CHAPTER THREE
The 4th of July

It is common knowledge that after joining ISKCON in the summer of 1976 and serving Shrila Prabhupada under the guidance of His Holiness Ganapati das Swami for a period of four years, I left the movement. I became fully active again in service to Shrila Prabhupada between 1988 and 1991. I now reside in beautiful Canyon Lake, Texas, with my lovely wife Kay and earn my living making furniture.

In spite of my obvious shortcomings, two remarkable events happened to me in 1990 that more than anything else has given me the desire to write this book. The first was a direct result of the Persian Gulf War (Desert Storm) and the second a tremendous tornado that devastated the small town of Limon, Colorado.

Around this time, I had taken over the Denver temple’s Food For Life program, going out daily, feeding the homeless from a converted stepvan. Although this service meant a great deal to me, due to the temple’s commitment to host Denver’s first ever, full size Ratha Yatra in nearby Boulder, Colorado, I was asked to work full-time on the construction of Lord Jugannatha’s new cart. Bhakta Jeff and I were building the largest cart in North America, from the ground up.

The work took us months of hard labor. As July 4th approached, the cart was nearly finished. During this same time it became widely known that the United States Air Force was going to have one of its secret, stealth bombers fly overhead during the upcoming 4th of July celebration—downtown. Many of the returning troops from Desert Storm would be marching in the parade and a great deal was being made of all of this.

Coming from an Air Force family and having served my country during the Vietnam War, I decided to take off for an hour and attend the parade, first hand.

Needless to say, the crowd was enormous. There was hardly a vantage place left. Near the review stand I finally managed to locate a spot with a good view.

As the parade began, formation after formation of marching troops passed by, each time receiving a thunderous applause. Every formation consisted of neat rows of marching men and women in neatly starched uniforms. Each branch of service was represented. Also, in order to create a special honor for each of them as they passed the review stand, the organizers of the parade allowed for about a three-minute space between each group, which created a short pause between formations.

I mostly wanted to see the stealth bomber. Since its eventual flyover was about an hour away, I stood and watched along with everyone else. This was a very special 4th of July celebration. People were there by the thousands. More than anything, I couldn’t help being impressed by the overwhelming appreciation that the crowd was showering upon all the troops as they passed by. It felt very genuine, heartfelt and good.

With many thoughts going through my mind while waiting for another formation to appear, I gazed down the empty parade route. Suddenly I began to imagine a large group of brightly-dressed devotees approaching the review stand—mridangas, cartels swirling as the Holy Names were loudly proclaimed.

But sadly, in my mind’s eye, as the imaginary troupe of devotees passed the review stand, I could tell that they were not welcome. There was no applause from the crowd. On the contrary, many booed as if to say, "What in the hell are you doing here?" We just didn’t fit in. Our reputation much too clouded. There was no common ground. Our presence was more like some strange looking cult crashing a private party.

With my spell broken by the sounds of an approaching band, I remember standing still and feeling disturbed. Every day I pledge my allegiance to Shrila Prabhupada and Lord Krishna, but I am also an American. America is my country and my home.

My father had risked his life over the skies of Europe in WWII for the freedoms that we all enjoy today. And I had served her during the Vietnam War. Consequently, sensing the crowd not wanting devotees in a parade that my family could have easily been marching in, and to have my religion rebuffed during this great national day of independence was quite upsetting. Who wants that? Who wants one’s fellow countrymen to feel like that toward me and my friends? Of course, all that this really consisted of were some idle thoughts and sentiments floating around my foolish mind. The devotees were not actually there.

Another lapse in the activities occurred. Once again my attention was drawn toward the empty street off to my right where the crowd was watching in eager anticipation. I had already shrugged off the things I had been thinking about. But then, almost immediately—even surprising myself—once again in my mind’s eye I began to make out something approaching the review stand. At first I wasn’t even sure what it was.