I pick up my mail down at the post office in Hovland. Rarely there's anything so I only grab it on my way to and from somewhere else. Wasn't for taxes, car insurance, the monthly electric bill - got power in the fall of '66 - and the occasional letter there'd be no reason for a box. Have to admit I do like it when people write. Learned years ago the best way to get a letter is to write one. Prime the pump.
The first year Archie wrote me every month or so. We did our last trip in the spring of '66 then he was back to the Cities for a summer job. Didn't say much about the U, just that he was still going. After that the letters slowed. Come the winter of '67 they stopped. His mother wrote me he'd bought a car and she also saw him less and less. Guess I'll stop there and let Archie's letter from the fall of '68 fill in the blanks:
Dear Uncle Emil,
It's been a while hasn't it? Guess you can tell from the return address things have changed in my life. Big time. At the moment I'm sitting on my bunk surrounded by the quiet of a sunday morning barracks. It's an easy day. The men in the Smokie Bear hats are sleeping in. Went to Mass the first two weeks in Basic but it was too much like drill. When the priest said we should yell our responses like we were in formation I figured God must be pretty far away or He could hear us just fine. Made me long for the days of digging pier holes. Never figured work would put me closer to God than church. Live and learn.
So that's why I'm sitting here writing. Outside of the fact that I miss you and the good times we had. You probably know exactly what I mean. Quiet is good. Especially when you're going through training and there's a war going on.
I'll cut my story short for now. Bought a car a little over a year ago. Fell in love eight months ago. Dropped out of school, ran out of money and ended up nose to the wall at the wrong end of a dead end road. No way was my life going anywhere. Felt liked been living a lie. Still in love and knew that relationship was going nowhere until I became an honest man and found an honorable direction to my life. Didn't know where to turn till the Draft popped into my head one particularly bad morning. All of a sudden it didn't seem all that big a deal to walk in and tell the truth.
Didn't know who to see or where to start so I headed for a recruiting office. Must have brightened their day seeing as how the two sergeants were sitting around twiddling their thumbs. Could be there's not a whole lot of young men fired up enough about volunteering for an unpopular war to keep things hopping in an enlistment station. Then there was me. Mr. Sunshine. I fired off the whole spiel about not having registered and that I was their man should they want me. Turned out there was nothing they could do. Said I needed to go find my local Draft Board and deal with them first. Lucky for me they knew just where it was or I'd have no doubt chickened out if I'd had to find it on my own.
I found the old guys upstairs above a Merwin drugstore in a strip mall. Been by the door many times over the years but never consciously saw the name. Yeah, they were old guys. Probably left over WWI vets or maybe a bunch of old farts who had nothing better to do with their time. Looked like I should dust them off before I began.
Started out by saying I wanted to volunteer for the Draft. Let them know my intentions were good. Maybe cut down on the chewing out I was going to get. When I followed up with my real problem, outside of being stupid enough to volunteer for the Draft, they took it well. Couple of "tut-tuts " and "tsk-tsks" and they were done. Signed me up on the spot and told me my greetings from the President would arrive in the mail shortly.
Six weeks later I headed to the Federal Building downtown to be inspected, inducted and shipped off to Fort Campbell. I was sure one unhappy soul. A couple of days later during processing a man with two bars on his shoulder (four if you count both sides) suggested I learn Vietnamese to aid me in my tour of Southeast Asia. Also suggested I might consider signing up for a third year. Said that way I'd spend my time in supply instead of inside a body bag. Probably a good deal but couldn't see any possible glory in handing out underwear.
On the upside, haircuts here are cheap (and thorough) but we have to get one each week. The clothes are free and we get all the guidance a man could want. I've come to fear having someone jump on my Johnson even though I don't know what my Johnson is. I'd ask but figure they'd show me by jumping dead on or maybe in it. Other bad places to have someone jump are on your dick or in your shit. Leads me to think the Johnson lies elsewhere. Don't know if the food is good or bad but my stomach fears there won't be enough.
So here I sit. Can't say I'm happy but can say I created my own problem and am now paying the price. Oh well, guess there's always a price to pay no matter what you do. Maybe it'll turn out for the best.
Archie
P.S. What you said a couple of years ago, about me and the Draft, was pretty much on the money. Got any wisdom for a fool who's on the short track to Vietnam?
Still have the letter and all the rest he sent. I wasn't thrilled he ended up in the Army. Vietnam's a war of stupidity. Not one a sane man would want to take part in. As to Archie's problem with the Draft Board, I was only guessing. Saying words that came out of nowhere. Probably the same place ideas come from. Out there, or in there somewhere on the other side of the invisible wall. You know, like the one you cross when you fall asleep. Guess I'll leave it there for now.
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