Manhattan Serenade

Opposition is usually more dramatic and emotional than support. For that reason, last week's "Support Our Men in Viet Nam" parade in Manhattan was given little chance of matching the massive April 15 antiwar rallies that drew 125,000 in New York and 55,000 in San Francisco. But it came close. Down sun-dappled Fifth Avenue marched Legionnaires and longshoremen, Boy Scouts and Medal of Honor winners, Kiwanians and Knights of Columbus, Iroquois Indians, exiles from Communist nations and a slew of swinging bands. (A conspicuous absentee: Mayor John Lindsay.) The parade drew an estimated 63,000, but the supporters yielded nothing in spirit to the opponents.

The parade was organized by New York Fire Captain Raymond Gimmler, 43, an ex-Marine who got his dander up when an American flag was burned in Central Park's Sheep Meadow during the April 15 demonstration. Gimmler made it clear that the march was not "a pat on the back for President Johnson." He declared: "Peace is not the is sue. Every sane man is for peace. The idea is just to back our fighting men."

Flags Everywhere. Flags fluttered everywhere. There was one that had been raised the day before on the very spot where the U.S. flag was burned on April 15. Another had been flown over the 1st Marine Division's headquarters in South Viet Nam. Teen-aged boys had them sewn on the backs of denim jackets, and every toddler seemed to be clutching a flag. There were even a couple of flags attached to the chutes of two skydivers who parachuted into Central Park. Though New York's police conspicuously sympathized with the march--1,000 off-duty cops donned uniforms to take part--they slapped the skydivers with summonses for "unauthorized parachute jumping."

As in the antiwar "demo," the mood was almost festive. There were sloppily dressed youths from Brooklyn and The Bronx and acres of miniskirted thighs, but most of the marchers, dressed in business suits or neat uniforms, looked like the kind of people who think bananas are for eating.

Several incidents marred the event. A mile from the march's origin, when some spectators hoisted an antiwar sign, several dozen paraders waded into them. Young toughs poured hot tar over a long-haired bystander for no other reason than his beatnik look, then covered him with feathers; he suffered minor burns. Otherwise the combativeness was limited mostly to vigorous flag-waving and the legends blazoned on hand-lettered signs. There were, of course, hyper-hawks galore, toting signs reading "Bomb Haiphong" and "Drop peaceniks on Hanoi." One banner proclaimed: "Ho Chi Minh is a fink--give him the kitchen sink. If that don't settle the score--give him the kitchen door." But there were also pacifists on the sidewalks who carried neither flags nor banners--just flowers.

Deeply Appreciated. As an index of national feeling, Manhattan's serenade probably proved no more--and no less --than did the April 15 march. But then, its purpose was not to endorse U.S. policies, right or wrong, but to boost the morale of the U.S. fighting man. "This counterbalance to other demonstrations is deeply appreciated," U.S. Commander General William C. Westmoreland wrote to one of the parade's organizers. "You may be sure that this show of patriotism will not go unnoticed by our servicemen." To make doubly sure that it would not go unnoticed, a videotape of the 8 1/2 hour parade was being flown to Saigon.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.