Anitra and I got to see Villenueve’s “Dune: Part Two” at the SIFF downtown theater.
Everyone should know by now it’s based on Frank Herbert’s 1965 science-fiction novel “Dune.” That’s a bit of culture going way back. I got to know the novel existed as far back as 1963, when it was serialized in “Analog” magazine.
At that time, I put off reading it because I was 14 and I wanted space aliens. Not humans. The only space aliens in “Dune” were the worms, and they were more props than characters.
Had I read it in 1963, it might have been triggering. It was later when I got around to it. The main character, Paul Atreides, is transplanted due to political machinations from his green, wet home planet to a desert planet, ends up being immersed among the local tribes and grows a full-fledged Messiah complex. A bit similar to what became of T. E. Lawrence in WWI.
I say “triggering,” because I grew a Messiah complex one day in 1956 before I was seven.
It was a beautiful, peaceful late spring Sunday in Fort Devens, Massachusetts, and I was outside with friends early one morning. Someone showed up with the disturbing news that a kid walking somewhere he shouldn’t be was attacked and got his arm broken.
I’d never heard any story like that before, and I turned all shades of SJW before knowing the facts and the context. Looking back on it, I can see how I took several wrong turns. In my defense, I would repeat, I was not yet seven, so I would be expected to be a little clueless. OK, I was a lot clueless.
Older children around filled me in on what was up. They turned out to also be clueless, but less so. They told me the kid who got his arm broken had wandered into the Spanish-speaking barracks to the northwest of the base, and there was hostility between the Spanish speakers and the English speakers, and you could expect violence to erupt from time to time, so “chill.”
My perspective on this situation was from way out — from another planet. English wasn’t my first language. Hawaiian was. I was partially assimilated into Hawaiian culture, and it’s silly to tell a Hawaiian to chill. It’s redundant.
So I formed the opinion that all the English speakers around me should join with me to march to the Spanish-speaking enclave and offer a truce. This was my first big mistake.
I had no idea how amazingly tribal the kids I hung out with were. They were not going to follow me because I was right to call for peace. They were only going to go along if I fought for power with every guy in turn who considered himself a leader of some silly gang.
I was allowed in each case to choose the method of combat. I chose wrestling each time. I had to pin all these little leaders one after another. It took three stupid hours. I was able to do it because I was ambidextrous. Fifty of us marched to meet the Spanish-speaking kids. I felt like Crusader Rabbit.
Well, we were met by a party of 70, and within minutes of meeting, no one had patience for the offer of peace. It was all, “We don’t need your peace; fight us or get out.” I know I should have seen that coming.
Another three hours of one-on-one fighting passed. These were bloody fist fights. I stayed out of it until the end, and then I felt like I had no choice but to take part. Mistake number three, or was it four? Being the last guy standing on my side, I was beset five-to-one.
I ended up with a fractured skull and a ruptured stomach. The five of them gloated over me and then turned away, at which point I jumped up and sucker-punched their ringleader.
I woke up in the base clinic about two days later with an IV and tubes in me. I spent about a week there and had time to reflect. I was never going to do anything like that again.
Since I won at the end, we got the truce, though, so it wasn’t all a loss. But not worth the risk.
Dr. Wes is the Real Change Circulation Specialist, but, in addition to his skills with a spreadsheet, he writes this weekly column about whatever recent going-ons caught his attention. Dr. Wes has contributed to the paper since 1994. Curious about his process or have a response to one of his columns? Connect with him at [email protected].
Read more of the March 27–April 2, 2024 issue.