Becoming a Man in the Shadowlands: a Survivor's Story
Copyright© 2019 by Dennis Randall
Chapter 38: Dodging the Draft
The war was moving from simmer to a rolling boil as I blew out the eighteen candles on my store-bought birthday cake and my childhood vanished in a cloud of waxy smelling smoke.
According to the calendar and the law, I was now officially an adult. I was a “man.” The trouble was I didn’t feel like a man. I was a kid with eighteen years of experience.
There was still a few slices of leftover birthday cake in the refrigerator back home as I reported to the Air Force assembly area in downtown Fitchburg nine days later and joined with forty other enlistees. I prepared to take the oath of enlistment in the United States Air Force. The next four years of my life would belong to Uncle Sam.
Most of the men around me were in their late teens. Several were in their twenties, and one man with prior service was pushing thirty. As I scanned the crowd, I soon realized I was one of the youngest ones there.
We boarded a bus and drove west to Springfield, Massachusetts. Upon arrival, the Air Force quartered us in a motel while we waited to be sworn in the next day. Our entire mob occupied nearly every room of the motel. Soon after we arrived, someone passed the hat to collect money for booze. After a quick liquor run, our quarters became the open bar on our floor.
It was July 6, 1966 and up until that day I had been a squeaky clean Preacher’s Kid. My experience with alcohol consisted of a single sip of beer at a wedding reception. I hated the taste so I’d crossed beer off my list of beverages.
Our bartender, a man named Tony, offered me a beer. When I declined, he offered me a double shot of Johnny Walker and Coke.
I thought the taste was delightful so I chugged it down and asked for another. Tony told me that I was free to mix my own and there was no limit. Like a kid in a candy shop, I sat next to the bar and wolfed down half-dozen mixed drinks in a row.
All was well until the dinner arrived. I stood to get a slice of pizza. As I was standing there, the floor rose up and smacked me in the face. I woke up as several guys were carrying me off to bed.
The next morning on July 7, 1966, I joined the other men enlisting in the Air Force. We were gathered together in a large room of the Springfield Armory. My memory of the event was every bit as fuzzy as my tongue. However, I do remember my oath.
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