My Alamo War
I hadn’t thought of the name in ages, yet inexplicably the last few months the name and all the madness connected had been wafting about the edges of my consciousness. Then not long ago, savoring the morning’s first cup of coffee, I opened the L.A. Times and there it was, “Tony Alamo.”
Like an old warrior at his battalion’s reunion, memories came flooding back.
It was a quiet war. As wars go.
Ignored by the media of the day for lacking the potential of global repercussions such as the recent Russian invasion of Afghanistan. But at the time, I believed measured against the Alamo War, international adventurism withered into the mundane. Of course I would as it was my war. I declared it and I fought it.
“In war from trivial events momentous ones arise.”
The Alamo War began as most wars do, ludicrously.
Jenkins’ ear, rumors of animal fats on the Sepoy’s bullets, an upset on the soccer field, Double Bubble chewing gum stuck to the bottom of my sole.
The summer of 1981 often found me strutting Hollywood Boulevard, which in those days I considered personal turf.
It would have been just another smog smeared day in paradise for me – if I hadn’t felt that tug against my step betraying the trodden on unobserved wad of gum. I hop-hobbled with annoyance to sit on a convenient bus bench and sat to scan the gutter for a handy napkin or scrape to utilize in gum removal. Spotting a crumbled flyer I reached forth my hand to pluck up a thrice folded six “page” sheet with type small enough to give a Munchkin migraines. The pamphlet banner blared, “Tony and Susan Alamo Christian Foundation,” and the title, “Guilt By Association.”
As I crossed my one leg over the other preparing to remedy the unwanted wad I offhandedly skimmed the first few words of the first paragraph….
Double bubble chewing gum. Such is how wars begin.