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‘One Grows Weary of Nazis’
A Checkered Demon Confederate Story: Fisherman’s Warf, San Francisco, CA 1971

“The bad things don’t change. Only the good things change.”

-The Checkered Demon

One grows weary of Nazis—that is the modern, phony Nazis. I’ve never known an actual German Nazi of old. One supposes they had there good folks and bad.

I was selling my silver jewelry at Fisherman’s Warf as stoner hippie. Silver is a fascinating substance. It has antibiotic qualities. As a boy in Mississippi, I would go the military surplus store and shake the canteens—there were always a lot of canteens and one could accumulate nice pile of silver dimes, which the GIs had dropped in the canteens to purify the water. This is why silverware was used for dining and where we get the term, being born with a silver spoon in your mouth, as having an advantage in life.

There I stood, selling my wares, when this troop of Neo-Nazis came by with their Nazi flag, parading along. I could give a care about their Nazi sympathies, but the fact that these Yankee posers—who were wearing a lot of jewelry and struck me as being homosexuals—were waving the Stars and Bars. It also makes no sense when one considers that these Nazis are by and large atheists and the flag of my ancestors contains Christian symbolism.

As a Son of a Confederate Veteran, I was scandalized.

I told my partner what I was about and he prepared to run interference for me as I came up from behind these posers and snatched the flag from this fellow, who had been conveniently on the flank, and ran my ass off, bearing the banner of my heritage swiftly into decency, my friend blocking on my heels.

One does appreciate a plan which does not come apart in the execution—a rare state of affairs indeed.

Thriving in Bad Places Kindle Edition

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