I am reading “The Aftermath in Asia”. Of all the European involvements in Southeast Asia, I still rate the Dutch actions of Indonesia as the least justifiable and most wrong, below even Ho Chi Minh's recruitment methods. This book contains the earliest known reference to “mopping up” I can find.
I bumped into Sarge, whose real name is Sergio. He's from Trinidad, and East Indian makes excellent bucks as a diesel mechanic. He was surprised they didn't know the local bus system. I explained that I've lived longer in Caracas, Venezuela and I've lived in Miami, Florida. I was surprised that some use only so long didn't know about that.
It reminded me of something not recorded elsewhere. When I first moved to Miami, I drove up to Fort Lauderdale to get Wallace. I got off the wrong exit in my car conked out just before dark. The next day at work I mentioned it, and the office staff couldn't believe that I flagged a car full of Mexicans, who helped to push it to a safe place, then wouldn't hear me staying in a motel. Oscar Rodriguez, a tomato farm tractor driver, hooking up with his coach overnight in the trailer court, gave me breakfast and will be back out to my car in the morning. To this day Charlie still doesn't believe that I “took such a chance”.
[Author's note: “The Aftermath in Asia” is part of a series am reading concerning the history of the mid-20th century, thus it's mainly about World War II, also known as The Great Patriotic War depending on whether you are east or west of Berlin.
Ho Chi Minh's recruitment methods basically amounted to, “You join us, or we shoot you now.” Hence, the Viet Minh were rarely short of recruits.
I had been driving up to visit Wallace in northwest Fort Lauderdale based on the now famous directions that his daughter had given me on the phone. Apparently this woman is in some kind of occupation where she makes decisions that materially affect other people's lives, but she was functionally incapable of giving accurate directions to her own house. The streets and avenues in South Florida have random names.
That means unless somebody can give you the exit number, you have to drive in the right lane and slow down to read each sign, because the lack of order means you can't be sure whether or not you've already passed your off-ramp. Driving slowly at night in the right lane is not the best idea in this town, but she seemed unaware that.
All the daughter could say was, “Turn on Atlantic and go right.” Today we know there are seven different roads named Atlantic and the directions she gave me would've placed me 135 blocks off the East Coast of Pompano Beach.
For the heck of it when I finally got there, after putting a new battery in the Cadillac, I took out a road atlas. With everyone watching except her, I ran my finger along the route she was describing. She confirmed the directions she gave me but upon seeing my finger was pointing to 400 feet of salt water, she kind of shrugged her shoulders like, “Boy, are you stupid; can't even follow directions.”
Now it suddenly makes sense why before we had 911 it was not unknown for kids to die because the parents gave this type of directions to the ambulance.]
