Tail-Gunner in the Pilot's Seat
- Thread starter Wolfpaw
- Start date
Yeah, thats pretty intense. President McCarthy.will the Veep spot be filled or not until the next election?
25th Amendment has yet to be passed, so I would assume that no one is designated as VP until '56.
And don't worry, Wolf; there won't be any nuclear wars...by Christmas...and I think you'll like who McCarthy chooses for VP in '56
I wish I could guess. MacArthur? I'd say Strom Thrumond but he was a Democrat.
Wolfpaw
Banned
McCarthy acted swiftly in the wake of the attack on the Capitol. By the end of the week the Senate Governmental Affairs Ad Hoc Subcommittee on Domestic Terrorism had been established and placed under the chairmanship of the notorious William E. Jenner of Indiana.
Members of virtually every Puerto Rican interest group were called before the Subcommittee in nationally televised sessions. The most dramatic moments came in early April with the subpoena and testimony of Puerto Rican governor Luis Muñoz Marín. In a heated exchange, Senator Jenner accused Marín of being incompetent, a nationalist, and a “clear abettor of Soviet agents on [his] island.”
An enraged Marín accused Jenner of “idiocy, paranoia, and fear-mongering.” “These hearings,” he continued, “are responsible for more widespread terror in this country than the shootings themselves!” Amid raucous calls for decorum, the governor stormed out of the building.
—Excerpt from "Tailgunner: The Court of the American Nero" by P. J. Lykos
Members of virtually every Puerto Rican interest group were called before the Subcommittee in nationally televised sessions. The most dramatic moments came in early April with the subpoena and testimony of Puerto Rican governor Luis Muñoz Marín. In a heated exchange, Senator Jenner accused Marín of being incompetent, a nationalist, and a “clear abettor of Soviet agents on [his] island.”
An enraged Marín accused Jenner of “idiocy, paranoia, and fear-mongering.” “These hearings,” he continued, “are responsible for more widespread terror in this country than the shootings themselves!” Amid raucous calls for decorum, the governor stormed out of the building.
—Excerpt from "Tailgunner: The Court of the American Nero" by P. J. Lykos
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Wolfpaw
Banned
Announcer:
It's time, America! Time for Walter Winchell! Presented to you by Gruen, the precision watch. Gruen! The finest watch you wear! Gruen! The finest watch you can give, brings you the man who gives America the news. Walter Winchell of the New York Daily Mirror and The Washington Post!
Walter Winchell:
Good evening Mr. and Mrs. North and South America and all the ships at sea. Let's go to press!
Dallas, Texas: The Texas Special of the K&T line has been wrecked near Royse City, Texas! Between San Antone and Saint Lou! Several reported killed! Just happened! We may have more on it later!
San Juan, Puerto Rico: The Nationalist Party of Puerto Rico is on the march! They are plotting violence and maybe a revolution after raiding armories for their guns!
Washington, D.C.: It's a baby boy for the Richard Smythe Browns...
It's time, America! Time for Walter Winchell! Presented to you by Gruen, the precision watch. Gruen! The finest watch you wear! Gruen! The finest watch you can give, brings you the man who gives America the news. Walter Winchell of the New York Daily Mirror and The Washington Post!
Walter Winchell:
Good evening Mr. and Mrs. North and South America and all the ships at sea. Let's go to press!
Dallas, Texas: The Texas Special of the K&T line has been wrecked near Royse City, Texas! Between San Antone and Saint Lou! Several reported killed! Just happened! We may have more on it later!
San Juan, Puerto Rico: The Nationalist Party of Puerto Rico is on the march! They are plotting violence and maybe a revolution after raiding armories for their guns!
Washington, D.C.: It's a baby boy for the Richard Smythe Browns...
Wolfpaw
Banned
Yeah, I read that so-called report of Jenner’s. I couldn’t believe anybody was taking it seriously, even back then. I mean, the thing sounded like something straight outta some pamphlet from the John Birch Society.
Thank God the Senator didn’t take it seriously. Damn shame he couldn’t have been president then…
I couldn’t believe it when McCarthy sent troops to Puerto Rico. He said it was to restore order, the riots and all. Bullshit. Me? I think he was just flexing his muscles. He wanted a chance to show the country he was in charge, that he wasn’t gonna take malarkey from nobody, especially not a bunch of cranky spics.
—James “Jim” McEvoy, quoted in Better Dead than Red: An American Memoir, by Studs Terkel
Thank God the Senator didn’t take it seriously. Damn shame he couldn’t have been president then…
I couldn’t believe it when McCarthy sent troops to Puerto Rico. He said it was to restore order, the riots and all. Bullshit. Me? I think he was just flexing his muscles. He wanted a chance to show the country he was in charge, that he wasn’t gonna take malarkey from nobody, especially not a bunch of cranky spics.
—James “Jim” McEvoy, quoted in Better Dead than Red: An American Memoir, by Studs Terkel
Wolfpaw
Banned
My cousin Luis was a member of our village’s chapter of the PNPR. It was him that first got me involved in the Cause. He would always hold meetings at Tia Elena’s house. We would all sit in the loveseat or on the carpet listening to him talk about yanqui oppression and the destiny of Puerto Rico. I remember his girl, Carmen, staring up at him with those big eyes of hers, brown like the mouths of rivers. Luis always had that effect on people. He said the same things every meeting, but each time we listened like it was a new record.
When Luis heard about El Vate getting thrown in jail for that “contempt of Congress” nonsense, he was so mad that I thought he would smash the radio. Sure he was a yanqui stooge, Luis said, but he was still our governor, still boricua.
The next day, Luis disappeared. My Tia Elena was inconsolable. When she found out Luis had gone, she came weeping to our house and threw herself into the arms of my mother. We all knew Luis had gone to San Juan, to the riots. All of us were worried. Except Carmen. She always had this firm smile on her face because she was proud of her man.
Luis came back a few days later. He had a long scar running down from just below his eye to just above his mouth, like a rosy pink crescent moon. Tia Elena screamed at him while she wept with joy and held him tight. At our next meeting, Luis told us all about the riots. About the slogans, the graffiti, the flag-waving. He told us about how he got his scar from a yanqui-loving sell-out with a switchblade. From that day on, Luis became more than just my popular older cousin. To us, he became a god.
When McCarthy sent the Marines ashore to “restore order,” Luis said that this time it was all of us who had to stand against the yanqui imperialists. We were making banners and placards for the protests being planned across the island. My job was ripping strips of black cloth for Carmen to paint white crosses on so we could all have armbands. I would stare at her sometimes. I knew she would not catch me because she was so focused on her work. Occasionally she would flip her hair back and look at Luis with those shining eyes of hers and I would feel jealous and rip the black cloth strips with more violence than was necessary.
When Tia Elena caught us making these things in her living room, she started to cry. She grabbed Luis and told him that she could not bear to lose both her husband and son. My Tio Jorge, Luis’ father, had died during the Second World War. Luis was the center of Tia Elena’s life. Who knew what would become of her if something were to happen to Luis?
Luis hushed her and took her into the kitchen. All of us tried to hear what they were saying, but he had closed the door. It did not matter. Nobody was working. Nobody except Carmen. When finally Luis and Tia Elena came out of the kitchen, Tia Elena was not crying anymore. Instead, she had an old tablecloth in her arms. Her cheeks were still wet when she gave it to the group responsible for making banners. Then she looked at her son with tears in her eyes and hugged him tight.
—From Yo Soy Boricua, by Pablo Lizar
When Luis heard about El Vate getting thrown in jail for that “contempt of Congress” nonsense, he was so mad that I thought he would smash the radio. Sure he was a yanqui stooge, Luis said, but he was still our governor, still boricua.
The next day, Luis disappeared. My Tia Elena was inconsolable. When she found out Luis had gone, she came weeping to our house and threw herself into the arms of my mother. We all knew Luis had gone to San Juan, to the riots. All of us were worried. Except Carmen. She always had this firm smile on her face because she was proud of her man.
Luis came back a few days later. He had a long scar running down from just below his eye to just above his mouth, like a rosy pink crescent moon. Tia Elena screamed at him while she wept with joy and held him tight. At our next meeting, Luis told us all about the riots. About the slogans, the graffiti, the flag-waving. He told us about how he got his scar from a yanqui-loving sell-out with a switchblade. From that day on, Luis became more than just my popular older cousin. To us, he became a god.
When McCarthy sent the Marines ashore to “restore order,” Luis said that this time it was all of us who had to stand against the yanqui imperialists. We were making banners and placards for the protests being planned across the island. My job was ripping strips of black cloth for Carmen to paint white crosses on so we could all have armbands. I would stare at her sometimes. I knew she would not catch me because she was so focused on her work. Occasionally she would flip her hair back and look at Luis with those shining eyes of hers and I would feel jealous and rip the black cloth strips with more violence than was necessary.
When Tia Elena caught us making these things in her living room, she started to cry. She grabbed Luis and told him that she could not bear to lose both her husband and son. My Tio Jorge, Luis’ father, had died during the Second World War. Luis was the center of Tia Elena’s life. Who knew what would become of her if something were to happen to Luis?
Luis hushed her and took her into the kitchen. All of us tried to hear what they were saying, but he had closed the door. It did not matter. Nobody was working. Nobody except Carmen. When finally Luis and Tia Elena came out of the kitchen, Tia Elena was not crying anymore. Instead, she had an old tablecloth in her arms. Her cheeks were still wet when she gave it to the group responsible for making banners. Then she looked at her son with tears in her eyes and hugged him tight.
—From Yo Soy Boricua, by Pablo Lizar
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Wolfpaw
Banned
Charlie,
I know the General's told you to make sure that the Marines are on their best behavior when they ship out next week. However, as a former leatherneck, the President wants to make sure that nobody thinks the Marines are doormats, especially not the Ricans and their pinko bosses.
If push comes to shove down there, you tell Shepherd that him and his boys have got the President's O.K. to shove right back.
-Roy
—Memo from Assistant to the President Roy M. Cohn to Secretary of the Navy Charles S. Thomas, April, 1954.
Declassified 1994.
I know the General's told you to make sure that the Marines are on their best behavior when they ship out next week. However, as a former leatherneck, the President wants to make sure that nobody thinks the Marines are doormats, especially not the Ricans and their pinko bosses.
If push comes to shove down there, you tell Shepherd that him and his boys have got the President's O.K. to shove right back.
-Roy
—Memo from Assistant to the President Roy M. Cohn to Secretary of the Navy Charles S. Thomas, April, 1954.
Declassified 1994.
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Wolfpaw
Banned
We were all so excited the morning we said goodbye to our parents and loaded into convoy of beat-up Plymouths and pickups that would take us to San Juan. I was about to get into one of the cars when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Luis smiling at me with that smile of his, telling me that I could ride in the lead truck with him. Before that moment, my Confirmation had been the proudest day of my life. When I climbed into the back of Pepe Alvarez’s pickup behind Luis, Confirmation took second place.
I remember all of us in the pickup staring out the sides, watching the countryside go flashing by. Everyone stared at the beauty of our island, everyone but Luis and Carmen. Luis was staring forward towards the city. That was Luis, always looking ahead to the fight, to the struggle to liberate Puerto Rico from the yanquis. Carmen was looking up at Luis, her eyes full of adoration, her hair flapping wildly in the wind. And in the two of them I saw the strength and the beauty and the future of our island.
The demonstration began at the far eastern end of Calle de la Fortaleza. Never before had I ever seen such a sea of people. Horns, drums, banners, signs, armbands, bandanas, Party flags flying alongside those of Puerto Rico. The noise was unbelievable, the spirit impossible. When we took our steps westward through the still-smoldering streets of San Juan, we were no longer students, shop owners, children, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers. We were all boricua. All Puerto Rican, united in love for our fatherland.
Somehow, Luis had managed to get our village’s chapter spots towards the head of the demonstration. As we marched onwards singing “La Boriqueña,” I was marching next to Carmen and asked her where we were going. She smiled down at me and my heart melted and she told me that we were marching to the Plaza de Armas to hear a speech written by El Maestro, Pedro Albizu Campos, from his prison cell. “Luis says that it will be like a second Grito de Jayuya,” Carmen said to me with starry eyes. “A cry of liberation, not just for El Vate, but for all of Puerto Rico.”
When we reached the Plaza de Armas, there was no speaker’s platform. No banners, no flag-waving supporters of our march for freedom. Awaiting us instead was a company of yanqui Marines, the sun glinting off of their bayonets. The words of “La Boriqueña” vanished. The cries for freedom died with them. The march ground to a halt. But for the wind and the gurgling of the fountain, the plaza was like a tomb.
Slowly, staring at soldiers, we moved forwards. Slowly, the words of “La Boriqueña” once more filled the air. Slowly, we felt our strength blaze through the cloud of darkness and fill us once more. There was a snap! and the Marines brought their rifles up. A yanqui major stepped out from the lines of soldiers. There was a megaphone in his hands. “I order you to disperse and return to your homes!” He said it once in English. He did not say it in Spanish. Only once. In English. None of us moved. The major lowered his megaphone and disappeared.
I cannot remember whether I heard the order to fire. I remember very few things after the first wave of death slammed into our ranks. There was screaming, like animals trapped in a burning building. The river of protestors became a maelstrom of fear. As the tide swept me away from the Plaza de Armas, from the slaughter, I saw Carmen lying on the ground. I looked into her eyes, like mirrors, staring up at the sky, her face still filled with a beauty and a surprise that kept my eyes away from the bloody hole in her chest. My eyes filled with tears and I could taste blood in the air, could feel it flowing on the cobblestones under my feet. And always there was the constant, unceasing roar of the guns.
—From Yo Soy Boricua, by Pablo Lizar
I remember all of us in the pickup staring out the sides, watching the countryside go flashing by. Everyone stared at the beauty of our island, everyone but Luis and Carmen. Luis was staring forward towards the city. That was Luis, always looking ahead to the fight, to the struggle to liberate Puerto Rico from the yanquis. Carmen was looking up at Luis, her eyes full of adoration, her hair flapping wildly in the wind. And in the two of them I saw the strength and the beauty and the future of our island.
The demonstration began at the far eastern end of Calle de la Fortaleza. Never before had I ever seen such a sea of people. Horns, drums, banners, signs, armbands, bandanas, Party flags flying alongside those of Puerto Rico. The noise was unbelievable, the spirit impossible. When we took our steps westward through the still-smoldering streets of San Juan, we were no longer students, shop owners, children, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers. We were all boricua. All Puerto Rican, united in love for our fatherland.
Somehow, Luis had managed to get our village’s chapter spots towards the head of the demonstration. As we marched onwards singing “La Boriqueña,” I was marching next to Carmen and asked her where we were going. She smiled down at me and my heart melted and she told me that we were marching to the Plaza de Armas to hear a speech written by El Maestro, Pedro Albizu Campos, from his prison cell. “Luis says that it will be like a second Grito de Jayuya,” Carmen said to me with starry eyes. “A cry of liberation, not just for El Vate, but for all of Puerto Rico.”
When we reached the Plaza de Armas, there was no speaker’s platform. No banners, no flag-waving supporters of our march for freedom. Awaiting us instead was a company of yanqui Marines, the sun glinting off of their bayonets. The words of “La Boriqueña” vanished. The cries for freedom died with them. The march ground to a halt. But for the wind and the gurgling of the fountain, the plaza was like a tomb.
Slowly, staring at soldiers, we moved forwards. Slowly, the words of “La Boriqueña” once more filled the air. Slowly, we felt our strength blaze through the cloud of darkness and fill us once more. There was a snap! and the Marines brought their rifles up. A yanqui major stepped out from the lines of soldiers. There was a megaphone in his hands. “I order you to disperse and return to your homes!” He said it once in English. He did not say it in Spanish. Only once. In English. None of us moved. The major lowered his megaphone and disappeared.
I cannot remember whether I heard the order to fire. I remember very few things after the first wave of death slammed into our ranks. There was screaming, like animals trapped in a burning building. The river of protestors became a maelstrom of fear. As the tide swept me away from the Plaza de Armas, from the slaughter, I saw Carmen lying on the ground. I looked into her eyes, like mirrors, staring up at the sky, her face still filled with a beauty and a surprise that kept my eyes away from the bloody hole in her chest. My eyes filled with tears and I could taste blood in the air, could feel it flowing on the cobblestones under my feet. And always there was the constant, unceasing roar of the guns.
—From Yo Soy Boricua, by Pablo Lizar