Gimpy yet resolute, Vietnam vet  for peace accomplishes St. Pat’s Day mission

I’ve had “issues,” shall we say, for several years with the powers that be who run the annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade in downtown Cleveland.     The reason is that those running the show become rather belligerent when I unfurl my peace flag while wearing my 1966 U.S. Army field jacket and try to join the parade.  Last year a woman official and two police officers tried to push me off Superior Avenue, but I walked on the side of the road to Public Square.    The late civil rights activist and U.S. Representative from Georgia, John Lewis might say I got into “good trouble.”     In past years when I’ve been pushed off the street, I would walk a block or so then get into the parade with no problem. One time I saw two priests carrying a Diocesan Holy Name Society banner, so I joined them. I introduced myself to one of the priests who said he was Father Tom Haren. I figured no parade marshal would bother me since I was talking with a priest. If the marshal gave me any grief I would say rather sternly, “EXCUSE ME!! Father Haren is hearing my confession!!”                This year I had to take a different approach because my ailing right hip made it uncomfortable for the long walk in the parade. I named my annoying right hip Arthur Itis. (I’m on a waiting list for a hip replacement, thanks to the Wade Park VA Medical Center.)                For this year’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade, I decided to take the relatively short walk from the Terminal Tower to across Public Square and stand on the top step of Old Stone Church (built in 1855, Presbyterian denomination). The parade passes by the front of the church.      A few gentlemen walking by said  they liked my flag. I said, “Thanks, I wish everyone did.” Many folks thanked me for my service.      Although most spectators would not see my peace message, parade participants would, which is important because over the years the parade has become rather militaristic.     Participating groups, per usual, walked down the middle of the street, with one exception. As a platoon of soldiers dressed in camouflage fatigues and caps approached, they moved away from the center to the curb on the far side of the road, getting as far away from me as possible and looking downward. I had to smile at their obvious discomfort with my peace message. But I left them with an image they will not soon–if ever–forget.               Several men wore emerald-green sashes diagonally across their front. A couple of gentlemen were so taken with my presence they stepped out of formation and walked over to shake my hand, then hurried back into their group.      Whenever police units marched by, I shouted “Thank you for keeping us safe! Hope to see you next year.!!”       A first, at least for me, was to see a Ghostbusters car, with strange ghost-busting equipment on its roof, along with a flag sporting the Ghostbuster symbol.  A man walking next to the vehicle wore a one-piece khaki outfit with ghostbuster gear on his back, mimicking apparel worn by stars in the original Ghostbusters movie.     After the parade I limped to the Tower City entrance, furled my flag and headed down the escalator to catch the Blue Line rapid home. I noticed an empty seat in a row of chairs for people to rest while waiting for a train and sat next to a woman who was with her “favorite granddaughter,” as she put it.       Grandma asked if I was in the parade and I said, “They wouldn’t let me” and I unfurled my peace flag for her.     “They pray for peace before the parade but won’t let a peace flag into the parade. That makes NO sense.”     I told the woman, “I was in Vietnam for a year. I like peace a lot more than unnecessary, unwinnable horribly tragic wasteful wars–Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan. But there is lots of money in war.”      We commiserated on the devastating “ripple effects” on families and friends when soldiers are killed or wounded physically and psychologically.      I said, “Some people have said to me over the years, ‘Where are the stars…there are supposed to be stars on your flag?’ “. I told the woman my reply: “The stars are in hiding. They’re ashamed, embarrassed and disgusted with all the death, destruction, instability and chaos we have caused in the Middle East.”         While standing in front of the Old Stone Church before the parade began, I said to a young woman walking by, “Do you think the Prince of Peace would like my flag?” Referring to the church behind me I said, “He lives in there you know, and other churches as well.” She smiled.