My dad, who was in the Marines during WWII and the Korean Confiict, and was a sergeant during the latter, gave me two pieces of advice about being in the military: One, never volunteer; and two, never volunteer. He also told me that if someone was a master chef in civilian life, for example, the Army would probably train him to be a truck driver… or vice-versa. Since I had always loved jeeps and trucks and was mechanically minded, he seemed to think it likely that I would be assigned as a cook.
In the late 1960s, with the Vietnam War growing grimmer every week, it was also likely that any healthy 18-year-old who didn’t have money for college would be drafted. If so, and according to my dad, that kid would have little choice about a specialty or assignment. Therefore, my decision to join up had nothing to do with serving in a war that even my father – with a Bronze Star and several Purple Hearts — didn’t believe in.
Those who did serve in the U.S. military during those times, whether willingly or not, may recall hours of aptitude tests in Basic followed by a flve-minute interview with an offlcer who decided your future assignment. This decision was supposedly based on your tested aptitudes, but was more likely infiuenced by whatever your particular branch of the service needed in the way of warm bodies that day.
After listening to what I liked to do, was good at doing, and hoped to do by way of serving my country, he
