1969.
I’m graduating soon and the draft notice just came in the mail. Things are sure a lot different now from when my mom decided in ‘62 to NOT to let me have my shoulder operation.
My injury was a severe dislocation.
Back then Viet Nam was just a few American advisors; no biggie.
Mom said, “Your brother was found to be 4F in ‘64 due to his asthma, but you’re an athlete so you probably won’t get a deferment.”
I was thinking when I graduated high school in ’65 that the military wouldn’t be so bad.
If I had the surgery I needed, I could have tried to compete in college…if only.
My friend Bob joined the Army right out of high school and didn’t get sent to Viet Nam.
He was sent to Georgia and learned computer maintenance.
Joe went into the Air Force and was sent to Germany, like Elvis.
But…that was ’65 and now it’s ‘69 and everyone’s going to the jungle and war.
I hope I get the deferment. I have testimony from my doctor for my trick shoulder.
Cousin Burt had three deployments, and was severely injured, then died on the job painting water towers.
Pat was killed in the jungle. So was Wendell.
They were my best friends at Palmer School and Iowa State.
*This piece was originally published in Writings from the Edge, September 2020, the in-house magazine of the Edgewater Library Writers Group, Chicago, Illinois
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