate-infested waters.  The ships arrived about a month later at one of our local ports.  We notified the public the ships were arriving at a different port than the actual destination to avoid a hippy gathering.  It wasn’t long before they figured it out.

            The first wave of Strykers were off the boat and ready to convoy back to Lewis.  Police officers were at the gates of the port to both escort us while on the highway and keep the hippies back.  The hippie’s numbers swelled.  I was in the second chalk (convoy) and watched as the first chalk took off.  The hippies managed to cross in front of the convoy while being chained to each other with metal pipes.  Apparently they thought this would stop us.  The police were very effective in moving them back off the road after a few minutes, but then things got a little juicy.

            “These assholes are throwing oranges at us!” one soldier said.

            “Oranges?” I asked.

            “Yeah, who the fuck throws oranges?”

            “That’s gotta hurt. There’s nothing peaceful about being hit with an orange. What kind of hippies are these?”
            As the first chalk continued thru the gates, a hippy driving a car decided he was going to ram a Stryker with his Pinto sized vehicle.  This was funny because that hippy didn’t realize a Stryker was 20 tons until he was just meters away and changed his mind, slamming on his breaks.  I definitely thought hippies were peaceful people.  Not so much.  Throwing heavy fruit and trying to ram us with cars was a lot different than flowers in your hair.  What would they do next?

            One hippy actually pulled a Tie Neman Square by lying down flat in the middle of the road in an attempt to stop the convoy and allow further attacks on us.  What that hippy didn’t know is that there was easily two feet of clearance under a Stryker and we could drive over them without causing any bodily harm.

            “We got one lying down up here. Want me to just run her over since we ain’t gonna actually touch her?”

            “Nah, cause then she’ll sit up as we’re rolling over her and I don’t wanna clean that mess up. We just got these washed.”

            It was time for my chalk to start its move.  The gates to the port were pretty far away and we couldn’t see exactly what was going on, so for all we knew we were about to get an orange barrage to the face.  Instead we got a nice surprise from the local police force.  They were armed with paintball guns and sprayed the out of control group of anti-war hippies.  By the time my Stryker made it thru the gates, the hippies were doused in multi-color paint splatters, holding hands and flipping us the peace sign.  Finally, a stereotypical hippy move!  We laughed and waved to the police as they waved back and cheered us on. 

“Mat, why don’t you ever fight back when people act so rudely about something they know nothing about?”

People ask me this all the time.  If I fought back it would ruin everything I believe in about being a soldier.  I’ve had things hurled at me, been cussed at, spat at and threatened on many levels, but I’ve never raised a hand at the people that disrespect us.  It’s a freedom they have and we secure it for them.  Many years from now nobody will remember what the hippies did, but they sure as hell will remember what soldiers did in a time of war.  Perhaps one day I will fight back and I feel sorry for the family of the person on the receiving end of that, but for now I can only smile and walk away from people that will never understand what soldiers really do.