III. Discussion/Essay Questions
1. When John was 18, his generation was faced with the military draft and the Vietnam War. What are some of the important issues that 18-year-olds face in your country? What kinds of important decisions do they have to make?
2. If your country told you to fight in a war you thought was wrong, what would you do? What do you think would be the result of your actions?
3. At this stage of the story, John must go to military prison for six months. What kind of hardships do you think he will face? What do you think his life will be like in prison? What changes do you think he will go through?
Chapter 2
John spent his first week of prison in solitary confinement. He would never forget the sound of the cell door slamming behind him after the guards shoved him into his cell. He had nothing else to do but pace the floor of the eight-foot-long, four-foot-wide concrete cubicle with its solitary bed, single blanket, toilet with no seat, and narrow, barred window looking out upon a desolate landscape.
In a few days he was given a medical checkup to make sure he had no communicable diseases. After that, he was allowed to join the other four prisoners. Their daily routine consisted of getting up at 4:30, cleaning the prison cells, going to breakfast with an armed guard, then returning to the jail to wait for their work assignments of going to various spots around the base, again with an armed guard, to perform such menial chores as scrubbing toilets, digging ditches, and waxing and buffing office floors before returning to the prison in the evenings. After dinner they had two hours of free time. Lights went out at nine o'clock.
One day John received a letter from his father, who had been a World War II hero. The letter said that John's father was ashamed of what John had done, that John would be branded an ex-con and a coward for the rest of his life, that John was throwing his life away, and that he was no longer considered a member of the Banks family. It was a painful letter to read. John cried in realizing he was being renounced by his own family, but he vowed to be strong. In his heart he knew he had done the right thing.
After a month at the Beale Air Base prison, John was sent to another military prison in Denver, Colorado. This was a special prison for non-violent military criminals, who were given a chance to be rehabilitated, serve out their prison terms, and return to the Air Force in a different career field.
The regimen at the 2230th Rehabilitation Group was somewhat similar to basic training. The prisoners were herded into open barracks rather than prison cells. There were 100 men in each building. They had to get up at four o'clock in the morning. They had exactly 15 minutes to shave, shower, have their beds made and living areas spotlessly clean, and be on the parade ground lined up in formation and ready to be marched a mile away to the chow hall for a breakfast of cold toast and runny eggs. They had to be finished eating by 5:30.
When they returned to the barracks, another hour was spent cleaning the entire building. After that, there was the daily morning inspection during which half the prisoners were forced to remake their beds, re-dust every corner of their tiny living spaces, then stand at attention for two hours waiting for the head guard to re-inspect the premises. After the barracks had been inspected, the prisoners were sent around the base to do labor work.
There was always a high tension in the air, but rarely did any violence break out. The prisoners were kept in line because of the threat of being sent to the Fort Leavenworth prison in Kansas if they caused any trouble. Leavenworth was said to be worse than hell with its brutal guards, tortuous labor, and terrible beatings.
In the afternoons the prisoners had to attend propaganda classes designed to change the prisoners' thinking and behavior. They had to meet over and over again with military psychiatrists, chaplains, psychologists, doctors, and instructors, all of whom had one purpose: to show the prisoners that their way of thinking was wrong and bad and nonconformist. Their job was to pound repeatedly into the prisoners' heads the fact that the prisoners had committed crimes against society and had to change their very selves if they ever wanted to become worthy citizens again, reenter the military and society, and carry on with lives of dignity and worth despite the terrible stigma of shame that was theirs at the moment.
John, however, remained adamant and would not admit to having done anything to harm anyone. Unlike the other 500 prisoners, whose crimes ranged from drug abuse to theft to being absent without leave, John was a prisoner of conscience, a political prisoner. All the therapy classes, private psychiatric sessions, and lectures about morality and duty and obligation and correct thinking had no effect on him. The first step toward successful rehabilitation for any prisoner was to admit he had been wrong in committing his particular crime. John was unwilling to take that first step. He refused to be brainwashed. The authorities began to leave him alone. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to resist the brainwashing attempts, but in the end he succeeded. He managed to survive his prison sentence without getting into further trouble. The authorities gave up their attempts to rehabilitate John. They finally kicked him out of the military with an "undesirable" discharge.
*****
John had changed a lot by the time he got out of prison. He was a confused and bitter young man, but determined to find a direction in life and to prove he could survive the scorn of society and his family. He wanted to believe that his father had not meant everything written in the letter, but John's pride would not allow him to make the first apology. He believed time would ultimately heal all the family wounds, but in the meantime he had to make his own life.
At first, he returned to his hometown of Arcata in northern California and found a job at a plywood mill. He had to hitchhike 20 miles every morning to catch the ferry that took the workers across a bay to the plywood mill. The work was boring and repetitious: pulling large sheets of wet plywood as they came rolling down a long conveyor belt and stacking them on wooden carts that were hauled away by forklifts to the dry kiln, where the sheets were dried and stacked and eventually pressed together into different sizes and lengths of plywood. It was harder labor than any he had had to do in prison, but being able to get a salary and pay his own rent helped bring back some purpose and direction to John's life.
One night a few months after starting his new job John was working overtime feeding strips of dried plywood into a machine that sprayed the sides with glue, compressed them, and cut them into wide sheets to be used as middle sections between two outside sheets of clean, high-grade plywood. He was feeding the individual strips into the compressor. One of the barbs sticking up from the links of chain rolling into the compressor caught the rubber glove he was wearing on his right hand. His arm was pulled into the compressor. With his left hand he tried to reach the button that shut the compressor down, but the button was too far away. The chains were grinding into his flesh. He gave a desperate pull against the grinding action of the chains. His arm was suddenly freed. He looked at his arm and saw that everything had been stripped down to the bone. Another worker called for the foreman, who wrapped John's arm and called an ambulance.
John's father was at the hospital when the ambulance arrived. Someone from the plywood mill had called him about the accident. It was the first time John had seen his father since returning from prison. A surgeon unwrapped the bandages.
The moment John's arm was exposed his father turned his head away. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes. In that moment John felt a new intimacy with him. He could almost feel his father's guilt and remorse. It was as if all John's sufferings were also his father's. The surgeon examined the arm carefully and barked some orders to a nurse. John was taken into surgery.
When John awoke the next morning, there was a cast on his arm. His fingers protruded from the end. His father was seated in a chair next to the hospital bed, dark rims under his eyes.
"How are you feeling, John?" he asked.
"Tired."
John lifted his right arm with his left. He tried to mov
e the fingers and found he could. He looked at his father, who was smiling.
"They had you in the operating room for about six hours. The doctor said it was a difficult operation, but you pulled through like a champ."
"Will I be able to play basketball again?"
"The doctor said if you work hard at rehabilitating the arm when the cast comes off, it should be normal in about four months."
"Dad?"
"Yes."
"Thanks for coming."
For the next two months after John was released from the hospital, he spent two hours every day at a physical therapy center. In order to speed up the rehabilitation process, he also spent hours at a time bouncing, lifting, shooting, and throwing a basketball against a wall and catching it with the injured arm. In the beginning the pain was excruciating. The arm throbbed so much at night he could not sleep. Gradually, the pain subsided and flexibility returned to his arm. Within four months his arm had recovered its full strength. John was ready to make a stab at going to junior college and trying out for the basketball team.
Review for Chapter 2
I. Comprehension Questions
1. Why were the prisoners at the 2230th Rehabilitation Group afraid of going to the prison in Kansas?
2. What was the purpose of the propaganda classes the prisoners had to attend?
3. Compared to the other prisoners in Denver, what kind of prisoner was John?
4. What kind of job did John find after he was released from military prison?
5. Where was the first place John met his father after John got out of prison?
II. Mark the following statements as true (T) or false (F).
( ) 1. John's father wrote a letter that said John had done the right thing in refusing to fight in the Vietnam War.
( ) 2. Most of the prisoners at the Denver prison had committed violent crimes.
( ) 3. The daily routine at the Denver prison was about the same as in basic training.
( ) 4. The prison authorities were successful in changing John's thinking.
( ) 5. John hitchhiked around the United States soon after he was released from prison.
( ) 6. John injured his arm in a car accident.
( ) 7. John and his father became friends again.
( ) 8. It took about four months for John's injury to heal.
III. Discussion/Essay Questions
1. John received a letter from his father that said the family was ashamed of him for refusing to fight in Vietnam and going to prison. Have you ever made a decision that made your family or friends disappointed? If so, what happened? Were you able to resolve the problem?
2. John badly injured his arm in an accident. Have you or any of your friends ever had a bad injury? What happened? How long did the healing process take?
Chapter 3
In the fall John signed up for some general education courses and began training for the basketball season. Tryouts for the team were to be held in October. It was a strange new world he found himself in. Although he was only two years older than the other students, John felt poles apart from them. It was as if his experiences in the military and prison had aged him. The others seemed like children with their bright enthusiasm and optimism, their social cliques and parties. Most of them were fresh out of high school and, like himself two years before, had never been beyond the boundaries of the redwood country of Humboldt County.
He abandoned himself to basketball as he had once done in high school. At the practices he was like a madman racing up and down the court during the different conditioning, dribbling, defense, jumping, and shooting drills. Offensively, he was inconsistent as he had not played with the other players and did not know their moves. His passes often hit them in the head, bounced a step beyond their reach, or soared too high for them to catch. His shots were poorly selected and sometimes forced. Only his defense showed any consistency. John made the team as a second-string guard.
The team had a mediocre season. John had a few good games, but he did not feel a part of things. He was too different from the others. Study also seemed superfluous. He had no academic interests. The classes were easy enough to pass with minimal effort. After two semesters he dropped out of school to go back to work at the plywood mill. He was 21 years old with no education, a bad military record, and no prospects. His future seemed bleak and worthless.
Two months later he was offered a job as a laborer on a construction project on the north side of Lake Tahoe. It provided a chance to escape the vacuum he had fallen into. He packed his belongings, moved to Lake Tahoe, and rented a one-room cabin about 20 minutes from the work site.
John's weekdays were spent on the job carrying tools and boards for the carpenters, digging drainage ditches, nailing off roofs, sweeping up sawdust, and hauling garbage to a nearby dump. He spent most of his time alone, thinking about where his life was headed. He grew a beard and his hair reached down to his shoulders. Near the beginning of winter he had an argument with the job foreman. The foreman told John to cut his hair and shave his beard or he would be fired. John refused and quit the job.
He returned to Arcata again and spent the winter living on his savings and playing in an amateur basketball league. He was going through changes he did not understand. There remained in him a fundamental sense of not belonging, of no longer being an American. Something burned in his heart and called to him to make a move, a decision that would thrust him out of his lethargy into confronting the outside world again. He had to make a break, but he also knew that whatever he did would change his outlook forever.
One day while browsing through a bookstore John found a book titled Europe on Five Dollars a Day. The book explained how it was possible to experience the world on a small amount of money and a lot of faith in one's fellow man. All a person needed was a passport, a backpack, and an adventurous spirit. The idea hit him with the force of a hammer. The search for his self, for a direction in life, had to take on a physical manifestation.
John set about making preparations. He still had about $1,000 in savings left. He went to a travel agent and bought a round-trip ticket for a flight out of New York to Europe for $200. The return ticket was good for a year. He applied for and got a passport. For another $100 he bought a three-month railpass good for all the rail lines in western Europe. He was ready to hit the road.
Three weeks later the amateur basketball season ended. The following morning John was out on the highway, hitchhiking and waiting for his first ride.
*****
John was filled with excitement. The lure of the unknown was out there in the vastness. He was anxious to confront it, to jump into and wallow about in the experiences that awaited him. A new life lay ahead. With him were his life belongings contained in a small, leather backpack: three changes of clothes, a down-filled sleeping bag, a nylon poncho, $500, and a bota bag for drink.
Three quick rides carried him beyond the redwood country to Highway 20, which cut across California to Lake Tahoe. An old rancher in a cattle truck picked him up and took him as far as Sacramento. He waited three hours before a Mexican in a beat-up Chevrolet pulled over. The Mexican chattered nonstop as they caught up with the Mexican's friend, who was hauling a forklift on a flatbed truck to Reno. They plodded behind the truck at 15 miles per hour. The sky was clear with many stars. They inched their way up the mountains. A full moon illuminated the snow blanketing the Sierra pines. Early in the morning they arrived in Reno and parked the car to get a couple hours of sleep. Just after dawn John caught another ride that took him into the desert and let him out when it turned off the main highway.
The Nevada desert stretched out in all directions, a mixture of auburn wasteland, rolling tumbleweeds, and splotches of unmelted snow. In the far distance were the Rockies, their snow-topped peaks barely discernible on the horizon. They looked like a jagged spine. A VW van with a woman and two children on their way to Denver, Colorado stopped.
For the rest of the day
they continued through the Nevada wasteland. By nightfall they were partway into the Utah Salt Flats. They pulled to the side of the road on the outskirts of Salt Lake City to sleep.
Morning was a peaceful calm: grey clouds breaking up with traces of sunlight shimmering through them. They proceeded through the Wasatch Mountains, the road slick with snow and ice, across the Continental Divide, and on to the plateaus of Wyoming. A carpet of snow covered the land. The road seemed to continue forever. Occasionally a jackrabbit bounded across the road. Here and there a distant elk would lift its head to scan their movement. At Cheyanne the woman and her two children turned south. It had been a good ride covering two days and three states.
Sticking to hitchhiking as his main mode of travel but once in a while riding a bus when he was stuck too long in one place, John passed across the Great Plains of Nebraska, out of the snow now and through farming towns with red-brick buildings and dirty main-street sidewalks where old folks sat languorously on benches watching the movement of the world. He stopped in Omaha, where he spent two days reading in a public library and walking the streets. He slept in a cheap room one night and the bus depot the next to save a few dollars.
On and on now, another 600 miles to Peoria, Illinois. A rainy night. A three-dollar motel room with plaster walls and a rattling steam heater. A saggy mattress. A six-pack of cheap beer. A newspaper with stories about returning prisoners of war and Watergate. Morning and a bus ticket to Gary, Indiana, where he took a skid-row room for one night. Across the expanse of Indiana, where squares of long, furrowed fields, ready for seed, stretched in all directions. Another ride to Cleveland.
Thoughts of the Kent State shootings filled John's head as he passed through Ohio into Pennsylvania and on toward Buffalo, New York. He spent one night sleeping in a wooded field off the shore of Lake Erie. Early the next morning he walked along the beach, then stopped to watch the whitecaps form. The lake was an immense ocean that disappeared beyond the horizon. Grey clouds covered the sky. The sun struggled to break through. He continued another three miles through pollution, dilapidated ghetto buildings, broken glass, and abandoned cars to downtown Buffalo. He found the bus station and bought a ticket to New York City.
The Many Roads to Japan Page 2