Military Service

Military Service

The 1960’s were a decade of phenomenal personal and social change and growth for me:  High school graduation in 1961, followed by month-long stay in California, via a self-paid bus trip, followed by a two-year stint in Junior College, followed by an aborted three-month Peace Corps tour, followed by completing college at Pepperdine, followed by my first professional job as a Probation Officer, followed by 1^st marital venture, followed by being inducted into the Army, and finally, starting my first tour of duty in Thailand to complete the momentous decade.

For me, 1968 stands out as the most tumultuous year of the decade, for in the midst of socio-political upheaval surrounding wide-spread civil unrest and overt rebellion, tied to the Viet Nam War, the Civil Rights Movement and the Human Potential Movement, I received my military service draft notice.  Having the Selective Service Commission reclassify and involuntarily induct me into the Army, was mystifying and disruptive, to say the least.  Being 6’ 8” tall I was deemed too tall for military service by the Draft Board, which pre-dated today’s All Volunteer Service piece, which did away with mandatory military service for all males between the ages of 18 and 25.  Rendered a 1-Y (unfit), versus 1-A (fit) classification at age 18, because of my physical height, left me secure in the belief that I would never have to go to war and all.  I was the oldest age in which one could be subject to the involuntarily draft. 

Much to my dismay, and out of the blue, I received a notice to report for a ‘pre-induction physical,’  For those of you who have missed the experience of large group physicals, let me indulge you a bit: imagine a circle of 20 or more naked men, individually subjected to having their privates fondled, or more accurately probed for hernias in the adjacent anatomy, along with a DRI (digital rectal exam), performed while bending over and touching one’s toes, and complimented by doing a full squat to demonstrate functionality of the legs.  All of this conducted with little or no compassion or regard for human dignity!

Early morning on August 28, 1968, my long-standing friend, Claude Williams, drove me to the Los Angeles induction center, near down town, with only the clothes I was wearing and a few dollars in my wallet.   Saying good-by held an ominously awkward feel, as I was about to enter a whole new life experience, and Claude would continue his job as a school teacher, while attending to all the demands of ‘normal’ family life.  In short order, I was sworn into the US Army, with Captain Gene Abbott, a former classmate @ Pepperdine, and now a Viet Nam War veteran, doing the honors.  Eventually, I was issued a small travel bag, containing toiletries, a large envelop containing induction paper work, my physical exam results, an airplane ticket to Newark, NJ and orders to begin Basic Training at Fort Dix, NJ, clear across country.  An olive drab (OD) colored military bus then drove me to LAX, where I awaited my red-eye flight toward what would become an almost four-year military odyssey.  Here I sat at LAX, alone and scaled down to a minimal level of creature comforts, with a salary of $104/month awaiting my next pay-check.  Quite a shift from my professional status as a Probation Officer, where I was earning more than $700/month!

Once arriving at Newark airport early on the 29^th, another OD colored bus awaited to transport me to the Fort Dix reception station, where I was ushered to my temporary living quarters, now called a barracks, housing approximately 70 of us freshly minted recruits.  During the lapse in time until being issued new Army wearing apparel, we were directed to the conveniently located barber shop, where for a mere dollar, one’s head was shorn of it hair, in a stylish ‘buzz cut,’ taking away significant marks of our individuality, as part of molding us into trained killers.  At one point in all these preliminary activities, I was found to violate some unknown rule and promptly escorted to a latrine, where I was handed a tooth brush with which I was to clean the shower stall.  Can you see how this discipline might have gone over in my somewhat non-conformist make-up?  I was not a happy camper, and registered my disdain for this consequence! 

Upon being issued a duffle bag, my new wardrobe was about to take and stuffed therein.  These became my only wearing apparel for the next two months.  Being ‘different’ in size to the average conscripted member of my forming family of recruits, many clothing items, particularly shirts, coats/jackets and sleeping bags, did not fit, requiring special orders to be received later in the training cycle.  I was beginning to feel like I did not belong or fit in this man’s army!

Once we were outfitted with creature comforts, we were loosely formed in front of an imposing Drill Sargeant, complete with his donned ‘smokey-the-bear’ had, later to learn its correct name to be ‘campaign hat.’  His simplistic bark was to remind us of a central truism:  ‘there are three things you don’t do in this man’s army….pee into the wind, mess with superman, and fuck with me.’  As you might imagine, I was not shacking in my newly minted boots.

After a year of marriage, my then wife and I separated, albeit amicably, yet with little understanding of why marital coexistence was not working, nor what the next steps would be.  Divorce was never seen as an option on my radar screen of life, so in my private thoughts, I expected reconciliation renewal to be possible.  Certainly, we never argued or bickered, yet a harmonious state seemed to be fleeting.