Chapter I
BACKGROUND
- I was a Vietnam War protester and had been since
1964. I carried a school deferment until 1966 when I quite
college and went to work. Six months after I started working I
received the "Greetings, your friends and neighbors..." draft letter
from good ol' Uncle Sam. I had done everything except leaving the
country or going to jail. In L. A. drug use was usually not
considered a reason to NOT draft.
I reported, with my best friend, Steve, to the Draft Board for the physical and induction. The physical was a joke. If you were breathing and your heart beat and you not more than 100 lbs. over weight, they took ya. While in line after being sworn in, they had us count off my 10's, with every 10th one being to the Marines. I thank G*d to this day that I was not number 10. Oh, I did have one friend that was 4F'ed due to drugs, but he reported under the influence of over 1000 mics. of LSD, along with so many other drugs I could not even list them all. It took him months to recover. It was still shorter than the 2 years and 7 months I served.
Two Years and Seven Months??? The draft was only a 2 year commitment, where did the 7 extra months come from, one might well ask? Well, my first day at beautiful Fort Ord
was filled with
tests; medical, dental, mental and aptitude. I did my best, with
my limited understanding of psychological testing, and scored low on
many of the talents for infantry . . . That is, except for code
recognition. That made me a prime candidate for radio
school. I did not like the image this turn of events formed in my
mind. I saw myself romping through the swamps with a radio on my
back and the antenna sticking up in the air. Looked like a sign
saying, "Shoot here first."
All thought of the right or wrongness of the War were, at that moment, replaced with thoughts of how to survive. Being a radio man did not seem like the best survival job, so I enlisted for a third year in order to secure a less dangerous job. The one I found was MOS (military occupational specialty) 45H20, Small Missile Repair. I took it. I had seen many of the new reports from Nam and never saw one person fixing a small missile in any of them. I thought it was a good choice. Little did I know that I already had a skill that was very desirable to the Army. Typing. Live and learn, I always say.
BASIC TRAINING or "where the incompetent make the unwilling do the unnecessary or the ungrateful" - In 1966, Fort Ord was under meningitis restriction, which translates into barracks restriction through out Basic, all windows open at all times, no passes, and no access to any part of Fort Ord for the duration of training. Combine that with a 1st Lt. company commander wanting to be Capt. and a Community Fund Drive competition, and you get a real circus. Every couple of days a cake with milk for an entire platoon was auctioned off. No money, no problem, he took IOU's, which were redeemed by him in the pay line. When it was time to start rifle training, our CO sold one-way tickets to the rifle range, on a flat-bed trailer, for $ 0.50. So, the choice was (a) march with the drill sgt.'s to the range (a couple of miles), or (b) pay the fifty cents each way and ride. You would think that this is a no brainer, but the military will fool you sometimes. This was one of those times.
To digress, my Drill Sgt. was Sgt. Moore. Sgt. Moore was a soldier, not a lifer. He must have been in his forties and he could out run any of us, do more push-ups, you name it. he could do it. I could not help but respect him. Ok, back to the story . . .
The first day the rides were offered, everybody went. As the trucks pulled out, I saw the look on Sgt. Moore's face. I can't explain it, but, that look said, "This ain't right!" to me. It was not right in that he believed that his job was to prepare us as best he could, for Nam, and the truck thing was undermining his ability to do just that. My bud, Steve, and I talked about it and the next day we were the only two to march to the range. Sgt. Moore double timed us, until we were out of sight and then we slowed to a nice leisurely pace the rest of the way. That is, until we came within sight of the rifle range, then it was back to double time. I can't tell you what all we talked about on that "march" but I know that I learned allot that day. I think Sgt. Moore did to, after all, Steve and I were the biggest hippies in the company. By the way, I found out that the rest of the company had to do calisthenics from the time they arrived until we showed up. There were no more truck rides after that, but our company H-3-1, raised more money for the Community Fund than any other and our CO became a Capt. . . . Or, at least that is how I remember it.
ADVANCED TRAINING - From Fort Ord I went to Aberdeen Proving Grounds for training in my chosen MOS, good ol' 45H20, Small Missile System Repair. If Basic was the joke, this
was the punch
line. I took on an extra year to repair the testing equipment
for the ENTAC missile.
That's right, the testing equipment, and on a missile the Army hasn't
used in years, and it was a critical MOS. On top of all this,
there was a two month waiting period before my class started.
One of the things I had heard since my first day in the Army was DON'T VOLUNTEER FOR ANYTHING. The first day we fell in, I saw guys painting the rocks lining the parade field white, the sky was cloudy and snow was beginning to fall. Just then, the 1st Sgt. came out of the orderly room and asked if anybody knew how to type. Looking around, I didn't see any typewriters outside and I didn't see any hands being raised, so I raised mine. He called me in, took me to a small office and sat me at a desk with a typewriter on it; gave me a sheet of paper and opened a TM (Training Manual) to a random page and told me I should report to his office when I have finished typing the page. I had taken typing in Jr. High and had found it a handy talent. I could type up to 40 words per minute, but for this, I wanted it to look good so I loped along at about 20.
When I went to the Sgt.'s office the first thing he asked me was what was wrong. I told him that nothing was wrong, I was finished with the page. He tore the page and the TM from my hands, looked at them both for a minute and then asked me if I would consider being the Morning Report clerk until my school started. If I said yes I would be treated as one of the cadre and pull no KP, Guard Duty, Inspection; I would have a weekend pass every weekend from Friday nite until Monday morning, or I could paint rocks. It was a tough choice, but I decided to be a Morning Report clerk. They were so happy with my work I made E2 before my school started, and after the school was over I made PFC and worked as the Supply Clerk until I got orders to Ft. Lewis. The 1st Sgt. even tried to get my MOS changed to clerk/typest but couldn't do it because my chosen MOS was critical. Live and learn, I say.
During my time at Aberdeen I visited my mother's cousin in New York City. During the day on Saturday we went to all the art places. Cousin Janet knew the bus and subway routes and we had no trouble getting around. Saturday nite we went to Greenwich Village and, at three different places saw The Fugs, Frank Zappa and Howlin' Wolf. It was the best time I had had there, except for the week long visit of my girl friend. Another observation about back East was that weed was almost nonexistent in the area of Aberdeen. This poor ol' Hippie from LA had to suffer with 3.2 beer on base, darvon and Carbono Spot Remover. I do not recommend this combination and am lucky to still get a rational thought now and again.
The best thing I took from Aberdeen was my, soon to be, best bud throughout the rest of my tour in the Army, Sam Corbin. We had the same MOS but my school started two weeks before his. Still, we lived in the same barracks and enjoyed tormenting the "red necks" by playing LP's of Zappa, Dylan and a collection of Fugues. My Dylan record was Nashville Skyline with Johnny Cash. That one really shook up a lot of Country Western fans.
With Spring in the air and orders in my hand, I was off to the West Coast, although a bit further North than I was use to. Next stop, Ft. Lewis, Washington.
Click Image to go to Chapter II
"Spring Time At Fort Lewis"
I reported, with my best friend, Steve, to the Draft Board for the physical and induction. The physical was a joke. If you were breathing and your heart beat and you not more than 100 lbs. over weight, they took ya. While in line after being sworn in, they had us count off my 10's, with every 10th one being to the Marines. I thank G*d to this day that I was not number 10. Oh, I did have one friend that was 4F'ed due to drugs, but he reported under the influence of over 1000 mics. of LSD, along with so many other drugs I could not even list them all. It took him months to recover. It was still shorter than the 2 years and 7 months I served.
Two Years and Seven Months??? The draft was only a 2 year commitment, where did the 7 extra months come from, one might well ask? Well, my first day at beautiful Fort Ord
was filled with
tests; medical, dental, mental and aptitude. I did my best, with
my limited understanding of psychological testing, and scored low on
many of the talents for infantry . . . That is, except for code
recognition. That made me a prime candidate for radio
school. I did not like the image this turn of events formed in my
mind. I saw myself romping through the swamps with a radio on my
back and the antenna sticking up in the air. Looked like a sign
saying, "Shoot here first." All thought of the right or wrongness of the War were, at that moment, replaced with thoughts of how to survive. Being a radio man did not seem like the best survival job, so I enlisted for a third year in order to secure a less dangerous job. The one I found was MOS (military occupational specialty) 45H20, Small Missile Repair. I took it. I had seen many of the new reports from Nam and never saw one person fixing a small missile in any of them. I thought it was a good choice. Little did I know that I already had a skill that was very desirable to the Army. Typing. Live and learn, I always say.
BASIC TRAINING or "where the incompetent make the unwilling do the unnecessary or the ungrateful" - In 1966, Fort Ord was under meningitis restriction, which translates into barracks restriction through out Basic, all windows open at all times, no passes, and no access to any part of Fort Ord for the duration of training. Combine that with a 1st Lt. company commander wanting to be Capt. and a Community Fund Drive competition, and you get a real circus. Every couple of days a cake with milk for an entire platoon was auctioned off. No money, no problem, he took IOU's, which were redeemed by him in the pay line. When it was time to start rifle training, our CO sold one-way tickets to the rifle range, on a flat-bed trailer, for $ 0.50. So, the choice was (a) march with the drill sgt.'s to the range (a couple of miles), or (b) pay the fifty cents each way and ride. You would think that this is a no brainer, but the military will fool you sometimes. This was one of those times.
To digress, my Drill Sgt. was Sgt. Moore. Sgt. Moore was a soldier, not a lifer. He must have been in his forties and he could out run any of us, do more push-ups, you name it. he could do it. I could not help but respect him. Ok, back to the story . . .
The first day the rides were offered, everybody went. As the trucks pulled out, I saw the look on Sgt. Moore's face. I can't explain it, but, that look said, "This ain't right!" to me. It was not right in that he believed that his job was to prepare us as best he could, for Nam, and the truck thing was undermining his ability to do just that. My bud, Steve, and I talked about it and the next day we were the only two to march to the range. Sgt. Moore double timed us, until we were out of sight and then we slowed to a nice leisurely pace the rest of the way. That is, until we came within sight of the rifle range, then it was back to double time. I can't tell you what all we talked about on that "march" but I know that I learned allot that day. I think Sgt. Moore did to, after all, Steve and I were the biggest hippies in the company. By the way, I found out that the rest of the company had to do calisthenics from the time they arrived until we showed up. There were no more truck rides after that, but our company H-3-1, raised more money for the Community Fund than any other and our CO became a Capt. . . . Or, at least that is how I remember it.
ADVANCED TRAINING - From Fort Ord I went to Aberdeen Proving Grounds for training in my chosen MOS, good ol' 45H20, Small Missile System Repair. If Basic was the joke, this
was the punch
line. I took on an extra year to repair the testing equipment
for the ENTAC missile.
That's right, the testing equipment, and on a missile the Army hasn't
used in years, and it was a critical MOS. On top of all this,
there was a two month waiting period before my class started.One of the things I had heard since my first day in the Army was DON'T VOLUNTEER FOR ANYTHING. The first day we fell in, I saw guys painting the rocks lining the parade field white, the sky was cloudy and snow was beginning to fall. Just then, the 1st Sgt. came out of the orderly room and asked if anybody knew how to type. Looking around, I didn't see any typewriters outside and I didn't see any hands being raised, so I raised mine. He called me in, took me to a small office and sat me at a desk with a typewriter on it; gave me a sheet of paper and opened a TM (Training Manual) to a random page and told me I should report to his office when I have finished typing the page. I had taken typing in Jr. High and had found it a handy talent. I could type up to 40 words per minute, but for this, I wanted it to look good so I loped along at about 20.
When I went to the Sgt.'s office the first thing he asked me was what was wrong. I told him that nothing was wrong, I was finished with the page. He tore the page and the TM from my hands, looked at them both for a minute and then asked me if I would consider being the Morning Report clerk until my school started. If I said yes I would be treated as one of the cadre and pull no KP, Guard Duty, Inspection; I would have a weekend pass every weekend from Friday nite until Monday morning, or I could paint rocks. It was a tough choice, but I decided to be a Morning Report clerk. They were so happy with my work I made E2 before my school started, and after the school was over I made PFC and worked as the Supply Clerk until I got orders to Ft. Lewis. The 1st Sgt. even tried to get my MOS changed to clerk/typest but couldn't do it because my chosen MOS was critical. Live and learn, I say.
During my time at Aberdeen I visited my mother's cousin in New York City. During the day on Saturday we went to all the art places. Cousin Janet knew the bus and subway routes and we had no trouble getting around. Saturday nite we went to Greenwich Village and, at three different places saw The Fugs, Frank Zappa and Howlin' Wolf. It was the best time I had had there, except for the week long visit of my girl friend. Another observation about back East was that weed was almost nonexistent in the area of Aberdeen. This poor ol' Hippie from LA had to suffer with 3.2 beer on base, darvon and Carbono Spot Remover. I do not recommend this combination and am lucky to still get a rational thought now and again.
The best thing I took from Aberdeen was my, soon to be, best bud throughout the rest of my tour in the Army, Sam Corbin. We had the same MOS but my school started two weeks before his. Still, we lived in the same barracks and enjoyed tormenting the "red necks" by playing LP's of Zappa, Dylan and a collection of Fugues. My Dylan record was Nashville Skyline with Johnny Cash. That one really shook up a lot of Country Western fans.
With Spring in the air and orders in my hand, I was off to the West Coast, although a bit further North than I was use to. Next stop, Ft. Lewis, Washington.
Click Image to go to Chapter II
"Spring Time At Fort Lewis"
as with all my pages - this one is under construction
so.......I will update it as time permits.