Story by Jon Stalnaker AKA The Studebaker Dude
I was in the military from 1970 through 1974. And, yes, we were fighting the war in Vietnam during that period of time. I served three years, eight months, and nine days, but before you go thanking me for my service, I was not a hero volunteering to serve my country. Back then, we had the draft and every young man that turned 18 years old had to sign up, like it or not. Most of us didn’t like it, but most of us did it because it was a requirement.
I don’t believe women ever had to register for the draft. I use the words young men and women loosely, but we were really just boys and girls transitioning to adulthood. We couldn’t even vote back then. You had to be 21 to vote or drink alcohol, but they could send us out to die at the tender young age of 18. That was our big argument for lowering the voting age to 18. They did that the year I turned 21, so I was first eligible to vote at the same time the 18-year-olds were eligible to vote. I was in the Air Force by that time.
After I graduated from high school, I was sent off to attend the DeVry Institute of Technology in Chicago to learn all about electronics, which seemed to be a wide-open field with lots of jobs available back then. That was 1969, when we still carried slide rules in our shirt pockets. Computers were around but they were not something you carried in your pockets.
It was while I was there that the government decided to have a draft lottery. We all watched the TV on December 1st as they drew birthday dates out of a tumbler like they draw numbers for the lottery these days. My birthday was drawn on the 22nd turn, so I was likely to get my draft notice relatively soon.
I decided to quit DeVry, go back home and try to enlist before they drafted me. Getting drafted was almost certainly going to get me an all paid trip to Vietnam, and I wasn’t too keen on that idea. I figured if I enlisted, I might be able to choose a duty assignment a little safer than the war zone. But I wouldn’t find that out until I made a commitment to serve.
My mother was all freaked out and offered to buy me a one-way ticket to Canada. As much as I didn’t want to go to war, I didn’t want to take the coward’s way out. When it came time to take me to the bus station to send me on my way, I saw my father cry. I didn’t understand that at the time. He served as a medic in the Philippines during WWII.
Now HE was a real hero. I’m told he ran all the way to the recruiting office to sign up when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Many years later, after serving and knowing friends that did go to war and didn’t return, I began to understand. He never talked about his military experience. It was after they came up with the term PTSD, that I really understood my father’s tears. And I understood why he drank himself to an early grave and why he never talked about it. I wish I could have had a conversation with him back then. Maybe it would have eased the torment he carried for the rest of his life.
However my plan to join a branch of the service that was less likely to send me to Southeast Asia worked for me. I came close to being sent to Thailand as three-quarters of my unit from Nellis AFB was. I had just received orders for RAF Upper Heyford in England when they moved me from A cell mobility to D cell. A, B, and C cells boarded the plane, and I was left behind feeling a little guilty that I wasn’t with them. Being in the military was the best thing that happened to me, and I am so glad that I served. I went in as a grown boy, quietly singing happy birthday to myself during basic training, and going back to civilian life, a man, after 3 years eight months and nine days.
I probably never would have served if it weren’t for the draft. I really believe that the draft should be reinstated as it was an experience that our youth are missing out on. The Volunteer Military is so unfair to the soldiers that are now serving. Instead of having to endure a year or two of combat duty, these brave souls are spending a majority of their careers in the war zone. It’s no wonder they are struggling when they get back. Those guys are the real heroes, and they deserve the “thank you for your service” from those that were spared having to do it.
But me, I was no hero, and I only joined because I had to. It turned out good for me and I appreciated the experience, but I cringe when someone thanks me for my service. I don’t feel that I deserve it, and therefore don’t like hearing it. So please save it for the real heroes, and that goes for the Police and Fire Fighters too. They are the ones that deserve it.
