I’ve heard some Vietnam vets use the term, “I was in the sh**”. When that term is used, you know these people were in something, so grisly that you do not want reminisce over it, but by making the statement, you know you and the other person have experienced somthing that no one really should. Let me be first to say, “I, Rusty Eagle, was not in the sh**, but I kind ofhave an idea what the sh** is”.
Recently, Democratic presidential nominee, Hillary Clinton has been speaking of how she is battled tested. She has cited in different speeches, a specific 1996 trip to Tusla, Bosnia. In the speeches she has spoken of how “they were doing corkscrew maneuvers to land the plane”, “there was supposed to be greeting ceremony at the airport, but as soon as they arrived, they had to duck and run to the car” and this was all due to “sniper fire”. CBS exposed her comments as to not be true with video footage of the trip, where she and Chelsea were doing the obligatory “handshake, smile & photo-op”. Mrs. Clinton responded to this as saying, “I misspoke.”
Misspoke? Again, I must say that I have never been in the sh**, but you would know if you have been in it. In college, my roommate and I were taking his visiting sister, out to dinner in Washington, DC. It was late April and the time was 6:32pm (I know because we were late for our dinner reservations) as we drove down a side street, where a liquor store on the approaching left corner. As we neared the establishment, where a “stop” sign stood, a young, black man in a yellow coat exited the liquor store and began to cross the street. This is a common happening, but what made this unique was how he produced a metal object from his pocket and aimed it back at the liquor store’s entrance. This entrance was exited by a .38 (known previously as the Saturday Night Special) wielding, Asian storeowner, who opened fire on the young man. As surreal as this was I kept moving towards the intersection, until reality struck in and the young man returned fire on the aging store keep. An old-fashioned gunfight then ensued in broad daylight, in the nation’s capital. I told my roommate and his sister to duck, as I placed the car in reverse and sped at least thirty yards to the other end of the block and safety. Once, safe, I looked up to find a bullet had hit my window and left a dime sized, mark. If that gun would have had more firepower, it would have surely struck my neck and I might be talking out the side of my mouth like Vice President Dick “F*** You” Cheney.
My point is, I still recall this incident vividly that happened to me in the mid-90’s and something I will never forget. YOU FORGET what you had for breakfast yesterday. YOU FORGET who won the Heisman Trophy in 2002. YOU FORGET the number to the Italian restaurant you like so much. YOU FORGET, who played pinch-hit for the Diamondbacks in the 4th game of the World Series. YOU FORGET, what level you left your car on. YOU FORGET the name of the water-head boy, who sat in front of you in high school Algebra. But you don’t ever – and I mean EVER forget ducking sniper fire with your only child and running to safety, in war-torn Bosnia. I am one to believe you don’t forget being in the sh** and Mrs. Clinton was in the sh**.
Now follow me! Follow me to freedom!
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