Just wanted to share an old story, re tanks... * * * When I was 12, a bunch of us kids went to a military base, jumping up and down because we thought it was so 'cool', and neat...they had armaments on display, which we could actually jump on and play with. For clarity, I think it was a base, as it could've been a museum: But I remember soldiers training in the background, so I'm pretty sure it was a base. (And the soldiers in the background were so serious: We were squealing and yelling, but we were stunned at how serious those soldiers were.) Now, we'd been raised on WWII films---which tended to glorify war---so all we thought how cool these armaments were. We had no idea what they did, how terrifying they were, and how dead-serious to anyone using them or having to face them... Our guide---a granite-of-a-soldier, who barked in blasts and had the demeanor of someone who'd faced dinosaurs and never flinched---walked us to 2 Sherman tanks---Sherman M4's, I believe. "The M4," he shouted, "was one of the most common tanks of its time. Respect it," shouted our guide. They were from WWII. And, for all our oooohs and ahhhhs, we felt a shiver as we touched them. They'd been in Europe. They'd been in war. They'd carried men not much older than we were, who faced life and death every minute, while inside them. We didn't understand, but we knew (from our parents and grandparents) that a continent was freed of horrible dictators in part by these beasts. And that a lot of men died inside them, often suddenly and with no place to escape. We were quietly dumbstruck at the sheer terror of these monsters; and you could see the dead silence in our faces, as we rubbed our hands along the sides of these beasts, imagining the sounds and roars they emitted back in 'the day'... We ooohed and ahhhed nevertheless: No one wanted to seem 'uncool'. Peer pressure; because the guy who didn't shout "cooooooool," was just not cool. And the tanks were so pretty to us! It looked like they'd cleaned them, because they shined: They shined in the sun, and they were cold, and smooth, and so sturdy. As we circled them---our guide let us walk around them, feeling them all the way (we looked like extraterrestrials touching 'earth-things' for the first time)---we were silent, jaws agape, each lost in his own thoughts about how stunning these were, how big, how terrifying, and that these had actually roared across the landscapes of Europe and Africa, fighting to the very death...and that many of the soldiers who'd fought in these things never came back. So, for all our 'brash and bravado', we were all awe inside. And our guide watched this with a hidden admiration: not because we did anything admirable---we were little pipsqueaks---but because he respected how we were swept away by the sheer power of these beasts; and the thought that we were getting a glimpse into the enormity of history that they hid in their darkest chambers... Suddenly he shouted: "Want to go in, boys?" (OMG. What do YOU think???) "YES! YES!" we shouted. I remember---get this!---actually looking around for my parents (they weren't there), because we all expected them to shout: "Mark! Billy! You can't go in there! Leave that nice man alone!!!" But no one stopped us. We were free! So our guide hoisted us up the side---from the top---and took us in, one by one. I think 3 of us went in. Then he crawled in with us. Now I don't remember word for word; but I guarantee you, this is close to what was said. It was CLOSE in there. We couldn't believe it. It was soooooo tight. And cool---temperature-wise---and sweaty, and just scary. You could see the outside through a small rectangular window---maybe 2. You were crammed in. No 'outside'. (The main sight-line was a periscope, and we each got to use it for a second.) And the interior, omg: It was like a huge boiler room that'd been condensed into a tiny closet: If you moved the wrong way, you were sure you'd break something and the damned thing would explode. And what were all those pipes and bulging things? What was all that stuff??? And how did you stretch your legs? And it was dark in there---some artificial light, yes, but it still felt dark. And choking. I mean, it was like the air was pressing on you, choking you. "No way I'd ever stay in one of these!" we thought. Our Hollywood image was smashed to smithereens. (A few of us put on a show of bravado: My friend Brad said things like, "I can handle this, men!" ((He actually said "men".)) "Stay close, men!" he shouted. Brad had told me, a few years back, that his leg was 'fake' because he'd lost it in the "Civil War". Not too shabby for a kid in the '50s...)) Then there was a Commander's chair: And our guide let all sit in it. ("Let ME sit!" we shouted; "No---Bob sat longer than I did!" Our guide paid it no mind. He just sat us down, pushed us off, and sat down the next kid.) When I finally got to sit there, I thought: "What's the big freakin' deal??? The chair's hard, you can bang your freakin' head, it's hard to breathe down here, and all you see is the underside of a boiler room with other guys all cramped up like pillows." All of us thought this. Our guide must've known, because he snapped, "shape up, boys! This is serious!" Then: He showed us levers for steering. They were PRIMITIVE! Just two 'high sticks', which felt like they rowed a boat! I'll never know how our guide tolerated our attitude, because, one by one, we grabbed the levers, and roared, "VAH-ROOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! GET OUT OF THE WAY! BANG BANG BANG!" Stuff like that. (Nothing moved: It had no fuel.) One of us even yelled, "AHOY, MATEEEEEE!"---like on a pirate ship! Our guide said: "Boys! It's not a GAME! CONTROL yourselves!" Finally, one of us asked: "What happens if you're attacked?" Our guide quickly shouted: "You're not old enough, boys." But we didn't let up. "NOOOOO!" we shouted: "TELL US!!! TELL US!!!" So he said: "Boys? Listen up. If fire hits this---fire means explosive devices, bombs, things like that---it's all over. Do you understand?" We gaped. "Now listen: If it's big enough---hot enough---the fire---you die quickly. Ok?" We all gasped. This was wayyyyyyy more than any of us thought we'd hear. Suddenly our boy-like dreams and testosterone-induced imaginations were crushed. We looked like a bunch of kids who'd just been told they were going to die. We were dumbstruck. "Dark, isn't it," he said. We thought, "this thing can become a grave!" I thought about soldiers who never made it out of these things. And, suddenly, a tank---which we always thought was so 'cool'---became a deadly, deadly thing. And those cloistered walls---which pressed-in on you like suffocating quilts---became, for us, like our only bulwark against destruction. We imagined pleading with those walls. "Don't let us down!" one kid shouted. We were stunned at how serious this was. Then we were silent... * * * Our guide said: "Let's move out!" When the hatch opened, the air felt like a rush of cool water. The sun hit us as if we hadn't seen it in weeks. The wind smelled miraculously fresh. (And we'd only been inside maybe 20 minutes. It seemed like 6 hours.) Crawling over the side, our guide grabbing us like a caring father, we were so happy to be out of the beast, we wanted to run around like dogs freed from their leashes. And standing by the tank, getting our composure, I remember staring at the beast and thinking, "my god." Just that: "My god..." Our guide shouted: "Forward!" And we marched. I never found out if he'd been in battle: Maybe he went to Vietnam...We had a wonderful lunch in the mess hall, squealing, throwing bread, etc. (Why anyone tolerated that, I don't know. Maybe some deal was made before hand. We felt like a bunch of circus clowns.) And, as we left, we looked at the soldiers in the background, immersed in training. And I thought: "Those people are serious. They are serious." We watched in awed silence, as they did their maneuvers... Just a memory. * * * I'll comment more this weekend (and finish a dedi). Have a fine weekend, all. * * *