When I entered high school guys had to take gym or Reserved Officer Training Corp (ROTC). I chose the later. Since conscription was still active I reasoned that it would be better to enter as an officer than a private.
There were parts of the program that I didn’t mind. I enjoyed learning to take apart an M-16 and shooting it on the firing range. I became a descent marksman. I didn’t even mind the drills (marching). I hated standing at attention and parade rest. Too Tiring. I doubt I had ever stood in one place that long in my life. The first year was uneventful, even routine. I was at the bottom of the heap and all I had to do was follow and listen to the yelling and screaming. The hardest ones to understand were the screamers. Turn the volume down. None f us were deaf.
In the second year I became a corporal and a squad leader. All it meant was I stood at the head of my line of six or seven guys (can’t remember the exact number). The student officers gave all the orders. However, they continued to remind squad leaders we were I was in charge. In charge of what? We basically did nothing. That’s unfair. There were times I helped with their uniform, or parts of the drill, getting ready for inspection, and learning to break down the rifle. My biggest concern was that I had Steven in my squad, and he was autistic. I always worried about him during inspection. He had an awful time presenting his rifle for inspection and was screamed at all the time. He could open the bolt just fine, but needed help at times sticking his thumb in the spring release to close the bolt (forgive me, the correct terminology escapes me). He could not always do it. Often he would become fearful. Even when he did do it, he didn’t to it correctly because he jumped and backed up a step. “Stay at attention.” He couldn’t. I was concerned that during some inspection when no one was permitted to help him that he would get his finger caught.
Well, it happened near the end of my second year. He was at the tail end of my squad when I heard the bolt hit flesh and then the blood-curdling scream. I was not to move, but I turned my head to see blood squirting out of the M-16. There were no adults present and the student officers stood there laughing. They did not make a move to help him. I could not take the neglect. I broke rank, when down and got the rifle off his thumb, pulled my hanky out and wrapped his thumb as best I could. While I was attending to Steven student officers were leaning over me yelling, no screaming at me for breaking rank. I never looked at them deciding my squad member was more important. I took Steven by the shoulder and lead him to the nurse.
The only discipline dished out went to me for breaking rank during a formal inspection. When I attempted to explain why I did it, I was told not to speak unless asked. Nothing happened to the student officers. I don’t even know it the Army Sergeant in charge knew exactly what happened. I doubted the student officers told him, and I was never permitted to speak. Steam came out the top of my head. This kid should have been excused from ROTC and gym. He just wanted to fit in and no adjustment was made for him.
That soured me on ROTC (Rotten Old Tin Cans) and I did not return the following year. If I were taken into the army, I would not be an officer but a grunt. I feared the military might be too much like ROTC. I did not like that one bit. We were kids playing at army, nothing but 14-15 year-olds fulfilling a school requirement. We were not in the Army. His thumb was broken. Actually the bone was not severed only cracked but a cast on was put on his hand. Go figure, he was proud of that cast and wanted the squad and student officers to sign it. I shook my head.
I gave up paying attention to ROYC and completely missed the draft card registration deadline. Nurse Ratchet handled my processing when I finally went to register and blasted me up one side and down the other. ”You broke the law. You did not register by the deadline. You are going to Vietnam. You will probably die in Vietnam” Doomed again. The story of my life! Not only did I break the law I was also going to die in Vietnam. Where was Vietnam? I knew, but at that point, I didn’t care. I certainly wasn’t excited my prospects. I was scared.
I went on to be a student at the University of Omaha where my dreams of becoming an architect were crashing to the ground. No only was Nurse Ratchet going to do her best to see that I was sent to Vietnam, I was about to muster out of architecture. Not being in college was a surefire way to visit a foreign country at the government’s expense. There would be no guarantee of a return trip. ROTC would probably tell them I liked shooting an M-16 and was clearing good enough to be sent to the front line They would need to beef up my skinny little body. Little did I know, that God was going to send me to Canada, but that story is a few years later! Let’s save it.
What I did finalize in my mind was that I identified as the little guy, the underdog, and those at the bottom of the totem pole. We were mostly timid, shy, nervous, lost and confused. Limited courage. I identified with kids like that because I was one of them. I have never been interested in the powerful, the wealthy, or the controllers of this world. I cared about the downtrodden and it all started in my contacts with Austin and Robert and solidified with Steven. Helping Steven was out of character.
How could people treat another human being with such contempt? They were all innocent. Steven beat us all; he got a full scholarship to MIT.
Proof that I was in ROTC.
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