What I did in the war

Like John Kerry and Al Gore - two hollow frauds who I heartily detest - I was a member of the U.S. armed forces during the Vietnam War.
For 41 days.
I was a sophomore in college in 1965. I'd joined a fraternity and was working on the student newspaper and, as a consequence, couldn't be bothered with studying or going to class. So I flunked out.
Bad timing on my part, because that meant I lost my student deferment at a time when the war in Vietnam was heating up and more and more guys my age were being drafted.
The dean of students said I could come back, but I had to lay out a semester.
Since the draft pool in my small rural home county was rather shallow, that guaranteed I'd be drafted before I could get back into college.
So I took a job at an RCA TV and stereo cabinet factory and considered my options.
I talked with Army and Air Force recruiters and took the exam that's a prerequisite to becoming an Army officer. I've always been good at taking that kind of test, which is why I set the record for SAT scores at my high school. I did well on the Army officer test too and they were keen to have me join their team.
About this time, I became aware that the combat life expectancy of a second lieutenant is alarmingly short and my instinct for self-preservation kicked in.
I had a fleeting thought of escaping to Canada, as a lot of guys in my generation did, but I immediately realized I couldn't inflict that kind of embarrassment upon my parents and I was way too fond of being an American to change nationalities or become a fugitive.
Wanting to retain at least some control over my fate - after all, they were also drafting for the Marines at that time - I decided to enlist in the U.S. Air Force. I've worn eyeglasses since the third grade and realized my lack of vision and a college degree assured I'd never be a military pilot, so that meant four years as an enlisted man. The Air Force has no infantry, so I most likely wouldn't have to go tramping through jungles and rice paddies. Most likely, I'd end up with some gig like meteorology or maybe even working on a base newspaper.
So, on Sept. 22, 1965, I showed up at the induction center with suitcase in hand and swore to defend the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.
About 4 o'clock the next morning, I found myself stepping off of a bus in the dark with a couple of hundred other guys at Lackland AFB in San Antonio, Texas.
The next few hours are a bit of a blur. I remember being assigned to the 3703rd Basic Military Training Squadron (BMTS) and an upper bunk on the second floor of a wooden barracks building that had undoubtedly been home to tens of thousands of clueless enlistees before me.
Our drill sergeant was a black guy named Staff Sgt. Maxey. I mention he was black only because in the course of basic training I learned that a couple of guys in my flight were from Alabama and carried Ku Klux Klan membership cards in their wallets. Remember this was back when the civil rights struggle was still going on and racism wasn't as out-of-vogue as it is today.
I vividly remember the humiliating experience of having to pay 65 cents for a GI haircut. I also recall going through the Green Machine - a large building where we got our uniforms, underwear, towels, shoes and duffle bags. The guys working there would cast a practiced eye over you and toss you a shirt or pants or jacket that, more often than not, was a very good fit.
I was mildly surprised a week or so later to notice that new arrivals - pre-haircut and pre-uniform - looked odd to me and to the other guys in my flight. We called them "rainbows" because of their colorful civilian clothes.
Air Force basic turned out to be a breeze - at least for me, especially compared with fraternity pledgeship. Marching, which seemed to baffle a lot of guys, was second nature to me, since I'd carried a Sousaphone for four years in high school marching band and knew the commands backward and forward. We ran a rather unchallenging obstacle course, learned to shoot the old M1 carbine (I qualified as an expert marksman and actually won a ribbon), and spent hours in classrooms learning about the Uniform Code of Military Justice, Air Force organizational structure and a lot of other stuff I've since forgotten. They were out of tear gas the day we were supposed to go through the dreaded tear gas experience.
Early in basic training, we were photographed and fingerprinted for our military IDs and records. In the months before my enlistment, I'd worked as a hand sander at the cabinet factory - using sandpaper to smooth off sharp edges and to remove errant bits of wood glue. As a result, my fingerprints were almost non-existent. The guys in charge of the operation looked at me suspiciously and I'm not sure they believed I wasn't trying to hide my identity. Over the course of basic training, I was called back in on three occasions to be re-fingerprinted and I don't think they ever did get a decent set of prints.
About two or three weeks into basic, we were marched off to a building to be assigned a specialty to match our abilities. It was then that it was discovered the records of my physical exam at the induction center had been lost in transit. They need your physical exam records to assign you to a job in the Air Force. Like, for instance, they don't want to send someone who is colorblind off to electronics school where they won't be able to differentiate between red and green wires.
So I went for a Lost Records Physical, which was much more thorough than any physical exam being done at the induction centers. Remember, this was in 1965 when all of the induction centers across the nation had huge quotas to make. Their screening processes were accordingly less stringent.
So I checked the boxes for hay fever and some other allergies and childhood asthma - all true - got my eyes and hearing tested and went back to the barracks.
I got a call-back a day or two later to report to the allergy clinic at Wilford Hall Air Force Hospital, over on the other side of the base. There, I was given a series of 26 subcutaneous injections of all kinds of stuff - cottonwood pollen, house dust, ragweed, cat dander. I got a reaction to everything, including the distilled water control injection. The allergist was calling people in from the hallway to look at my arm - it was the most dramatic reaction he'd ever seen. I suspected this was an important event, but nothing came of it right away.
Near the end of basic, I got a message to report to a panel of four doctors, all of them captains.
Captain: "Do you plan to make a career of the Air Force?"
Me: "No, sir. I just wanted to get my time out of the way."
Captain: "Would you be upset if we sent you home?"
Me: "No, sir. I think I could handle it."
I was immediately transferred to a "casual" barracks populated by other guys being processed out of the Air Force - some for less savory reasons than medical issues. I turned in all of my uniforms and equipment, keeping only the PT (physical training) shirt and shorts and my underwear and I remember signing a waiver that stipulated that I would never apply for veteran's benefits.
Ten days later, I was winging my way home on a Braniff Airlines jet.
The date was Nov. 2, 1965.
My draft board re-classified me as 1-Y, which moved me waaaaay down the list of draft eligibility, and I went back to college the following January.
Do I regret accepting their offer to return to civilian life?
No.
But, at the same time, I'm haunted by a nagging feeling that I missed out on the Great Adventure of my generation. That feeling goes away quickly when I talk to 'Nam vets whose post-war lives have been a hell of alcohol and drug abuse, Agent Orange illness and the consequences of combat stress.
I thank God that my life has been as easy as it has and I thank them for what they endured out of a sense of duty and honor.
I visited the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C., a few years ago. I realized I don't know a single person whose name is etched on those black marble tablets, but I was keenly aware that but for a stroke of luck, my name could be up on that wall.
I have enormous respect for every man and woman who served honorably in Vietnam.
But I have only contempt for those who exaggerate or lie about their service to advance their 21st century political ambitions.