Johnny got his gun (September '07)

"Johnny, get your gun, get your gun, get your gun. Johnny, show the Hun you're a son-of-a-gun. Hoist the flag and let her fly. Yankee Doodle, do or die!"

~From "Over There" by George M. Cohan.

As a kid, I spent most of my time playing outdoors. One of the benefits of growing up in small-town New England is a freedom from fear that every child should get to experience. I'd hop over the back fence, walk over to my friend Luke's house, and we'd spend the day exploring the woods, fishing in the lake, or playing in the shaded fields underneath the black walnut trees. Most days, we'd be joined by a few other kids from the neighborhood, but even if there were only a couple of us, we were sure to head outside and play in one place or another.

The black walnut trees were a special gift to us in those days. In addition to providing shade in the summer, hosting an endless supply of squirrels to shoot at, and being great pillars to hide behind, every fall brought a fresh crop of fist-sized green globes to hurl at one another. We'd return home every night with brown-stained hands that smelled of the unique odor of walnut husk.

Those walnuts were the perfect enhancement to our playtimes. Green, oblong, perfectly sized...they were the absolute ideal for use as surrogate grenades. They might have served as makeshift baseballs, or BB targets, or any number of other creative substitutions--but not for us. No, like most boys our age, we liked to play "War."

For years, every day was a new battle. Some days, we fought the Nazis. Some days, we battled the treacherous VC. The Cold War was still in full swing, so it wasn't unusual to find us stopping a Russian invasion. For the most part, though, we just fought one another. Armed with an endless supply of toy guns and real knives, setting ambushes in the forest, or sneaking up on each other from behind the garage, we were developing the skills we were certain would lead us to victory in some glorious future battle.

If we weren't outside, we were inside watching GI Joe, or Rambo, or Commando, or Predator, or Red Dawn, or some other bit of entertainment that played to (or shaped) our interests. We made up scenarios for our GI Joe action figures, set traps for them with fireworks, made them rappel off the back of the couch, or had battles against the hordes and legions of green, molded plastic army men. We even listened to Marine cadences (jodies) sent back by Luke's older brother in boot camp.

Every day, we exulted in the glory of war. Secure in the knowledge that we were the "good guys," we went home safely each night, ready to engage in a new conflict the next morning. At some point in life, I am certain that all of us were expecting to join the military when we grew up. After all, that was the greatest and most noble thing a man could do! The good guy always came home safe, the enemies weren't real people, and the cause was always right.

We weren't the first generation of children raised that way, and we probably won't be the last.

In cognizance of this fact, Dalton Trumbo wrote a book published in 1939 titled "Johnny Got His Gun." The title is a reference to the patriotic, pro-war song quoted at the beginning of this blog. Of course, we never read this book, nor did we see the 1971 movie written by the same author. I wonder if we'd have thought any differently if we had.

"Johnny Got His Gun" is the story of a boy raised very much like I was, taught to serve, and to stand up for what's right. In an era of more easily definable conflicts, Johnny eventually does his noble duty and heads off to the Great War (World War I.) But something goes wrong.

Caught by the explosion of an artillery shell, Johnny loses his sight, his hearing, and his ability to speak. Shrapnel so severely damages his arms and legs that he becomes a quadruple amputee. Unable to speak, to see, to hear, or to move, Johnny is trapped in his own mind, aware, but left very much alone, and without any means with which to contact the world around him. Johnny finally figures out a way to communicate using morse code, but no one seems to know what he is doing. Eventually a new nurse figures it out, and some members of his military unit are brought in to translate. What he has to say is simple, direct, and powerful.

In 1988, Metallica released a song based on the novel. The song was called "One." For the video, they wanted to use clips from the movie, so rather than haggle over usage rights, they bought the movie outright. The result was visually and emotionally powerful.

I loved the song, and indeed loved that whole album, but it would be years before I'd learn what the song was really about. Even then, it was not until I saw the video that the full impact of the message really hit me.

Maye this would have been too powerful for me to understand as a child. Maybe powerful images and the realities of violent conflict would have been an unreasonable intrusion into my safe, idyllic world. I don't deny that I am much happier looking back on memories of climbing trees and shooting toy guns than I would be if reflecting upon an innocence shattered. I certainly wasn't ready for such harsh truths at that age, and I don't for a minute pretend to advocate exposing children to the harsh realities of war.

Instead, I'm drawn to reflect upon what I was exposed to. I wonder if the images we watched, the lessons we learned, and the games that we played were ultimately healthier than some happy medium might have been. Maybe GI Joe and Rambo and Ronnie Reagan and blind patriotism are fine fodder for the young mind, but only if tempered by some realities when we're finally old enough to understand the whole picture.

In conclusion, I give you "One." Please take a few moments and watch it all the way through, even if you aren't a fan of the music. The message communicated is well worth the time, and well worth our consideration.