Back in 1972, near the end of the Vietnam war, I was living in San Francisco, and my close friend, ex-Sgt. Van Dale Todd, a combat veteran of the 101st Airborne, lived next door in the same building, a Victorian on 29th Street. Sometimes Van would take a notion to hit the wall which separated our apartments with his fist and shout, “Who the fuck would join the Marine Corps?” I’d yell back, “Airborne sucks!” “The Marine Corps sucks!” Van’d shout. “Only two things come out of the sky,” I’d yell back again, “Bird shit and fools!” That was how we said good morning to each other. It was our ritualized greeting.
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