Chapter 36: Rumors of War

When I entered high school, Vietnam and the war in Southeast Asia were faint rumbles on the event horizon of the evening news. The war was a distant thing and few of us paid much attention. After all, how could battles on the other side of the world have any impact on our lives?

With each passing year, the rumble of conflict grew louder as the drums of war picked up the beat. By my third year in high school, Vietnam was on nearly everyone’s radar. Taking a piss in the boy’s room, I could hear nervous seniors’ debate choices between the Army, Marines or Canada.

In my last year, I was one of those nervous seniors. I loved to watch war movies but the idea of being a player in the real thing was unsettling.

It was more than unsettling ... it was damn scary.

I had watched President Kennedy as he set forth his call and urged all Americans to “ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.”

Both my father and stepfather had served in the Navy and fought the Japanese in the Pacific during World War II. My grandfather’s brother served in the Army’s Artillery Corps under General Pershing in France during the First World War. My great grandfather had served in the Union Army during the Civil War and my ancestors had fought in the War of Independence with General Washington.

I wanted to follow family tradition and serve my country but I also did not want to die in the process. My options were limited. College was out of the question. Based on my experience in high school, I didn’t think I had enough brains to do anything in college except flunk out.

My job prospects were equally dismal. I had no skills and no experience. The best I could manage was sweeping floors and stacking boxes. My folks were useless and offered no advice or help. We never discussed my future or my life after high school.

While I dithered, the hammer dropped. I got my notice to report to the Boston Naval Base for a pre-induction physical. I was officially on the radar of my local draft board and time was quickly running out.

The trip to the Boston Naval Base for my physical was a sneak preview of Hell. I was part of a batch of two or three hundred confused and scared seventeen and eighteen-year-olds standing around in our underwear (or less) in a cold and drafty cavern of a space which had once processed World War II conscripts.

Men in green uniforms barked orders as they herded us from one place to another. We stood in line and waited our turn to piss in bottles, take chest x-rays, and answer questions.

Uncle Sam wanted me. I was on track to graduate from high school about ten days before my eighteenth birthday. A draft notice with my name on it was ready and waiting. Vietnam was calling.

I did what any self-respecting child of the 60s would do ... I set out to evade the draft.

I paid a trip to Recruiter’s Row in downtown Fitchburg. Lined up in neat formation next to the town’s pizza shop were the recruiting stations for the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Coast Guard, and the United States Air Force.

I collected an armload of brightly colored brochures from each branch of service. I spread them out on my bedroom floor and played Russian roulette.

Which branch of service offered me the greatest chance of survival? The Army and the Marine Corps were each guaranteed tickets to the war zone. I tossed their brochures into the trash.

That left the Navy, Coast Guard, and the Air Force. I got sea sick and hated bell-bottoms. The Navy and Coast Guard joined the others in the trash. The simple process of elimination left the Air Force as the last man standing. Thus, I made my choice.

The next day I gritted my teeth, marched down to the Air Force recruiter, and began the enlistment process. I was scared to death.