I was twenty-three, fresh out of the Army and full of frustration and cynicism. I had spent the last one year, nine months, two days, four hours and thirty-five minutes in what I considered a military prison. Before I was drafted, I was a radical, a hippie, an idealist. Staunchly anti-war, I isolated myself from old friends and family. I smoked dope, joined The Resistance and demonstrated on and off the University of Oregon campus. When I got out of the Army and returned to Eugene, I learned that I hated everyone who displayed bumper stickers or posters which heralded “America— Love It Or Leave It” or “My Country, Right or Wrong” as if they were the Eleventh and Twelfth Commandments. Those who upheld vocal groups like Up With People as true American music became my enemy.