Table of Contents
Praise
Title Page
Dedication
It’s 1965
Ziggy
Mickey
Ziggy
Cheryl
Nancy
Ziggy
Cheryl
Don
Cheryl
Year Of The Snake
Nancy
Malcolm X
Lysergic Acid Diethylamide
Cheryl
Ziggy
Cheryl
Mickey
Don
Bloody Sunday
“How Long, Not Long”
Ziggy
Cheryl
Nancy
From President Johnson
Cheryl
Nancy
Ziggy
Nancy
Cheryl
SDS
Ziggy
Cheryl
Mickey
Nancy
Ziggy
Phil
Suggestion Box Room 206
Cheryl
Selective Service System Order To Report For Induction
Nancy
Phil
Cheryl
Nancy
National Liberation Front
Cheryl
Mickey
Cheryl
Don
Prayer For Peace
FBI’s Golden Record Club
Ziggy
Mickey
Ziggy
Rock ’n’ Roll
Cheryl
Nancy
Don
Ziggy
Boot Camp
Blackboard Room 206
Nancy
Don
Cheryl
Ziggy
Nancy
Phil
Ziggy
Cheryl
Napalm B
Don
Phil
Nancy
Cheryl
Phil
Nancy
Vietnam Service Medal
Ziggy
Don
Phil
Cheryl
Don
Ziggy
Cheryl
Nancy
Phil
Don
Ziggy
Mickey
Cheryl
Mickey
Don
Phil
Mickey
Cheryl
Don
Mickey
Phil
Mickey
Ziggy
Suggestion Box Room 206
Phil
Nancy
Mickey
Phil
Ziggy
Phil
Mickey
Ziggy
Phil
Mickey
Cheryl
Phil
Cheryl
House Of Representatives
Mickey
Phil
Cheryl
Mickey
Phil
Cheryl
Mickey
Ziggy
Mickey
Ziggy
Cheryl
Don
Ziggy
Cheryl
Phil
International Day of Protest
Ho Chi Minh Trail
Mickey
Phil
Mickey
Cheryl
Don
Ziggy
Cheryl
Norman Morrison
Mickey
Phil
Thanksgiving
Phil
Alice’s Restaurant
Nancy
Da Nang Vietnam
Phil
Cheryl
Ziggy
Chu Lai Vietnam
Medical Evacuation
Mickey
Ziggy
Phil
Don
Cheryl
Phil
Cheryl
Ziggy
Phil
Mickey
Cheryl
Ziggy
Phil
Cheryl
Phu Bai Vietnam
Mickey
Ziggy
Phil
Nancy
Cheryl
Ziggy
Phil
Cheryl
Mickey
Dust-Off
Ziggy
Phil
Cheryl
Mickey
Ziggy
Nancy
Cheryl
Phil
Mickey
Ziggy
Phil
Cheryl
It’s 1966
1965 Timeline
Acknowledgements
Copyright Page
“Part history, part teen survival, Shahan drops you into the Vietnam era with compelling authenticity and emotional force.”
—WENDELIN VANDRAANEN author of THE RUNNING DREAM
“I stayed up half the night reading Purple Daze and didn’t want it to end. Ziggy, Mickey, Cheryl, and Phil have found a permanent home in my heart.”
—VALERIE HOBBS author of SHEEP, California Young Reader Medal
“Sherry Shahan took me right back to the 60’s with this deftly-written, politically charged novelin-verse. Be warned—Purple Daze will put a spell on you, too!”
—RON KOERTGE award-winning author of STRAYS
To Phillip Cole ... because you waited.
It’s 1965
andThe Sound of Music wins
the Academy Award for Best Picture
andPresident Johnson commits another
50,000 troops to the war in Vietnam
andThe Los Angeles Dodgers defeat
the Minnesota Twins 4–3
in the World Series
andJohnson increases the monthly
draft call from 17,000 to 35,000
andThe Righteous Brothers hit the
charts with “Unchained Melody”
andJohnson says, “Nor will we bluster,
bully or flaunt our power. But we will
not surrender, nor will we retreat.”
andBoys and girls play with fuzzy-haired
Troll Dolls. Even Lady Bird Johnson
has one.
Ziggy
We’re slumped on the front seat of a
low-slung Pontiac, cherry paint job.
Cheryl pokes the ashtray for butts,
finds the key. “Wanna go for a spin?”
“If we can be back by sixth period—
I did my homework.”
I have the wheel in one hand, a Marlboro
in the other. We jerk down Ventura Boulevard
in second gear, and I’m yelling above Janis Joplin,
“Wait’ll Mickey finds out we stole his car!”
Cheryl drums the dashboard laughing
because I don’t have a learner’s permit.
GRAND THEFT AUTO
That’s what we tell the old guy we pick up
hitchhiking in front of Woolworth’s.
He looks pale and asks us to pull over.
We couldn’t stop now
even if we tried.
Mickey
So what if the guys joke about Ziggy.
Stacked. What a rack. Tight sweaters
look bitchin’ on her.
She puts out too
even though her house has this choice view
of San Fernando Valley and her step-dad
plays in a band at Disneyland.
If I ever see a T-shirt that says,
SLUTS RULE, I’ll buy it for her.
Ziggy
Guys like me because they
know I go all the way.
It’s the only reason Mickey
takes me out.
Bet you didn’t think I knew that.
Cheryl
The potato’s been in the freezer overnight.
The Animals wail “We Gotta Get Out of This Place.”
I pull a bottle of Sloe Gin from the cupboard,
hidden behind a box of Lucky Charms.
Ziggy cuts the potato in two,
carves Ziggy + Mickey into a half,
and makes an earlobe sandwich.
“Is this gonna hurt?”
I sip and dip the needle.
“Mine didn’t even bleed.”
The door bell rings, my next door neighbor.
I know his daughters, in fifth and sixth grade,
straight hair without ironing it.
Booze wafts through the screen door.
“What’s up?” I ask.
His wing tips skim the WELCOME mat as he
lunges forward, slamming through the screen,
knocking my ninety-six pounds backward.
An old geezer with a tongue,
his hand on Don’s senior pin.
“Cheryl?” Ziggy calls from the kitchen.
“Hurry up! My ear’s freezing!”
Nancy
Ms. Hawes dresses like us:
Wool skirts. Mohair cardigans.
Sling-back flats. Seamless nylons,
nude.
Her skirts are minis.
But no one makes her kneel in the hall
to see if her hem touches the floor.
Here’s another thing: Ms. Hawes uses a
blue pencil for corrections, never red, and
doesn’t call on you unless your hand’s raised.
There’s a can of molasses on her desk. I saw
her in the cafeteria pouring it over fried potatoes
like Walter Cunningham in To Kill a Mockingbird.
When we read Lord of the Flies she passed a bag of pork rinds.
Before beginning Lolita she brought in Cokes.
Cheryl throws up when Humbert Humbert
talks about sin, soul, and the tip of his tongue.
Weird.
Ziggy
Some numb-nuts poured strawberry
Jell-O in the toilet by the Girls’
Vice Principal’s office.
She called the West Valley Police Station.
What if someone had slit her wrist or
had a miscarriage or something?
Talk about immature.
Get a boyfriend!
Cheryl
I finished Lolita in a bubble bath,
all three-hundred-thirty-six pages.
I cried
and
cried
and
cried
and
.
.
.
Don
Dear Cheryl—
Today we have a substitute in Biology,
so I’m writing you a letter.
When you confide in your girlfriends
instead of me—I feel left out,
unimportant.
I know something’s bugging you.
Why won’t you talk to me?
I think our relationship is important—
that’s why I want us to be closer,
if you get my drift.
I love you very much!
(For the 9,004,367,051st time)
I’ve never told another girl that I loved
her except K.S., and we were fourteen.
Love, Don
P.S. Guess who’s captain of the golf team?
I’ll get a bitchin’ letter for my jacket.
Cheryl
Here’s the thing:
my mom picks me up from school
when the nurse calls saying
I have men-stru-a-tion cramps.
She pays me for As on my
report card from the money
she saves by clipping coupons
and doesn’t ground me
unless I ditch school
or sneak out at night.
I should tell her about our creepy
neighbor.
Crap!
Year Of The Snake
As Year of the Dragon gives way to Year of the Snake,
two squads of Viet Cong slice through a barbed wire
skirt at Camp Holloway’s airstrip, sneaking in unseen,
one-arming satchel charges, blowing up helicopters
and reconnaissance air crafts.
Concurrently, guerrillas hiding 1,000 yards away poured
55-rounds from 81mm mortars into the compound.
52 billets are damaged. 7 Americans die. 100 plus wounded.
President Johnson addresses the National Security Council
around a casket-shaped table in the Cabinet Room,
responding to the slaughterous Communist attacks,
“I’ve had enough of this.”
U.S. warplanes receive orders to destroy supply dumps,
communications systems, and guerrilla staging cites
north of the 17th parallel.
The White House states, “Whether or not this course can
be maintained lies with the North Vietnamese aggressors.
The key to the situation remains the cessation of infiltration
from North Viet Nam and the clear indication by the Hanoi
regime that it is prepared to cease aggression against its neighbors
Nancy
Chatsworth High doesn’t have
any Black kids.
Not one.
Angela, the girl who sits next to me
in biology is Chicano. She eats lunch
with the Science Club, peanut butter
on Wonder.
Angela said if they bus in Negroes,
she’ll transfer to another school.
“Why?” I asked her.
“They’d use our toilets,” she said,
dissecting a frog.
Malcolm X
Born Malcolm Little, May 19, 1925, a preacher’s son. Big Red, a teen involved in street crime. In prison by twenty, becoming Malcolm X six years later, spiritual desperado and controversial leader of black national movements.
February 21: Audubon Ballroom, New York
A crowd of 400 waits impatiently, curious newcomers and faithful followers.
Tall and trim, striking in a dark suit, he walks purposefully to the lectern.
Malcolm gazes into the audience amid a lengthy ovation:
“A salaam aleikum (Peace be unto you).”
They respond, “Wa aleikum salaam (And unto you, peace).”
In the dingy light, a man shouts, “Nigger! Get your hand outta
my pockets!” A second diversion: a sock soaked in lighter fluid,
flying fire. A smuggled-in sawed-off shot gun. A blast splinters
the lectern. “Then all hell broke loose.”
Malcolm falls backward, sprawled limply over a folding chair.
His pregnant wife rushes forward. “They’re killing my husband!”
Men, women, and children flatten themselves on the floor. Others
charge the assailants, kicking and beating them.
According to the medical examiner’s preliminary autopsy,
Malcolm X died from “multiple gunshot wounds.” Two different
caliber bullets and shotgun pellets.
February 27: Faith Temple Church of God in Christ, Harlem
Activist and actor Ossie Davis delivers the eulogy,
“Many will ask what Harlem finds to honor in this stormy, controversial and bold young captain ... They will say he is of hate—a fanatic, a racist—who can only bring evil to the cause for which you struggle! And we will answer and say to them: Did you ever talk to Brother Malcolm?
“Did you ever touch him, or have him smile at you? Was he ever himself associated with violence or any public disturbance? ... if you knew him, you would
know why we must honor him. ...
“Let his going from us serve only to bring us together, now. ...”
—Buried as El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz, Ferncliff Cemetery, Hartsdale, New York
Lysergic Acid Diethylamide
Chemist Augustus Owsley Stanley III concocts
his first batch of home-brewed LSD-25.
To control the quality, he tints each lot a different
color. Although the pills contain the same dose, myths
develop about attributes of the various colors.
Owsley is the primary acid supplier to Ken Kesey,
author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and
Purple Daze Page 1
