Do You feel a Draft in Here

One fine day in the middle of the '60s The Kid received an officious looking letter.

It began, "Greetings..."

The photo to the left was basically The Kid's reaction.

The era of the "Kennedy Husbands" was over. President Johnson had rescinded Kennedy's directive against drafting married men for Vietnam. the Kid's number had come up.

The Kid had never tried to dodge the draft, and at one point very seriously considered enlisting. Things were a bit different at the time he thought about that, so let's jump in our Special DeLorean and do a little time travel.

In was the end of the '50s. The Kid had graduated high school and after a stint in a technical school and a couple of short-lived odd jobs was looking for permanent work. It wasn't easy going. Eisenhower's Presidential Term was winding down with a bit of a recession. Actually, it was to prove to be the most major recession between 1945 and 1970. Employers weren't exactly combing the alleyways and back fields for new hires, especially know-not-much-of-anything high school punks.

The Kid's friend, Ron (of the "Retired in Delaware Blog") was experiencing the same desert of desperation. Nowadays, Ron is an old goat too, so I don't know exactly what his memories of that time are, but here is the way this Old Goat recalls it. (I'm paraphrasing the conversation, I can't remember the exact words, but these are pretty close.)

The Kid's friend said to him one day, "I'm going to join the Navy. I've been talking with the recruiter and tomorrow I'm going to Coatesville and sign up."

"Why the Navy?"

"I want to get outta here, Kid. I want to see the world, travel to different places."

[To the right is Young Ron peering out to distant worlds...or something.]

A couple days later they got together again and Ron says, "I did it. I joined the Army."

"I thought you were joining the Navy?"

"I was, but when I went to meet the recruiter he was tied up. While I'm waiting this Army guy goes, 'Come here, kid', so I joined the Army."

"Why didn't you wait for the Navy guy? Why the Army?"

"Better looking uniforms."

"Better looking uniforms? Why didn't you join the Marines!!!"

[On the left is Ron in his "better looking uniform".]

"You know, Lar, why don't you join with me. They got this thing called "the Buddy System". You join with a friend and you go through everything together."

"I don't know...'

"Come on. You join, you get a private physical, you go to Boot camp together, everything."

The kid started thinking maybe it was a good idea. The job search thing was getting old and leading nowhere. There wasn't any war going on. The Kid had dutifully went into the local YMCA on his eighteenth birthday and registered for Selective Service, so why take the chance on the draft. Get it out of the way now and do it with someone he knew. The only thing about it that worried The Kid was his fear of heights. He had seen little clips at the movies of boot camp and all these recruits climbing this tower of logs, all the way to the tipsy-top, then over and down. That scared him some.

But he was a shy guy then and that "private physical" had a certain appeal. He'd talk to his parents. The Kid's parents said "No" to signing their approval (and parental permission was required for anyone under age 21 back then).

In the meantime, Ron ran into some medical problems along the way that delayed his actual getting into that "better looking uniform" and The Kid found a job.

Okay, back to the future. The Kid got married. He wanted Ron as best man, but his friend was in Training and couldn't get a pass home. The young married couple bought a house and lost a child and they had to sell the home, but then their income was improving and they were kind of settled in and comfortable when the "Greetings" and panic arrived.

The Kid didn't want to go in the Armed Forces now. There was a bloody war now! It was called Vietnam and it was becoming a mess. The Kid knew exactly where he was going to be headed once he was drafted and there was a good chance he could be killed.

And then he found himself on a dark Coatesville street with a bunch of strangers being handed a small Bible...

Coming Next: Walk Like a Duck

Walk Like a Duck

And then he found himself on a dark Coatesville street with a bunch of strangers being handed a small Bible...


In the mid-1960s The Kid got this letter that said, "Greetings". Somewhere within it he was told to be on this street corner in Coatesville at a very early hour of the morning.


So there he was and it was still dark out. He was milling nervously about, shaking a bit because it was chilly and he was a little nervous. Other young men kept arriving on the street corner and some paced along with him, others huddled along a building smoking and not a few cursed the hour and the cold.


Eventually a bus pulled to the curb and men shuffled toward its door. These two women appeared from somewhere, standing on each side of the line and as each man boarded they handed him a little book with a burgundy cover. It was a New Testament (King James Version). The Kid's stomach tightened. What were they going to do at the other end of this bus route? Ship him right from the bus door to the battlefield?


He stuck the little Bible in his back pocket.

The door hissed closed and the bus rumbled off to Philadelphia. It was pretty quiet inside. Everyone looked a bit glum. Some tried to sleep, some flipped through the New Testament, but no one said much of anything. By the time the bus pulled up at 401 North Broad Street in the city the sun had come up.


We were herded into a long room with benches down each side and told to sit. A uniformed man entered. He had sergeant stripes on his sleeve and a lot of hash marks below. His tone said he meant business and he told us to count off by twos. Then he gave instructions in that clipped, acronym-filled style of the military and the police. The Kid didn't understand half what he said, but caught enough to know his next step.


"At 800 hours, Number Ones will fall out and proceed to the yellow line to your left." or something like that.


When the clock reached 8:00 AM someone else (not in a uniform) came in and said, "Would number ones follow me."


They didn't fall in at any yellow line yet. Number ones were told to go in a room and take off everything but undershorts and socks and only then to line up at the yellow line, which the person pointed to. Number Ones were told they would have a physical exam this morning. Afterward they'd  be allowed time for lunch and at 1:00 in the afternoon would receive a mental test in room such and such.


The Kid undressed and placed his belongings in a basket that was placed on a shelf and locked. Now The Kid was thinking of his friend Ron getting that private examination several years earlier. His friend was done with his Army time now. He had been smart, had joined when the world was at relative peace and been honorably discharged before Vietnam became hot.


As The Kid lined up in his tighty-whities amidst a motley crew of men in various briefs and boxers, his mind flashed back to a similar embarrassment.

He had been a Boy Scout and one summer went to Camp Horseshoe with his troop. Upon arrival they were sent to this open tent and told to strip bare. The Kid didn't like to undress in front of others. He was shy and self-conscious about his body. At the time he was in the Scouts, he was at his adolescent most geeky period. He was tall, gangly and rib-showing skinny. He felt freaky enough fully dressed and the last thing he wanted was people staring at his naked scarecrow body. He never liked the gang showers at Junior High for this reason and this was worse, far worse.


(The Old Goat hates this picture, by the way. The Kid has this stupid grin planted on a head that looks like a balloon about to pop. And those knobby knees between those high-waist shorts and silly stockings -- ugh! The photo should have been burned decades ago.)


All we Scouts were lined up at the front of this tent with open sides, The Kid and all the rest starkers, in Full-Monty Mode, naked as Jay Birds -- get the picture. And the line stretched out across a grass patch in the open air where more Scouts were arriving with their moms and sisters and all kind of strangers who had no business viewing a bunch of boys in the all-together. IT WAS HUMILIATING! And The Kid nor Old Goat have ever understood why we were made to strip naked. When The Kid arrived at the doctor, who was seated on a stool, all he said was, "Spread your toes apart." The Doc bend forward and visibly examined The Kid's toes, declared him free of Athlete's Foot and sent him off to dress. WHY DID WE HAVE TO BE NAKED FOR THAT?!!!!


At least the Government was letting The Kid keep his shorts on. 


Now The Kid was thinking he might fail this exam. He didn't want to end up in Vietnam so he was depending on his physical flaws to save him. He was nearsighted with an astigmatism. He had been born with a damaged ear drum that caused him problems with distinguishing some words. He had also been born with a heart murmur. 


The exam was like a comedy routine, a joke. Did they test The Kid's hearing at all, the Old Goat can't remember. He can remember the eye test and this is no kidding.


"Step up to that line," said a guy in a white coat, presumably a doctor of some kind.


The Kid toed the mark.


"See that chart on the wall, " the Doc asked.


"Yes," said The Kid.


"Passed." said the Doc, "Move on."


The line snaked through various stations in this gym like room until they wended their way to a door at the rear. Here a dozen at a time were taken into a bright, white room where three men in white coats waited. These men walked about them. "Take off your shorts," one of these White Coats said. 


Oh, they must be going to examine our feet!


"Now I want you to squat down and walk like a duck to that end of the room and back again," said the White Coat .


Do you understand what a ridiculous sight that was. The Old Goat is glad his friend Ron wasn't there in those days with his ever present digital camera. Or worse, his Flip Video. The Kid would be a comedy act on YouTube today. 

It’s a hut, hut, quack, quack, quack.

I hear ‘Nam Ain't much fun,

But this here stethoscope

Is protecting my bun

From being shot, I hope.

You guys should have become docs

But today you’re Uncle Sam’s sitting ducks.

So-o-o-o,

Don’t think twice, boys, about

Being embarrassed

Don’t think twice, boys, about

Being embarrassed

Waddling across this floor

Bent over bare-assed.

It’s a hut, hut, quack, quack, quack.

                                            
From the play, "Life Ate My Homework"

                                            by Stuart & Larry

                                            Copyright 2005

                                            Lyrics of  "Duck Walk Blues"

At the end of this disgusting display, The Kid and his fellow featherless ducks were ordered to stand at attention while the White Coats circled them again. They were ordered to do another awkward act, which we will not describe here. One of the White Coats stopped behind The Kid.


"What's that on your shoulder, " he asked.




Next: Lunchtime Lunatics, Mental Morons and Final Fate.

Lunchtime Lunatic, Mental Moron and Final Fate.

One of the White Coats stopped behind The Kid. "What's that on your shoulder, " he asked.


The Kid had no idea to what he referred. he tried stretching his head about to see, but not being Plastic Man his neck only went so far. 


"This red spot," said the White Coat.


"Oh, I have psoriasis."

The Kid had discovered he had this disease one spring day when he was fifteen. Out between two tree along the gravel drive was a hammock. He and a girl named Suzy, the little sister of a friend who was visiting were sitting on it swinging back and forth when it tipped too far and flung them off. The Kid had landed first and Suzy came down rear-end first on his face. It was fortunate his glasses didn't break. 


He lifted her aside and began to pull himself up, which bunched his short sleeve against his shoulder.  Suzy said he had some kind of rash under his arm. The Kid went inside and looked in a mirror and sure enough there was a strange circle of red splotches lining his arm pit.  (Suzy pictured on right.)


The 1950s were sometimes innocent and sometimes ignorant days when it came to certain subjects. The Kid felt some panic. He was in Tenth Grade and once a week he had Health, taught by the gym teacher, a former Marine Drill Sergeant. Boys and girls were segregated for health for one of the issues touched upon was, dare I say it, sex.


There were two things The Old Goat still recalls from that Health Class. One was the Gym Teacher telling us if we ever felt overpowered by our feelings for a girl, we should go out behind the barn and take care of it ourself.  The Kid was so naive he didn't know what the man was talking about. (Now, just because The Kid had been getting men's magazines to look at pictures of naked ladies didn't mean he knew much. He was like the dog that chased cars. If it ever caught one, it wouldn't know what to do with it.)


The other thing was the Gym Teacher talked a lot about catching a "Social Disease". You didn't want to catch a "Social Disease". That was a pretty dire and dirty thing to happen to you. The Kid stood looking at that rash in the mirror and thought he had a "Social Disease".


Why or how didn't occur to him. He'd never had sex, scarcely had done much kissing of girls, and even if he had been engaged in any such promiscuous activities, what were they that he was afflicted under his arm?


None the less he kept it secret from his parents until one day a splotch appear on his wrist and everyone saw and he ended up diagnosis with Psoriasis.


The Kid didn't have it bad in those days. It'd become pretty extensive for The Old Goat, but for The Kid it was only an occasional spot that would pop out here or there. At the time of the Physical he thought he was completely clear, but it turned out there was a small splotch upon his shoulder blade he hadn't noticed. 


The White Coat made a note on a clip board he carried and the group was dismissed.  It was proving a long day and rigorous day at 401 North Broad Street in Philadelphia and he was just wrapping up phase one, the Physical. The Kid stood at the last station, totally naked (except socks which some how make it worse), after various pokings, probings and being stared at. So far all he heard was, "passed". No one had tested his hearing and apparently only total blindness was considered a fail at the vision station, if even that, and no one had detected a blip of his heart murmur. 


The kid was told to get dressed and take a lunch break. He was instructed to report to room such-and-such at 1:00 Pm for the Mental Exam.


He mulled this over during lunch. It looked like he had aced the physical and he didn't think he'd be flunking the mental test unless he faked it. It wasn't in his nature to do that nor was he interested in dodging the draft. The Kid didn't want to go to Vietnam, but it didn't look like there was any way around that trip. The war was growing into a quagmire and if a guy could walk and chew gum at the same time he was bound off as cannon fodder.


After eating there was time on his hands. He wandered about the lobby of the building. Over to one side was a group of guys surrounding a young African-American who was talking animately.  The Kid guessed the fellow was in his teens and as he came closer he heard the guy saying he was still in high school and tired of it.

"I'm sick of that school stuff, man. I gettin' out. Already got my parent's permission. I'm not taking that [expletive] no more, man. I'm tired of people tellin' me what to do all the time. Do this, do that. I leavin' that [expletive], man. I'm not gonna have nobody tellin' me what to do."


"What are you joining?', one of the other men asked him.


"The Marines," said the teen.


And The Kid walked away laughing and laughing.


At 1:00 The Kid took a seat at a desk in another room. A booklet was passed down the aisles and they were instructed to answer as many questions as they could. Next to him was a large fellow, rugged, greasy hair. 


"How many [expletive] pages in this thing," the guy grumbled. He reached over and tapped The Kid's arm. "You help me out if I need it. I wanna get in, go kill some of those [expletive] [derogatory term]."


"Start," said the instructor and The Kid flipped open to the first page. 


The questions for the most part were multiple choice and not exactly rocket science. For instance, there was a picture of a Claw Hammer and you were to pick one of four answers:


                                    Screwdriver
                                    Wrench
                                    Hammer
                                    Saw


The kid had been lousy in school shop, but not that lousy he didn't know a hammer from a saw. 


Next to him the large guy was moaning and cursing every time he flipped a page. "How the [expletive] would I know that." He would poke across the aisle at The Kid. "Hey, move a little so I can see your paper."


The kid encircled his page with his arm. 


The large guy cursed.


"When the large hand is on the 45 and the small hand is on the 2, it is:


                          Midnight
                          Noon
                          4:15
                          2:45"
"[Expletive]," growled the large guy.


Yeah, The Old Goat is exaggerating the questions a little, but not much. That Hammer question was there. 


After the papers were passed back, everyone was directed to a large waiting area full of folding chairs. There was a desk at the front with a couple people at it. Every few minutes one of these people would call a name.  


Eventually The Kid's name was called and he was sent down a hallway. There in an alcove sat a man behind a desk who motioned for him to sit. The man flipped open a folder.


"You did very well on the mental test, scored very high."


All the kid could do was nod his head. 


"Physical was pretty good as well." That cinched it, Vietnam here comes The Kid. "We did find some slight hypertension. Were you aware of this?"


He shook his head. Back with he was in Junior High a doctor in his home town had found his blood pressure elevated, but that had been the only time. No one since had found any rise.


"This may have been a result of the situation. I would suggest you have it checked out though."


The kid nodded.


"Now..." the man paused to read something in the folder. "We found some psoriasis on your right shoulder. Were you aware of having psoriasis."


The Kid nodded.


"I'm afraid right now we can't take anyone who has psoriasis." The Kid perked up. "It isn't contagious, as you know; however, it is considered a risk in battle conditions.  If you should have a situation where you were compelled to scratch, it could expose a position.


"So, you are being classified as 1-Y


"Now what that means is this. You are found to be physically fit enough to serve, but you have a condition we consider could be detrimental to your safety and the safety of others in certain situations. For now, 1-Y classifications are not being accepted for induction. Of course, if troop conditions warranted in the future, you could still be called upon to serve."

And with that The Kid's military career came to an end without a beginning. He caught the bus back to Coatesville with the men he had arrived with. A few of these were pleased that they would soon be in the Armed Force, but more were looking downcast or glum about their current status. The Kid was feeling relief.


Apparently, despite the constant increases in Vietnam troop levels over the ensuing years, they never reached the bottom of the barrel for The Kid never heard from Uncle Sam again.

To Friends and Family, Memorial Day 2009

This is Memorial Day 2009. I am thankful and grateful to all those who ever served out country to keep us free. Here are some of my friends and family who did their part.

I was never in the Armed Services. My friend Ron, pictured here in the early days of his three years of Army duty, wanted me to join when he did, but my parents would not sign. (In those days you had to be 21 or you had to have parental permission. I was only 18.)

Ron had a medical problem when he first tried to join, but he had it fixed and a year later he went in and served honorably. Although he had joined "to see the world" all his assignments were state side.

I was called up in the mid-sixties, a couple years after Ron mustered out. It was at the height of Vietnam, but I was classified as 1-Y because of my psoriasis and was never called to serve.

Not long after I was rejected for induction, my friend Joe was drafted along with his twin brother. His brother, John, served his time in Kansas, but Joe was sent to Vietnam, where he performed with valor. 

Joe exposed himself to enemy fire to allow the rescue of his platoon and was wounded in the process. He won the Bronze Star with Three Oak Leaf Clusters, Battalion Presidential Citation, Five Air Metals, Vietnam National metals and the Purple Heart. 

My dad, William, served with the Navy throughout World War II.

He served upon a destroyer escort in the South Pacific, where he caught malaria.

A destroyer escort's duty was to scout out submarines.

At one point, while tided up to an ammunition ship, his ship came under a kamikaze attack.

My dad's youngest brother, Uncle Francy, served with the Army in the campaigns in Italy during WWII.

Dad's other brother, my Uncle Ben, was in the Air Corps during WWII. he had quite a record:

 The Distinguished Flying Cross has been awarded to S/Sgt. Benjamin F. , of Modena, for "extraordinary achievement in aerial combat."  The announcement was made by Major General James P. Hodges, Commanding General of the Liberator Bombardment Division at an Eighth Air Force station in England.  He is a gunner on a B-24 Liberator heavy bomber and has already participated in 30 bombing missions over Germany and enemy occupied Europe.  The sergeant is the son of Mrs. Florence B. , of Modena.  In civilian life he was employed as a paper machine operator.  He entered the army August 1, 1942 and later received his combat training at Wendover Field, Utah. Sgt. Ben has been overseas since March 11, 1944.  Besides the DFC, he also holds the Air Metal with three Oak Leaf Clusters to his credit.  Coatesville Record. 8/10/1944.

Twice awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, the highest aviation honor given American airmen, the Air Metal, next highest honor, with five Oak Leaf Clusters, signifying recognition of six separate occasions, the Bronze Star, awarded for heroic achievement over western Europe, the ETO campaign ribbon and the Good Conduct Metal, S/Sgt. Benjamin F. , son of Mrs. Florence , of Modena, has been honorably discharged from the U. S. Army.  A tail gunner on a B-24, Sgt. Ben has flown 35 combat missions with a total of 240 combat hours in the ETO.  A modest hero, reluctant to talk of his service in the ETO, Sgt. Ben, who didn't think people would be interested in his discharge, carefully explained that he didn't do anything special for his awards, adding "they just gave them to me."  A graduate of Coatesville High in the class of 1940, Sgt. Ben was employed by the Beach and Arthur Paper Company, Modena, before his induction.  Coatesville Record. 10/24/1945

My two daughters both joined the Services. laurel served briefly with the Air Force in a MedVac Unit, but was discharged for medical reasons. 

Noelle served just over eight years in the Army Reserves and had two deployments during the war on Terror.

In 2003, right after the first bomb dropped, she landed with her unit in Iraq and served there for a year. 

The photo was taken in Iraq during that time.

In 2005, she volunteered for a special deployment to the Horn of Africa with the Joint Task Force Against Terrorism under Marine command.

Noelle was award several metals during her service, including two Army Commendation Metals and a Joint Task Force Achievement metal.

below are the two Army Commendation Metal certificates and the Joint Task Force Achievement metal Certificate she was awarded.

Bullies and Tyrants and Bush, Oh My!

Bullies and Tyrants and Bush, Oh, My!

(Some actual names have been changed to protect the elderly. These pseudonyms appear in bold.-- Larry)

When I was in high school there was the Feeney Gang, five guys led by Freddie Feeney. These were the real Fonzies of our world, not the gold-hearted thug of Happy Days. They always wore motorcycle boots and black leather jackets over white T-shirts. A pack of camels rolled in the sleeve of the Tee. They carved their girlfriend’s name in the their forearm with a penknife. I guess Freddie was leader by the virtue of this act and the endurance of pain it required. The other guys had girls with name like Pat, Sue, Jan, but his girl was Veronica.

I knew other kids in school who drank, kids who smoked, kids who had sex with skanks, kids who were cheats and bullies, and kids who stole, but the Feeney gang did it all and then some. Feeney members were the only kids I ever had knowledge of doing drugs, some having been busted in the parking lot of the Sunnybrook Ballroom during a Dick Clark Sock Hop. Apparently they were let off with a warning. Drugs were not yet considered a reality in suburbia.

These guys terrorized the rest of us. They were always threatening, always stealing, always ready to “get” you. We knew they carried weapons, knew they would use those weapons, too, although they kept these hidden on their bodies. No guns, that wasn’t the thing back in the day, although they may have had a “rod” sequestered in their hot rods. One did bring a rifle into school once.  I believe he got (oh it must have been so horrid for him) a three-day suspension. They did carry knives. Penknives in their pockets, still most of we boys had penknives, but they had bigger and meaner knives down their boot or strapped inside their clothes.

Although this gang chose General as their course of study (which was in reality the choice of all those who did not want to study), the school administration, in their great wisdom, though the way to contain such lads was to disperse them (as a group no less) through classes attended by the rest of us.  Thus one might walk into a math class or an English class and find the Feeney Boys, usually with their girl on their lap and their hand’s up her blouse, just laughing and having a good ol’ time.

One couldn’t learn in any Feeney infested classroom.  They would be snickering, glaring, cracking-wise, pushing books off desks, goosing people unfortunate enough to be seated before them and otherwise totally disrupting order. Very few teachers ever had the guts to stop them, but what difference did it make when one did? They would be sent to the Principal, perhaps given detention, perhaps even suspended, but soon they would be back in class trusted to reform because they had promised to do so.

Most of these guys dropped out by twelfth grade, which was the only thing that relieved us of them; however, you still didn’t want to run into them in the parking lot after a dance or on an empty street somewhere. I believe one finally went to jail for stabbing some kid after some function.  A bit too late for the kid stabbed. These guys were allowed to torture and terrorize their fellow students because those in authority refused to crack down on them, constantly allowing them to continue as they were in the hope these guys would reform and on the basis of their promise they would. These guys laughed at authority and thought the administration was a joke.

There were three ways for a student to survive with the Feeney Gang. One was to completely avoid them. Since in a school our size that was virtually impossible, there were in actuality only two ways to survive. One was the Neville Chamberlain approach – appeasement. This generally meant if you met a Feeney you handed over your lunch money or whatever else they might ask for and you took their punches, shoves and verbal abuse with a smile.
The other way was to beat the tar out of them. There were a few guys in school tough enough and brave enough to do just that and these guys the Feeneys generally left alone.  I was fortunate enough to be a close friend of one of those guys, so the Feeneys basically left me alone too.  But woe to the weakest students.

This is exactly how I view people like Saddam Hussein.

A couple of months ago I though a war might not be necessary, that Saddam could be contained by diligence and the threat of attack.  Now I think a war is necessary because of those countries that have decided to ignore Hussein’s defiance in favor of their own pride or monetary deals with Iraq. If the world had stood side-to-side against him, clicked their heels together so to speak, Saddam may have cracked and brought out the weapons his continued defiance so clearly indicates he has.  However, even then I doubt he would completely empty his footlocker; although, he may have made a show of destroying enough to set him back a few more years, and then perhaps before he could restock he would die.

Saddam may feel time is on his side and with a few more empty gestures and meaningless promises he can escape this mess unscathed. I believe his foolish posturing guarantee a war and soon.  We’re at a point I don’t think Saddam leaves us much choice.

Of course this all has caused a vocal split and we are treated to highly televised peace marches by the usual suspects (John Lennon’s song groupies singing “Give Peace a Chance” or “Imagine” and the opportunistic Reverend Jesse Jackson jumping into the fray to try to regain some public presence again).
We also hear this mantra that we are going in alone.  This is not really true, but who wants to hear that we have far more of Europe aligned with us than against us. Not that this matters anymore. We are at a juncture in history where we must move forward with this come what may or perhaps face grave consequences for our delay. Then again, perhaps we will face grave consequences as a result of going to war, but at this point I think the choice has been made to charge ahead. Who knows where either decision will lead.

Our politicians always end their speeches anymore with the phrase, “God bless America.”

I think it is time to end these things with the phrase, “God help us all.”