Posted on 03/04/2014 4:37:26 AM PST by Homer_J_Simpson
Everything was used in Vietnam. Not all of it was provided by the Army doctors.
Wasn't it all essentially methamphetamine which the Japanese also give their troops and which was invented by a Japanese scientist in the early part of the 20th century?
There is that, but I did read that stimulants were distributed by the Army. My high school history teacher was an infantry officer Vietnam vet. When he learned I was interested (my father was a Navy officer vet), he gave me books about Vietnam all year and had me give reports on them.
Once the bulb on the filmstrip project blew out, and he yelled, “Incoming!” and dived under a desk. I had a lot of nightmares that year.
In pill form, they called it Pervatin but also mixed it with chocolate.
Mr. Hazelett, may he Rest in Peace, was my 8th grade math teacher. He was a Korean war vet, and had some serious PTSD. He spoke with a stammer. The kids knew he had “shell shock” and at least once a month when he was writing a problem on the chalkboard with his back to the class, some kid would drop a textbook on the floor just to watch him jump or dive.
Even though I had my cruel phase, I never dreamed of doing that to Mr. Hazelett and was disgusted when the other kids did. That he had to endure that just to earn a living still makes me very sad to this day.
I had a Navy Korean War vet for World History in the 8th grade. My mother called him “Fuller the Fascist,” so I guess he was pretty darn militaristic even for a military family. A well-organized instructor, though.
My algebra teacher - guess it was 8th grade ... 1979 or so? - had taught at the Naval Academy. He had a pistol in his briefcase. Great teacher - I’m no math mind, but I totally nailed Algebra I.
Yum!
Mr. Kosaveach was my 9th Grade World History teacher. He absolutely hated communism. Probably because he was Polish. He showed us lots of anti-communist movies and the like. Unfortunately for him, I was the crazy class clown. I could get away with it because my older brother had Mr. Kosaveach three years earlier, and somehow his textbook didn’t get returned at the end of the year. By the time I took world history, I had already read the text several times, and knew it as well as Mr. K did. Not only that, I knew where there were errors in the text and could point them out while I was clowning around.
I drove Mr. K and his poor student teacher nuts. They really didn’t know what to do with me.
“Die Starkende Schokolade” means “The Fortified Chocolate.”
I’m sure it was...
In my district, the whole Class of 1984 was kind of like that. We'd fallen into a time-warp where we were taught phonics and grammar, so we could read and think. Also math facts.
We got away with some stuff in high school because we were getting the test scores that made the administration look good. Nothing major ... stuff like eating our lunch outside when it was against the rules ... oh, wild kids!
My parents would never have put up with any behavior that showed up on your record.
On the grade scales of A to F I routinely got A’s in the history classes. On the conduct scales of 1 to 5 Mr. K gave me 1’s.
By the time I got to AP US History in 1975-6, I had matured a bit. And I liked Mr. Taylor; he had been a college professor and was teaching High School history, but at a college level. I got a 5 on my US History AP exam.
I remember when we had a class discussion in US History at the close of the unit on the Depression. Mr. Taylor asked “Everyone had money and was prosperous in the 1920’s, and then by 1933, everyone was broke. Where did the money go?” It was meant to trigger the discussion for the rest of the class. After a moment of reflection, I simply said: “The money was never there; it was all speculation and debt.” There total silence, including Mr. Taylor. His planned 50 minute discussion had lasted less than a minute.
I got a 5 on the AP History exam, too. Then I sold my notes to future classes ;-).
My father said he’d never been taught the kind of source analysis we did for the AP History exam until he got to Naval Postgraduate School in the late 60s. “Who is the author? What is his agenda? How does he want us to react to his article?”
We did that in Mr. Taylor’s class, too. I didn’t think it was that big a deal; that’s just the way I naturally thought. I rarely accepted what I read at face value, I was always looking for an agenda. Either I’m paranoid or just a natural critical thinker. I have to bite my tongue when I watch the news with Mrs. henkster; my analysis is often a little too critical for her.
That wasn’t the way I naturally thought. I was a nice, obedient daughter who didn’t argue with my parents, didn’t argue in school, and got straight A’s by repeating what I was taught.
I started learning to think in Capt. Mitchell’s class. I remember when my friend and I both got A’s on an essay test, even though we’d given opposite answers to the question, because we both backed our answers with information from the chapter. The same information, in fact! It emphasized something OldTax-lady likes to say, “Always be positive, even if you’re wrong.”
I’m mighty critical and cynical about a lot of things here in my middle age. I try not to emphasize the negative too much with my children. They’ll learn it when they need it.
Those are some pretty poorly drawn lines. The American right flank is defended by using the natural barrier, the Mussolini Canal as a front line. The north front there isn’t exactly straight either.
Naw, this stuff couldn't be bad for you!
I got a newbie teacher who had been assigned world history but really wasn’t into it. Being in my smart alec phase I often corrected her and/or the text. I would have hated to have me in that class. :-))
You may recall this case from the sensational posts last fall. Lonergan was a party boy and occaisional lover of Mrs. Burton Lonergan's father, who made a fortune brewing beer. The father was a playboy himself.
Lonergan was rejected for service because of his homosexuality, but was taken as a cadet by the RCAF. He traveled to New York ostensibly to see his son. When his wife returned in the morning from a night on the town some kinky make up sex turned into Lonergan beating his wife to death.
Lonergan was parolled in the 1960's and spent the rest of his life in Canada.
The son survived into adulthood and inherited all of granddad's money.
That girl looks entirely too happy.
I’ll bet her hygeine is terrible, her room is a pig sty, she rides a rusty beat up tricycle, her boyfriend is in “time out” and she sold off all her dolls and toys for some more inhalers.
I shudder to think what that would do to my 4-year-old.
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