The Cuban Missile Crisis

UT-OH! Chapter 23: A Left Turn from the Right lane: Part 2… On Facing Nuclear Oblivion and Becoming an Agnostic

/ Curt Mekemson / 22 Comments

Being born in World War II, I am considered part of the Silent Generation instead of a Baby Boomer, those born between 1946 and 1964. The reality is that World War II babies are much more a part of the Baby Boomer Generation than the Silent Generation. (At least, I’ve never been accused of being silent.)  It was the events of the 50s and 60s—particularly of the 60s— not the Great Depression and World War II that laid the foundation of who I would become. Four events that took place while I was at Sierra College expanded my world view and moved me from my conservative to a more liberal perspective.

In my last post, I gained a new perspective on what a minority meant, and learned that progress had negative as well as positive impacts. Today, I will look at the impact on my thinking caused by the Cuban Missile Crisis and the so called ‘Holy Wars’ down through the ages.

On Facing Nuclear Oblivion…

USS Yarnall naval destroyer with number 850 alongside Soviet cargo ship Poltava with crew on deck under cloudy sky
This is an AI generated map of areas in the US that were in range of the nuclear missiles that Khrushchev had installed in Cuba.

All of our young lives we had been raised under the threat of a nuclear cloud. We were constantly treated to photographs and television coverage of massive, doomsday explosions and their tale-tale clouds. They were more than an ut-oh, they were possibly the final UT-OH!

Atom bombs, which could destroy whole cities and kill millions of people, weren’t massive enough, however. We needed bigger bombs and we needed more. We needed hydrogen bombs. We ended up with enough nuclear weapons to kill everyone in the world and blast ourselves and the rest of life into times that would make the so-called Dark Ages seem like a Sunday picnic in the park. The logic was that it would serve as a deterrent to war, that it would bring peace. And to a degree, there was an element of truth in this. At least we haven’t used nuclear weapons— yet. But wars continue to rage.

The closest America came to the nuclear holocaust (that we know of) took place during two terrifying weeks in late October 1962.  I, along with most of the student body and faculty at Sierra College, sat tethered to the radio in the Campus Center as our nation teetered on the edge of nuclear abyss. It all came about because a cigar chomping, right-wing dictator we liked had been replaced by a cigar chomping, left-wing dictator we didn’t. It was known as the Cuban Missile Crisis and has its own headlines in the history books as being a highlight of the Cold War. 

Castro and his revolution provided a toehold for Communism in the Western Hemisphere. President Jack Kennedy responded by waging a crusade to get rid of him that had started with alleged assassination attempts using Mafia hit men and ended in the fiasco known as the Bay of Pigs. Castro had then called on Uncle Khrushchev to loan him something that might make the USA back off. Russia had responded by offering nuclear missiles. 

The thought of having nuclear missiles capable of reaching the areas shown on the diagram above made the folks in Washington rightfully nervous. So Kennedy set up a blockade of Cuba. Fortunately, aided by promises that the US wouldn’t invade Cuba and that we would remove our missiles from Turkey, Khrushchev blinked. 

From that point on in my life, I became convinced that here had to be solutions to solving international differences beyond blowing each other off the map. Nation states rattling sabers is one thing; rattling nuclear bombs and other forms of mass destruction is something else. They might be used. I joined the International Club at Sierra and became a fan of the United Nations. (Photo from 1963 Sierra college Annual. I’m second back middle row.)

My rock that was Peter relocates itself on an active fault zone…

My father’s greatest concern had little to do with the first three changes in my world view. It was the fourth that gave him sleepless nights. His family’s deep faith dated all the way back to the beginning of Presbyterianism in Scotland. Much to his delight, I had become seriously religious in high school. I was the senior acolyte, a junior lay reader, carried the cross, and even sang solos with the choir at the Episcopal Church in Placerville. I was a believer. There was even talk of my becoming a minister. 

The Episcopal Church in Placerville played a significant role in my life for 10 years. I’ve always been grateful for its help in getting me through my teenage years. BTW, my first real job was the church’s janitor which I became at 13.

That changed when I went to college. In 1961 I picked up a Barnes and Noble-published book at the Sierra College bookstore on comparative religions and learned about Mithraism and Zoroastrianism. I caught a glimpse of how much of our great monotheistic religions were based on earlier belief systems or mythologies. The strong religious convictions of my teenage years began to crack. 

Studying history had a much greater impact. In reading about the Roman Empire, I learned that the nature of Christ’s divinity was determined by vote at the Council of Nicaea in 325 CE in a bare knuckled political battle, not the most holy of environments. Even more disturbing, I was also learning about Crusades, Jihads, Inquisitions, and various other ‘Holy Wars.’ Doing unto others in the name of God, Allah, Jehovah, Christ, etc. seemed close to a commandment. 

For all of the good religion has done down through the ages, and there is a great deal, it has also been a factor in much of the world’s violence and intolerance. I came to the conclusion that there was a fly in the ointment, a fatal flaw in religion that may yet bring about the Armageddon that so many fundamentalists believe in. Belief that a particular religion is the only true faith is one thing. Believing that adherents have an obligation to impose it on others— regardless of cost— is something else. It doesn’t leave much room for ‘Peace on Earth Goodwill toward Men.’ 

So here I was in mid-1963, a budding peacenik with international leanings, something of an agnostic, environmentally concerned, and committed to civil and human rights. I had definitely become more liberal in my perspective. I had made a left turn from the right lane. I figured I was ready for Berkeley. (Not)

In our next post on Monday, we will explore the beauty of the Northern Highlands of Costa Rica as shown by waterfalls.

On Facing Nuclear War… The Cuban Missile Crisis

/ Curt Mekemson / 31 Comments

The world teetered on the edge of nuclear war during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Massive destruction would have been the result. It changed my perspective on war, but it was only one of four events that took place while I was a student at Sierra College that impacted my view of the future. In my last post from “The Bush Devil Ate Sam,” I discussed how a Chinese man shook up my view of race. Today, in addition to my reaction to the Cuban Missile Crisis, I explore how my views on religion and the environment were changed.

The Campus Center at Sierra College was the main gathering point for students and faculty. It’s where we all came together in October of 1962 and listened for news on the radio during the Cuban Missile Crisis. The photo above was from a less stressed time when socializing, studying, and discussing/debating other issues were what occupied our minds. I’m in the center with my mouth open. The photographer had asked us to look up.

I took my religion seriously as a young person at the Episcopal Church in Placerville. I started by carrying the California flag in the procession that kicked off the service. I then moved up to the American Flag, after which, I graduated to carrying the cross. I sang in the choir and did solos. I became an acolyte and a junior lay reader. I was even the church janitor. There was talk of my becoming a priest. The church helped get me through my teenage years.

The Episcopal Church in Placerville that played a significant role in my life for 16 years.

One day when I was perusing the small book store at Sierra, I picked up a Barnes and Noble book on comparative religion and learned about Mithraism and Zoroastrianism. I caught a glimpse of how much our great monotheistic religions of Christianity, Judaism and Islam were based on older mythologies. I learned about Buddhism, Hinduism and the world’s other religions.

At the same time, I was taking a class on world history. I read about the inquisitions and holy wars brought about by religious fanaticism and exclusivity— about the tens of thousands of people who were killed in the name of God. I began to have doubts. My rock that was Peter made a dramatic shift and relocated itself on an active fault zone. So, I stopped going to church. But there was more. I came to believe that an all encompassing God would not limit ways people could reach Him/Her. It followed that people should be free to worship as they chose and that there should be a clear separation of church and state.

Another concept I was introduced to at Sierra was environmental activism. For this, I owe thanks to Danny Langford. Dan liked to talk and could fit more words into a minute than I could in five. One Monday morning he proudly informed me that he had spent his weekend pulling up surveyor stakes in El Dorado Hills, a new development east of Sacramento.

“You did what?” I asked in a shocked and disapproving voice. 

“I pulled up stakes to discourage a developer from building houses,” he responded in greater detail assuming it would make sense to me. It didn’t. Why would someone want to discourage a developer? It seemed positively Anti-American. My Republican roots were offended to the core. 

“Why would you pull a destructive stunt like that?” I demanded to know as I thought of a whole day or possibly several days of surveyor work going down the drain.

“It’s a beautiful area,” Dan responded, “covered with oak trees and grass. They are going to cut down the trees, plant houses, and pave over the grass.”

Suddenly what Dan was talking about made sense. I wasn’t about to join him on one of his destructive forays, but his comments made me think about how fast we were paving over California. Although I was only 20, many of the places I had wandered so happily as a kid had already met their unhappy demise at the business end of a bulldozer. Progress was how this destruction was defined and progress was a sacred American tradition. For the first time in my life, a question had been inserted into my mind about its value. 

The fourth event was one of the scariest our generation would face. All of our lives we had been raised under the threat of a nuclear cloud. We were constantly treated to photographs and television coverage of massive, doomsday explosions and their telltale clouds. In elementary school, I had been taught to hide under my desk and cover my face so the exploding glass windows wouldn’t blind me.

Atom bombs, which could destroy whole cities and kill millions of people, weren’t massive enough. We needed bigger bombs and we needed more. It was important that we could kill everyone in the world several times over and blast ourselves and the rest of life into times that would make the so-called Dark Ages seem like a Sunday picnic in the park. 

None of this was our fault, of course. We had the evil, Godless, Russian Communists and their desire to rule the world to blame. Losing a soul to communism was worse than losing a soul to the devil. And maybe it was the same thing. Better Dead than Red was the rallying cry of people whose fingers were very close to the nuclear button.

The closest we have come to the nuclear holocaust took place during two terrifying weeks in late October 1962.  I was student body president at the time and I, along with most of my classmates and faculty at Sierra College, sat tethered to the radio in the Campus Center as our nation teetered on the edge of nuclear abyss. It had all come about because a cigar chomping left-wing dictator we didn’t like had replaced a cigar chomping right-wing dictator we did. It was known as the Cuban Missile Crisis, and has its own headlines in the history books as being a highlight of the Cold War. 

Castro and his revolution had provided a toehold for Communism in the Western Hemisphere. Jack Kennedy had waged a crusade to get rid of him that had started with alleged assassination attempts using Mafia hit men and ended in the fiasco known as the Bay of Pigs. Castro had then called on Uncle Khrushchev to loan him something to make the USA behave. Russia had responded by offering nuclear missiles. 

The thought of having nuclear missiles pointed down the throat of our Eastern seaboard made the folks in Washington rightfully nervous, so Kennedy set up a blockade of Cuba. Fortunately, aided by promises that the US wouldn’t invade Cuba and that we would remove our missiles from Turkey, Khrushchev blinked.  From that point on in my life, I became convinced that there had to be solutions to solving international differences beyond blowing each other off the map. Nation states rattling sabers was one thing; rattling nuclear bombs was something else.

So here I was in mid-1963, a budding peacenik with international leanings, something of an agnostic, environmentally concerned, and committed to Civil Rights. I had made a left turn from the right lane and definitely become more liberal in my perspective. I figured I was ready for Berkeley. Not. But I was approaching the point where deciding to join the Peace Corps would be natural. First up, however, I learned what it meant to be on the wrong end of a rifle, which will be the subject of my post next Wednesday. I decided later that it was good training for both Berkeley and the Peace Corps.

NEXT POSTS:

Friday’s Travel Blog: Peggy and I are at Harris Beach State Park on the Oregon Coast where we end up exploring tide pools and finding starfish. Lots of them.

Monday’s Blog-A-Book… “It’s 4 AM and a Bear Is Standing on Top of Me”: I continue my sleep over at Rudy and Roberts. I teach my friends how to ride pine trees. In return they teach me how to eat a habanero pepper. I end my adventure by taking my first solo hike ever, at 5 AM!