Comment The soldiers arrived at dusk. They forced their way into the house and tried to drag the two women upstairs. The soldiers didn't give up easily though.
Man is a bubble, and all the world is a storm. He kept it on a shelf in our family den, where for years when I was a kid it roared down at us -- unappeasably furious or so I always thought at being trapped up there on its high perch, with no company except some painted beer mugs and a set of purple glass swizzle sticks.
Then one day it got broken; I don't remember how.
New content is added regularly to the website, including online exhibitions, videos, lesson plans, and issues of the online journal History Now, which features essays by leading scholars on major topics in American history. Best U.S. History Web Sites; Technology in the U.S. History in the Classroom; Best U.S. History Web Sites. Library of Congress An outstanding and invaluable site for American history and general studies. In the popular imagination, American GIs in postwar Germany were well-liked and well-behaved. But a new book claims that US soldiers raped up to , women at the end of World War II. Is there.
Probably my brother and I were having a skirmish and a shot went wild. I thought my father would be furious, but he didn't say a word. Carefully, almost reverently, he wrapped up the tiger and the shards of its shattered leg and put them away in a box in the basement.
A long time later, years after my father died, my mother and my wife found the box when they were clearing out some old family junk. My wife knows how much I like big cats and all other varieties of predators and raptors, and she painstakingly glued the tiger back together and gave it to me as a present.
It's roaring at me again as I write this: The tiger seems to fit right in, but I sometimes suspect it feels shanghaied.
My father hadn't got it because he was fond of tigers or because he had any interest in nature. He'd bought it in Korea, where he'd been a fighter pilot during the Korean war; his squadron had been called the Flying Tigers.
My wife hadn't known that; I barely remembered it myself. My father didn't like telling war stories. He'd accumulated fistfuls of medals over there, and he kept them stashed in an anonymous little plush case at the back of his closet, where they went unseen for decades.
That was all part of the past, and he had no use for the past. He used to wave off any question I asked about the world before I was born, irritatedly dismissing it as if all of that were self-evidently too shabby and quaint to interest a modern kid like me.
What did he think about when he saw it? Did it remind him of the distance he'd traveled from that war, or of how incongruously bland and safe his life was now, now that he'd amassed a commercial-perfect suburban family in the depths of the American heartland? I don't know, because he wouldn't say.
Whatever patina of private associations the tiger had for him is gone for good. If my wife hadn't rescued the tiger it would have been cut loose to make its own way in the world -- to languish in rummage-sale boxes and end up with new owners who'd never suspect how far it had wandered through the world to reach them.
But I have the feeling my father wouldn't have minded that; he never liked other people knowing his business. That's the common fate of mementos.
They're never quite specific enough. No matter what their occasion was, they sooner or later slip free and are lost in a generic blur: It's particularly true, I think, of the mementos of soldiers, because nobody other than a soldier remembers the details of any war once it's safely over.
What really happened in Korea? I don't have the slightest idea; war just isn't an experience I'm up on. I was barely young enough to miss the Vietnam draft, and I'm old enough now that the only way I could figure in a future war is as a victim.
The tiger can't preserve the memory of the bombing missions my father flew. Its odd rippling surface doesn't correspond to the landscape of North Korea, terrain my father knew by heart -- which had once saved his life: Nor does that frozen roar speak to the complex of murky policies that had sent my father into battle in the first place, thousands of miles from home.The movie has an important place in American history—and the history of LIF.
Ho Chi Minh, the enemy of the United States in the Vietnam War, was initially a friend. He worked with U.S. special forces in rescuing downed American airmen and providing intelligence on Japanese movements during the last year of World War II. Teacher-created and classroom-tested lesson plans using primary sources from the Library of Congress.
New content is added regularly to the website, including online exhibitions, videos, lesson plans, and issues of the online journal History Now, which features essays by leading scholars on major topics in American history.
Losing the War.
Man is a bubble, and all the world is a stormJeremy Taylor, Holy Dying () My father owned a gorgeous porcelain tiger about half the size of a house cat. The historiography of the Vietnam War and United States involvement has undergone several distinct changes.
In the direct aftermath of the war, the immediate American historiography of the war relied heavily on Western sources, as historians constructed the .