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 The Day I Became A “Hippy”

AlienLove Editor

I got to thinking about some of the posts in our forums the other day, and my first real contact with election politics. I began remembering the day that Richard Nixon came to my small town’s shopping plaza on his first election campaign trail in 1968. I had lived in New Jersey for five or six years by this time. My home had been in a town re-named Levittown, after Mr. Levitt, who was still in the midst of building this large planned suburb, when we arrived. By the time Mr. Nixon came to visit, the town had returned to it’s pre-Levitt name, Willingboro.

So it was that on Saturday, September 21, 1968, I went with my family to see the future president of the US of A. The campaign was slick and well-organized for it’s time. There were pre-printed signs, flags, buttons, and paraphernalia available for one and all, young and old. Being of an age (15) that I did not really want to be seen with my parents in public, I had split off from them, probably as quickly as I was allowed, and before I was assigned to watch younger siblings...

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In my wanderings, I walked past the Plaza’s (now what would be called an open-air mall) small water fountain. There were less than a dozen, probably half that, people sitting holding hand-made signs for McGovern, and for Peace, among the many hundreds of Nixon supporters. As I passed them, and thought about what they were doing, I became ashamed. I dumped my Nixon banner, as I realized that the Peaceniks had it right. Another war-monger was not what the country needed.

That day, that afternoon, I became a “hippy,” a “peacenik” – forgot about that designation :-)

When I searched the web for the actual date, I came upon this poster for sale:

What a flashback! And now we, the “Hippies and Peaceniks,” are being recalled. The world needs us again. Perhaps it is because we got so busy with our lives, raising children, that we ended up not finishing the job. We ended one war only, Vietnam, and that was an incredible victory – and proved that the people’s voices will be heard if enough of them stand and speak. But we let things slide, stopped paying as much attention, as our lives filled with jobs, children, homes to maintain, mortgages and bills to pay.

We thought a lesson had been learned, but we failed to spend enough time teaching it, we failed to keep our eyes open, when we were so busy with the living of life. Unfortunately, it is not safe to do so, and now we find ourselves again in a situation far worse than Vietnam, with a greedy, self-aggrandizing maniac/moron at the helm. So many of the people seem to be sleeping (or is it a coma?), but more and more are awakening every day to the administration's dismay.

Time for the politicians to remember just who’s country this is – the peoples! They were elected to represent us - not their own interests, and those they sold out to. Time to end the spin, propaganda and lies. Time for Impeachment.

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"The Day I Became A “Hippy”" | Login/Create an Account | 1 comment | Search Discussion
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Re: The Day I Became A “Hippy” (Score: 1)
by Blue1moon on Monday, August 29 @ 10:04:49 EDT
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I sent the link to this article to my mother and sister, roflol, I did forget “Caught Red-Handed” – wow – that was actually pretty prophetic! Here is the reply from my sister:

“YES we both remember and to make matters worse I WAS a “Nixon girl”. I was there when he was “caught red handed” in Willingboro and I still have my Nixon-girl paper dress, banner, and who knows what else. SCARY! A friend and her mom talked me into going and being a “Nixon-girl”- what a experience, it was freaky! Then I grew up a little and realized there was more to learn about the government. I was 11or 12, I guess…”

Have tried doing a search on “Nixon: Caught Red-Handed” in Willingboro, but thus far to no avail. In the excitement and hoopla of Mr. Nixon visiting our smallish town, a podium was repainted red in his honor. Unfortunately, not enough time had been allowed for the paint to dry. Putting his hand on the podium, he came away with a red hand, of course.

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