This Is His Day

Someone to remember this day is Daniel John Dabrue. He was my mother’s cousin who was killed in Vietnam on June 4, 1968. I don’t remember him as I was only a year and half old but had heard of him as I grew older. Growing up in the shadow of Vietnam I didn’t know a lot about the war but I did have uncles who served, including one severely wounded, I looked up to them with lots of respect and honor which I still do to this day. 

So when I visited Washington D.C. last year the Vietnam War Memorial Wall was on my must visit list. Although I didn’t know him personally I thought my Mom would like it if I found “poor Danny’s” name there. It was quite crowded being a holiday week(4th of July) and despite the oppressive heat. They do have books where you can look up people on the wall. Daniel is located on Panel 60W, Line 08. I was able to locate him fairly easy. One thing I noticed is that even with huge crowds people they were relatively quiet as they walked thru. I later showed her pictures of his name and she was thrilled. 

Daniel was born in Attleboro, Massachusetts to Louis and Anna Dabrue on August 27, 1949. He also has a sister Elaine. In Boston, Massachusetts on May 31, 1967 he joined the United States Marine Corp. After basic training he arrived in Vietnam on December 9, 1967 and was assigned to Fox Company, 2nd Battalion 5th Marine Regiment. June of 1968 his unit was committed to a series of combat missions in the northern Quang Tri Province. On the 4th of June his platoon was southwest of Co Ha Pat(mountain) near the Loation border. His company was probed and attacked by a NVA unit (North Vietnamese Army) with crew served weapons(machine guns, mortars etc..) and small arms fire. His unit took many casualties and PFC Daniel Dabrue was one of those killed that day by rifle fire. He was less than three months shy of his 19th birthday. He is buried in Rock Ridge Cemetery in Sharon, Massachusetts.

This is his day.

The Last Days of August by Jon Ronson

The Last Days of August by Jon Ronson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is the behind the scenes events of the untimely death of porn star August Ames who committed suicide after a social media pile on by others after refusing to work with a male performer who had only done work with other males so she was perceived as homophobic.

Ronson then goes on a journey uncovering the stories of August's personal life and those connected with her. Some moments, even up to end, it seemed difficult to gleam exactly what the author was looking for. To add to it this style of audio-book was more or less a series on interviews with those involved between the author's narration and thoughts of his own. This made it seem like more like a podcast than a book.

The series of interviews and events opens a window into the world of porn. To some degree it confirms the perception of this industry that many of the performers and those behind the scenes are imperfect and many times have a lot of emotional baggage they bring a long.

Even at the end it was hard to define exactly what this it at story was about. It wasn't a true story nor one exclusively about social media bullying, though that did occur it wasn't the only factor. The best I could summarize was that it was tragic story of a trouble young woman, who worked in an career field that seemed ill equipped to help her because many of those around her were also fighting their own battles.

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The other Red House in Marshfield

Recently I came across a book called Red House by Sarah Messer which was about an old red house in Marshfield, Massachusetts that the author grew up in. This peaked my interest to say the least as I also grew up in Marshfield in an old red farm house that was owned by my grandparents. Ironically the author and I are about the same age but I believe we were a year apart in school so I didn't know her back then. It had still peaked my interest. I was able to procure the book thru my local library and started in on it. 

My grandfather in the mid 50's

It wasn't just the nostalgia bug that bit me but it reminded me of what many of my cousins had talked about writing about the house in Marshfield as in retrospect it had grown in legend in many storied we heard from our elders. We had often, perhaps just in passing, thought we ought to write a book or at least record these stories in some way. 

The house in the 50's judging by the car in the yard.

My grandparents had moved there from Foxboro in the mid 50's after growing out of the house they had there with 9 kids, my mother being the second oldest. Needless to say it was a house that rarely went without some type activity going with that many children running around. I remember my grandfather joking that he never knew half the kids running around the house at times. By the time we moved there in the 70's it was time for the grandchildren to take reign. Thanksgiving and Christmas we had many uncles,aunts and cousins visiting and staying over for the holiday. It was usually a fun time for most of us. It became the family central point. 

A drive by I did several years back. Back to yellow it appears.

I think at first my parents only planned on staying there temporarily but when they divorced it became permanent. As a kid was great place with a large yard and field in back(about an acre or so) and large enough inside to not be bothersome to others and have some of your own space. The inside was an interesting mishmash of design and function. Some upstairs doors had notches cut out to account for the pitch in the roof. One small bathroom in back seem to be an after thought and many times at night you'd feel like someone would peek in on you. On the second floor their was a flat spot of about 6' x 8'was  formed because it was shaped like a U as a bedroom could look over a few feet to one across from it with the upstairs bath being the bottom. It's make a great secluded deck if someone put a door to it.

  

Another with my grandfather. It was yellow then but had been painted red when I moved in.

A big part of the house were the spooky stories we were told.  My grandmother told us of giggling children(usually done when kids were suppose to be in school) turning off her vacuum and running away. A friend of the family seeing a ghostly gowned woman and running downstairs naked. My mother claims to not only have seen the same gowned woman but also one of a man standing over her bed with an ax and sometimes he even sat on the bed. Another story was of a screaming woman running from upstairs and outside to the street. My cousins thought these were great stories but we had to sleep there when they went home. 

I'm sitting by a fireplace when I was about two. I didn't move in until I was about 5 or 6. 

Perhaps I'll make this on on going series and start researching more. Thanks for coming by.