A Soldier's Thanksgiving Story

We are 21!

La Bloga first appears in the world, the universe, blogosphere, or anywhere else, on November 28, 2004. Rudy Garcia, Manuel Ramos, and Michael Sedano are the founders. Soon thereafter, Rene Colato Laínez and Daniel Olivas join. Over the years, La Bloga has enjoyed the company of numerous writers who've shared interesting stories and insights. You see some of us in the mugshots at the top of the page.

Thank you for reading La Bloga, friends.

La Bloga is in transition, announcements pending, saying farewell and welcome to our writing team. Look for the news in upcoming columns. 

Are you a raza writer interested in joining La Bloga? Click the link embedded in the mugshots at the top of the column to let the Editor / Blogmeister (Michael Sedano) know!

 

Thanksgiving At Hwaak-ni, 1970
Michael sedano

It was a day like any other day, except I was there, Hwaak-ni, a remote Korean village that hosted the 75 soldiers of Bravo Seven Five (B 7/5), the highest missile site in the world. 50 men in the Admin Area base camp, 25 on the mountaintop, two nights up, one night down.

High atop Mighty Mae Bong, 25 missileers would have lukewarm turkey dinner. Down in the Admin Area, we looked forward to hot chow, a Great Big Thanksgiving Day Dinner That Can’t Be Beat, as Arlo Guthrie was singing*, back in the States. Given what had transpired the previous months, the promise of real food, and a feast at that, had the men of B 7/5 bubbling with excitement.

Bravo's Best In the Snow at Hwaak-ni

The Summer had been disastrous for the men of Mae Bong. The REMF Warrant Officer responsible for ordering our chow has mucked it up so badly he exhausts our rations budget. The last hot meal the cook serves is boiled potato chunks. Chunks are what remain after Tyner, the cook, cut away the rotted and black spots on the spuds. We eat C-rations and ville-bought ramen for the rest of the month.

Morale was already in the toilet before the chow went to Hell. 

The Battery Commander is a Dud of major proportions, an SAE frat boy from the U of Alabama. BC skulks around the Admin Area—never went up to the top—carrying a swagger stick wearing a scarlet turtleneck dickie. Scarlet is the heraldic color for US Air Defense Artillery. The cabal of ROTC Officers follows their leader and strut about with their own swagger sticks and dickies. They look silly and earn the contempt of every Enlisted Man and NCO. 

A few moments before jumping onto the manning truck and heading up the mountain.

With that level leadership it’s no surprise the Battery flunks every combat-readiness inspection, and, as punishment, the battery has them every few weeks. Finally, the Colonel has enough and fires that jerk and forbids swagger sticks and dickies.

The new BC comes to Mae Bong determined to return military discipline to the unit. He arrives in time for Thanksgiving so when he announces the traditional dinner the entire morning formation leaps in the air, clicks their heels three times on the way up, and lands with a smart salute. Ajua, real chow, and not only that, turkey and all the trimmings! 6000 miles from home and mira nomás! Just like home.

To say the battery is brimming with joy would be an understatement. Me, I have a special treat: Tyner invites me to make the pies! I have not been in a kitchen since leaving Ft. Ord, so making pies is doubly special.

It is strictly against regulations for me to be in the kitchen, much less making food, but so it goes.  Tyner used to give me rides to Camp Page in the back of the mess truck and on the ride back he’d give me a quart of pineapple juice—something B 7/5 wasn’t entitled to--with the proviso I toss the empty before we hit the front gate and not be seen when I exit the truck. 

So there we are in the kitchen and I’m ready to make pie crust: flour, butter, salt, and hours of mixing, chilling, rolling, molding into pie tins. This is what I signed up for.

Tyner hands me frozen pie shells. I am struck dumb. Who’s ever heard of frozen pie shells? Then he opens cans of apple and cherry filling to dump into the pie shells. Presto! I’ve made four pies in no time flat! I take off my apron and leave Tyner baking turkey and doing all the work for a Great Big Thanksgiving Day Dinner That Can’t Be Beat.

“Crawl on out of there!” Pinky shouts at 6 a.m. as he rouses the barracks. Thanksgiving Day at Bravo has arrived. Órale, hit the latrine then head to the chow hall for a standard Army breakfast of fresh eggs to order, pancakes, bacon, papas, toast, coffee, milk.

Then the new BC sends out word that hits with major grumbling and profound disappointment: no Great Big Thanksgiving Day Dinner That Can’t Be Beat unless we dress up in our Class A uniform. 

Soldiers passing a pipe, Admin Area B 7/5

Crap. We are a front-line working outfit, 15 miles from North Korea. Our uniform of the day is combat boots and fatigues. That military crap is for the rear echelon, headquarters soldiers. Bravo has a sign "welcome to the ruggedest, highest HAWK** missile site in the Free World." This is not Class A territory.

The road to Bravo

Bitter as can be we dress up in our monkey suits, show up at the appointed hour, four to a table, looking charp and soldierly. The new BC makes a speech, noting how good and military we all look, to stifled grumbles.

No one grumbles when Tyner and the Korean KPs fill our trays with turkey and all the trimmings. This is, indeed, despite the necktie and spit shined shoes, a Great Big Thanksgiving Day Dinner That Can’t Be Beat.

Y sabes que? Although it’s a tiny slice, the men of Mae Bong have pie for dessert, compliments of Specialist 4th Class Michael Sedano, who is heard singing a chorus of Alice’s Restaurant Massacree as he changes into fatigues and heads to the Commo Hootch for duty and a postprandial reverie thinking about home.

* Alice’s Restaurant Massacree
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WaKIX6oaSLs

**HAWK missile

https://history.redstone.army.mil/miss-hawk.html

Chicanonautica: Ghost of a Guajolote Day Past

by Ernest Hogan

Uh-oh. Chicanonautica has landed on Thanksgiving again. I should really do something, but what? Been doing this for a long time. Should I do Aztec rituals? Decolonizing the holiday? Food? 

Maybe that’s the answer. Rather than repeat myself, I could go back and provide a link to one of my old columns!

So, here's a golden oldie/blast from the past. Way back in 2011. Seems like another world, don’t it? It’s called “Guajolote, Thanksgiving, and Other Words.” Some rasquache, literary riffs, and Chicano weirdness.

Also, I looked it up, “border” in Nahuatl is tlalnamicoyan.

Enjoy the feast. Make your sacrifices.

 Ernest Hogan is thankful for being the Father of Chicano Science Fiction. His latest book is Guerrilla Mural of a Siren's Song: 15 Gonzo Science Fiction Stories.

Chicanonautica: Guajolote Con Man Corn

by Ernest Hogan

I’ve got the Día de los Guajolotes duty here at La Bloga again. Luckily, I've  just finished Man Corn: Cannibalism and Violence in the Prehistoric American Southwest  by Christy G. Turner and Jacqueline A. Turner, the classic book of cannibalism in Aztlán!

Yeah, it’s disturbing. There are those who would prefer that it be the case the Aztláni were pansexual vegetarian pacifists, but there’s way too much forensic evidence to the contrary. And it would dishonor our ancestors to misrepresent them.

Even though it's probably as politically incorrect as bullfighting, I’m proud of my cannibal heritage. My connection to the Aztecs delights me. And is there a more badass way to step out of the mindset of Western Civilization?

I’m also fascinated with cannibalism here in el Norte. After all, the border did not exist. “Mexican” and “American” tribes moved around the continent, fought and traded with each other.

Why are the Mohawks known by a name derived from mohowaog, a Narragesett word meaning “man-eater?”

How did the extinct (or should we say “exterminated?”) Karanawas manage to have their native Texas Gulf Coast known as the Cannibal Coast?

Why do conquistador accounts sound more like outtakes from European fairy tales than documented native practices?

I’ve visited a lot of the sites where the evidence of cannibalism was found. Man Corn cuts close to home.

It’s a scientific, academic study;  evidence is presented, and there is a lot of it. The bulk of the book consists of the data from forms filled out about each site. No sensationalism, just the facts, ma’am. Descriptions, numbers, dates, locations . . . It should be dull, but it’s . . . disturbing. 

All this “body processing” for consumption. Like our ritual “processing” of our Thanksgiving turkeys.

The word “disarticulated”comes up often. An interesting word.

There are a helluvalota photos of bones. Disarticulated, of course, and damaged in ways that indicate that that flesh was removed, and sometimes cooked. Most probably eaten, too. Why else would you go to the trouble to do that to a body?

Look at your turkey after the feast.

The damaged bones, arranged so they can be identified take on the aspect of abstract art. A new kind of beauty, if you can detach it from the fact that they are the remains of human beings, reduces them to pure data. There but for the grace of the gods . . .

Most of these incidents of violence and cannibalism are attributed to the Anasazi, in and around Chaco Canyon. I’ve visited a lot of the sites. The tourist information concentrates on the sophisticated architecture, and the petroglyphs that show a detailed knowledge of astronomy. Forget your stereotypes of cannibals as brutish primitives.

The victims were men, women, and children. The disarticulated bones are often found in structures that have been destroyed,  burned, roofs collapsed, abandoned . . . was it ritual sacrifice? Warfare? Mass psychosis? Cult behavior?

The possibilities of a Mexican connection/Aztec influence is suggested. Photos of Aztec-style “dental mutilation” (tooth sculpting that is really impressive when you realize they were done with stone tools) are included, but the Chaco killings were done with blows to the head, while the Aztec by heart removal.

Some mysteries can only be solved with the help of a time machine.

I’m reminded of what a character in my novel High Aztech said:  If you don’t acknowledge the cannibal inside you, he’ll come out and take control when you least expect it.

So, happy disarticulating!

Ernest Hogan recently discussed High Aztech with the students of William Nericcio’s English 220, Robotic, Erotic, Electric class at San Diego State University.

Chicanonautica: Guajolote Day in Trumptopia

by Ernest Hogan

I’ve got Thanksgiving duty this year, so feliz Día del Guajolote, all of you on LaBlogalandia! 

May your guajolote be tasty, on this day were the EE.UU. eats native meat. 

The Aztec god Chalchuihtotolin, AKA Jade Turkey or Precious Night Turkey, should be happy. He’s the god of plagues. Would that make him the god of biological warfare? We really should keep him in a good mood. . .

What would we be eating in an unconquered Aztlán? Buffalo steak with roast grasshopper tacos on the side? Or perhaps a choice cut of a prisoner of war?

Uh-oh. Is that too extreme?

Could be why someone--or something--keeps reporting La Bloga as spam to Facebook? Whatever the motive, it reeks of malice. And it's something I am not thankful for.

After all, this is Trumptopia--may it self-destruct without taking too many of us with it. Maybe another sacrifice to Tezcatlipoca is in order . . .

I keep getting this oozing-down-a-quagmire feeling that all the social progress that I’ve seen in my lifetime could be wiped out in less than a decade of stupidity, leaving us in a New Dark Age. 

It does seem to be what some people want. What some people consider utopia is dystopia to others, and vice versa. The sad truth is, most people just want something to conform to, rules to follow . . . and enforce. Never forget that.

In glorious spite of it all, I’m thankful for a lot. I’ve had a writing career--correction, have a writing career. I still get published--and rejected, but that’s part of the deal. I didn’t think that my being a Chicano would be such a problem for the publishing world as we know it. As a “minority” (I don’t like the term, I prefer to think of myself as part of this planet’s brown majority, but that idea gets a lot of resistance) writer I was supposed be satisfied with being published once or twice and fade into obscurity. I refuse to go that pitiful way. I have allies in science fiction, academia, noncorporate publishing, and other “minorities.” My long, hard guerrilla campaign will continue . . .

But that’s my everyday struggle. Today, I’m going to enjoy the guajolote, (or huexolotl, to be truer to the original Nahuatl). I suggest you do it, too. 

Tomorrow we can get back to the madness of the age.

May Chalciuhtotolin smile upon us.

Ernest Hogan is currently working on a story set in an Aztlán that has seceded from the EE.UU., and another one about Nazis in Arizona.

Videos, a poem and books for children- Thanksgiving

Que delicioso en noviembre

Published in Revista Iguana

 René Colato Laínez

© 2016

Qué delicioso es noviembre
miro desde la piscina
un gran pavo en la cocina
que prepara mi vecina.

Qué delicioso es noviembre
de pensarlo me dio hambre
y hasta me agarró un calambre
estoy más flaco que un alambre.

Qué delicioso es noviembre
vendrá toda la familia
a comer en armonía.
No hay dieta en este día.

Qué delicioso es noviembre
hay que dar gracias al cielo
por todo el amor sincero
de un hogar verdadero.

Books

Celebrate Thanksgiving Day with Beto and Gaby by Alma Flor Ada and F. Isabel Campoy. Illustrated by Claudia Rueda.

Beto and Gaby anxiously wait for their relatives to arrive for Thanksgiving dinner. One by one, they each call to inform the family that they will not be able to attend because of a great snowstorm. Suddenly, their grandmother appears with a group of elder friends who have nowhere to have dinner, and the celebration becomes really special. Contains an informative section on Thanksgiving Day.

Gracias, the Thanksgiving turkey by Joy Cowley. Illustrated by Joe Cepeda.

Trouble ensues when Papa gets Miguel a turkey to fatten up for Thanksgiving and Miguel develops an attachment to it.

¿Pavo para la Cena de Gracias? ¡No, gracias! por Alma Flor Ada. Ilustrado por Vivi Escriva.

When the turkey overhears a conversation about how fat and tasty he will be on Thanksgiving, he loses his own appetite. He meets a young spider who sets out to find a way to save the turkey.


Molly y los peregrinos por Barbara Cohen. Illustrado por Michael J. Deraney. Traducido por María A. Fiol.

Told to make a doll like a pilgrim for the Thanksgiving display at school, Molly's Jewish mother dresses the doll as she herself dressed before leaving Russia to seek religious freedom--much to Molly's embarrassment.

How many days to America?: a Thanksgiving story by Eve Bunting. Illustrated by Beth Peck.

Refugees from a Caribbean island embark on a dangerous boat trip to America where they have a special reason to celebrate Thanksgiving.

Chicanonautica: Guajolete Con Go Go Gophers

by Ernest Hogan

I could just wish you a feliz Día de los Guajoletes and save myself a lot of work, but there are some important things that should be addressed about this pre-Black Friday kick-off to the winter seasonal capitalist consumer orgy. Something should be said about Native Americans and their part in the Thanksgiving mythos. And what about Chicanos? Latinos? And all the Nican Tlaca?

I mulled it over, then I was reminded of the Go Go Gophers.

Watch out, that theme song can be a real earworm.

The Go Go Gophers have been called racist and politically incorrect. But, cartoons from earlier decades were a lot worse.

An unpopular truth about cartooning is that it's all about stereotypes. That is, simplifications of our complex reality that allow us to learn to deal with it all. But then, the point is to learn to deal with it, after a while you are supposed to be able to look beyond the stereotypes and deal with reality. People and cultures outgrow stereotypes, hopefully.

Also, racist cartoons were considered “normal” in their time. They provide a documentation of ugly truths of the past. They should not be forgotten, and we need to be aware of them, otherwise we distort history. Do I have to repeat that cliché about how those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it?

And if you really want to blow minds, twist the stereotypes around until they become the opposite of they originally meant.

I consider the Go Go Gophers to be the most subversive Saturday morning cartoon of the 1960s. Really. 

Colonel Kit Coyote and Sergeant Okey Homa are out to drive Chief Running Board and Ruffled Feathers out of their homeland, though the theme song says “Colonel he vow they will soon disappear.” Ah, the old Vanishing Americans myth that our schools manage to transmit to most of our children! The Indians were in the way, then mysteriously -- and conveniently – disappeared.

But here in Arizona, I see Indians every day. Some of my fellow Americans wonder what happened to the Maya, and speculate about mystical teleportation while not realizing that Maya are vacuuming their floors and cutting their lawns. There are none so blind . . .

The last two Gopher Indians aren't about to cooperate in their disappearance. In the trickster tradition -- that has roots in Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, and the ancient mythologies of the world, including a powerful Native connection -- they thwart the Colonel's plans. Usually, Ruffled Feathers, finds out about the plans, tells them to Running Board in his oopa-doopa-doopa gibberish, Running Board translates for the audience, Ruffled Feathers oopa-doops his own plan, to which Running Board replies, “Oopy-doopy, you um genius!”

The social roles are reversed. The chief takes orders from the brave. And the guy who doesn't speak English is the smart one.

The results are slapstick mayhem. Also good advice for surviving oppression with guerrilla/trickster tactics. Though in real life you have to a lot sneakier.

I didn't find a Thanksgiving Go Go Gophers cartoon, but The Big Pow Wow can be considered an anti-Thanksgiving piece:

And Don't Fence Me In shows the folly of building the fence to keep the “aliens” out. Donald Trump and his fans should take note:

So, enjoy that guajolete, carnales!

And, P.S.: To Hell with the Puritan tradition!

Ernest Hogan's work has appeared in Amazing, Analog, and Aztlán, and has not been officially classified as a psychotropic drug – yet. Meanwhile, some of his cartoony drawings will be soon be on display at Harold Washington College in Chicago.