So I've just turned seventeen and I think I own the world
That's moving through the year of '52.
And I revel in the aura of my 'High School Hero' role
And I get the sense that all the girls do, too.


And everybody likes me and wants to be my friend
And all my teachers tell me that I'm bright.
And all the high school's coaches talk about the way I play
And how I won the game the other night. 

And the San Diego papers print my picture now and then
And they write of how the team depends on me.
And I know that when I see the crowd all sitting in the
stands
That I'm the guy they mostly came to see. 

And I've got this kind of attitude and my hair's a bit too
long
And I add to the mystique by staying cool.
And I always walk alone and I keep my distance from 
The teeny-bopping mainstream of the school.


So that's pretty much the way it went in 1952
And the next two years were pretty much the same.
But then I joined the Air Force and I sadly said goodbye
To my 'High School Hero' role and all that fame. 

Now the Air Force had a boot camp that would put de Sade to
shame
And the higher-ups all loved to bring you down.
They shaved our heads and screamed at us and herded us like
sheep
And woe to you if you had skin of brown. 

'Cause our "instructor" was a bigot with a neck that was so
red
That the hatred in his soul was clearly seen
Every time a black kid made an ill-timed move or two;
His eyes would turn a different shade of mean. 

He'd taunt them and he'd torment them a hundred different
ways
But all within the legal scope of things.
While all us white-skinned rookies kept our eyes the other
way
'Cause we knew we had to earn our Airman's Wings. 

And the black he hated most of all; the one who kept him
spurred,
Inventing new abuses to exploit
Was a soft-voiced, handsome-featured kid whose name was
Parker Brown 
Who'd come here from the city of Detroit. 

Now I'd not had much exposure to the dark-complexioned race
'Cause my neighborhoods and schools were white as snow.
And my dad, in Old World ignorance, would warn me now and
then
That "niggers" were the lowest form of low. 

But I got to liking Parker and we soon became fast friends
And he told me of his life of paying dues.
And I taught him how to play guitar and right before 'Lights
Out'
Each night the two of us would play the blues. 

So we had a strong alliance; a bond that only grew
As our boot camp time kept drawing to a close.
And that's when something happened that destroyed my "Hero"
myth 
And woke the dark side in me from repose: 

The hour was late, past midnight, and our barracks slept as
one
When all of us were wakened by a yell.
The lights came on and down the aisle came lumbering the
form
Of our bigoted instructor straight from Hell. 

We could smell the whiskey on him as he rumbled past our
cots
And we knew that he had been out on the town.
As he called us to attention, he stopped his staggered walk
And stood in front of Airman Parker Brown. 

The years have dimmed my mem'ry and I can't recall the
words
The instructor spit at Parker on that night.
But I still recall his anger and the look on Parker's face
As his eyes were opened wide in desperate fright. 

With no warning came the movement that left us shocked and
stunned;
With no warning our instructor raised his hand.
With no warning he struck Parker with such a hateful zeal
That Parker found he could no longer stand. 

He slumped down on his cot and sobbed; a scene so out of
place
That it woke the bigot's brain from drunken sleep.
And he knew that he was history if the Chaplain would be
told
Of how he struck an Airman in his keep. 

But he also knew if Parker were to make the charges stick
That he'd surely need a witness; maybe two.
With the arrogance of Satan, he turned to face us all
And from his mouth the words began to spew: 

"So you've think that you've got friends here," he yelled at
Parker Brown.
"Let me really show you where they stand!
Did any Airman here see me strike this Airman down? 
If so, step out and let me see your hand." 

The barracks filled with silence save for Parker's quiet
sobs
The instructor's eyes were darting angrily.
And amid the stony silence, I found to my dismay
That the one who was most silent looked like me. 

And I knew that I should stand out; that I should raise my
hand
'Cause, for God's sake, Parker Brown was my best friend!
But the fear I felt while looking in the bigot's devil-eyes
Was enough to seal my silence in the end. 

Was it fear of his authority? Was it fear of something
else?
Was it just a young man's fear of the unknown?
In retrospect, it really doesn't matter all that much.
What's important is that Parker stood alone. 

Well, nothing ever came from the scenes played out that
night.
And boot camp finally ended; we were free.
And everybody said goodbye and went their separate ways
And Parker even said goodbye to me. 

And I guess that he forgave me like he did his other
friends
For keeping quiet in his hour of need.
But that was no consolation, for I knew my silent act 
Would stay inside my soul just like a weed. 

Now a lot of years have come and gone since Parker said
goodbye
And courage comes whenever I need call 
And I've done some things, I must admit, that only brave men
do
And fear's a word I do not use at all. 

But all these deeds are dusty thoughts shelved deep inside
my brain.
Forgotten, for the most part, in a day.
But I can't escape the mem'ry of the friend who I once had
Who needed me and I just turned away. 

Copyright 2001 - Phil Cerasoli