How I Dodged the Draft
The other day marked the 39th anniversary (if you want to call it that) of my entry into the U.S. Navy. What this means (besides almost nothing) is that I could have been retired now for 19 years! That sounds good, until considering the fact that I would have had to spend an additional 16 years in the Navy. I never considered that an option.
I truly lived out the old cliche¢ of “joining the Navy and seeing the world.” Up until the point I left for Great Lakes Naval Training Center (boot camp), my world consisted of about a 170-mile radius, although the distended blob of my travels looked like anything but a perfect circle. I eclipsed that record on the train, somewhere in Pennsylvania.
During my four years, I managed to visit 16 countries, sort of. Yes, I was actually there, but a couple of places, such as Guam and Okinawa, consisted of standing around while waiting to change planes, or waiting for the plane to be fueled, or something like that. Malta was another story. I stayed aboard ship in Valletta, not by choice, exactly. Actually, I was given a choice, and staying aboard ship seemed like the better option.
I was also treated to a full year’s stay in the lush, tropical paradise of Vietnam, riding boats up and down scenic rivers, and except for the little detail of a war going on somewhere over there, the rivers were very scenic indeed. For some reason, the enemy never figured out we were there, or so it seemed. Supposedly they shot at us once, and we were too stupid to realize it until the crew of a PBR pulled alongside and informed us, but the shots were coming from about a mile across the river, so it was one of those, “Okay, if you say so,” things. We were awarded the Combat Action Ribbon for that little episode, and I would have been embarrassed to wear it, except that it was quite nice looking. It also caught me a break now and then during inspections, after rejoining the regular (non-Vietnam) Navy.
Not being the heroic type, I didn’t exactly volunteer for Vietnam duty. I spent some time off the coast, on the U.S.S. Kitty Hawk, during the prior war season. I didn’t, however like my particular situation, especially concerning one supervisor, so I requested a transfer. The division officer told me that he would approve my request, but if he did, I would probably get orders to Vietnam. Again, it just seemed like the better option, and there was always the chance that I would be needed more in Philadelphia, or at least, that’s what I figured.
I arrived in Vietnam on a commercial flight, because my schedule was inconsistent with the Navy’s, and I showed up a few days’ late. The legal officer noticed the discrepancies on my expense report, so I guess you could say it cost me $175.00 for the comfort of a PanAm flight, instead of a regular military flight. That bothered me a little, because I was amassing a history of missing scheduled flights. I showed up five days’ late for the Kitty Hawk, but I really missed the flight by only an hour or two. I had to wait around Travis Air Force Base for five days, shooting pool, before they gave up and put me on a Northwest Orient flight. (Is it now Northwest Asian?) Anyway, everybody pretty much just shrugged and said, “Well, at least you finally got here.” I expected similar treatment in Danang.
I also missed out on their first attempt at putting me through Fire Fighting School. They even flew me off the Kitty Hawk for the occasion, and I don’t recommend that to anyone except dyed-in-the-wool thrillseekers! So the same division officer who later approved my transfer, said, “So you didn’t go to fire fighting school?” I told him I didn’t, and he said, “Oh,” and that was that. By that time, I was figuring that I could pretty much work out my own schedule for things, so you can see why I wondered about them raising such a fuss when I showed up “fashionably late” in Vietnam.
Okay, so I wasn’t exactly a model sailor, as they say. My only reason for joining in the first place was to dodge the draft, and all things considered, it was, again, the better option. I think I managed to somehow do a few things right, at least once in awhile, but I was never really happy about being there.
Everything in life seems to be a bit of a tradeoff, and so it is with service in the military. I went many places, saw many things, and experienced many other things that no civilian will ever get to do. I went to evening college (sounds better than night school) on the G.I. Bill, but I would never call it “free.”
So, would I trade all of the tropical sunrises for spending the time back home, working a regular job? Probably, but I’d still have to think about it.