Manzarek, Memories and Riders

It was early fall somewhere in Germany. I had been transferred to Augsburg to be part of the First Infantry Forward. The idea was that if the shit broke out with the Russians, we would be fodder to slow down the advance until the entire division and equipment would be flown over from Ft. Riley, Kansas. We saw how well that worked in Iraq.

We were to take part in a major exercise. They did fly over a group of base jockeys from Kansas and we were taking great glee in tearing up the southern German farmlands. You would think that the farmers would be irate but they had been promised top dollar for their crops and they welcomed the destruction with open arms. We were not just turning over topsoil, but the farmers were spreading winter wheat seed everywhere. I think they were seeding the sidewalks in town, but I have no direct knowledge of this.

Ray Manzarek (February 12, 1939-May 20, 2013)
    The Doors founder, keyboardist and writer.

                         

Most of my unit were veterans and no matter what we were threatened with, the lack of discipline in the barracks was rampant. We walked around with pants un-bloused and our hair stuffed up above our caps. In the summer, they sent a few soon to be fourth year cadets to act like platoon leaders. I can say that they went back to West Point with a different view of the “real” Army.

Our base was right in the heart of Augsburg and the clubs and fun were only a short cab away. We let our freak flag fly those nights and I can remember the opening bell peel of Black Sabbath, or Golden Earring and the American and English sounds of the 60s & early 70s played at maximum volume. The beer and drinks flowed, and it was during this time I learned that Europeans smoke their dope with tobacco and when you heat hashish, it can be finely crumbled.

It was during this exercise that I found myself laying on the front of my tank, gazing up at a night sky, brilliant with stars. I drove that tank and after a day of tearing up German fields, it was me and a pipe load of some fine Afghan hash. There were no iPods back then, hell, the Walkman had yet to be thought of. I had the radio on, picking up some FM radio station loud and clear. The hash began to do its job and the mind began to drift when on the radio, “Riders of the Storm” came over the airwaves.

I’m here to tell you that I have never listened to that song the way I did for those seven minutes and nine seconds under a clear and starry night in Germany. Ray Manzarek’s jazz piano with Robby Krieger’s guitar fills were not only serene but unearthly, as well.

The juxtaposition of the peacefulness of that song and the fact that I doing rehearsals for WW III was not lost in my hash filled brain. ROTS has become special to me, because whoever built the Cosmos decided on that night that the Door’s song would be better remembered than crying “...`Havoc,´ and let slip the dogs of war...”

With the state the world is in now, we could use a few more “Riders.” Unfortunately, it was the last song recorded by the original band.

Rest in Peace, Ray. Look up Jim while you’re there.