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Sad Memories - Vietnam Era

Fort Polk, Louisiana

Armed Forces Induction Center


Along with a graduating high school classmate, Joe, I enlisted in the US Army and began the transition to live and learn the ways of the Army. Had there been a crystal ball to predict that I would be spending two of my three-year enlistment in Vietnam, I might've joined the masses crossing that northern border to escape Vietnam military life. There were no crystal balls to be had.

It was the processing station in San Antonio where I first had my first exposure to the US Army and its no-nonsense, all-business ways. “Welcome to the induction and processing center,” said a soldier with stripes on his sleeve. At that time I was unfamiliar with the meaning of sleeve stripes and rank. 

“You will be processing as a group, you will do as told, and you will not leave your group once you walk out of this room. Now, if anyone needs to drain his snake, do it now. You will not have another chance once you leave this room.” Some weak-bladder three of the sixty-plus men walked out to ‘drain their snakes’. Once reassembled, we were led down a hallway where a group of white uniformed medics took blood samples, checked vitals, and asked basic medical history. When done with the medic team, we entered individual rooms where a doctor with stethoscope took over and did his doctor thing. “Your blood pressure seems rather high,” said the doctor. I’ll check it again when you’re done processing.” My first thought was that I might be rejected, and I had no backup plan since college was not an option for me back then. With my mind at warp speed thinking of options if I were rejected, a plan began to develop but ever so slowly. Ms. McCarty, my high school English teacher who took a special interest in me had once mentioned she co-owned two shrimp boats in Port Isabel. Maybe I could ask her to put in a good word and get me a position on one of her boats. I desperately needed a backup plan.

We went through a series of tests and interviews to include hearing chamber test, color-blind test, and vision exam. I learned then that I had a condition called Myopia (or nearsightness). I was issued reading glasses in basic training. We had gone through the whole process wearing nothing but underwear and socks. At the end of the induction physical was the booty check. “Ok, men, we’ll be checking you for hemorrhoids at this station, and we’re doing it in groups. I want half of you men with your toes touching that line and the other half facing with toes touching that other line.” Everyone complied, and we were now two lines of men facing each other.

“Okay, drop your shorts, bend over and grab your ankles. These medics will be checking you for hemorrhoids. When they tap you on your back, stand and put your shorts back on but stay in place.” Everyone did as told. One of the men apparently had hemorrhoids and a side conference was held with a medic and the doctor. Meanwhile, the person was still holding on to his ankles. The doctor took a quick look at him and commanded him to stand and put his shorts back on. Except for hemorrhoid-man, we all filed out back to our starting point and began to get dressed. A medic came looking for “O-gee-da”. I presented myself, and he escorted me back to the doctor who wanted to recheck my blood pressure. “That’s much better,” the doctor said. “I suppose the anxiety of this place elevated your blood pressure initially, but you’re good to go.”.

I went back to the assembly room where some six men were seated, and we waited for further instructions. Then we waited and waited - and waited. Occasionally, one or two other men joined our group. And we waited. That was the first exposure I had to the Army’s ‘Hurry up and Wait’ concept. A soldier with stripes on his sleeves walked in and announced, “Okay, men, I’m going to be calling out names. Anyone whose name I call, line up in the hallway. Those I don’t call will keep your seats.”.

My friend, Joe's, and my name were called, and we joined the group of men in the hallway. The stripes sergeant led us to another room and ordered us to sit. A lieutenant addressed the group with, “Okay, men, this will be your swearing-in. Once you’re sworn in, you belong to the US Army. Now before I swear you in, is there anyone in the group that doesn’t think he belongs here?” Nobody raised their hand.

“Is there anyone here who failed to disclose an arrest, warrant or been convicted of a crime. Now that doesn’t mean traffic tickets. We all have those. Anyone?”

One of the men raised his hand and announced, “I was arrested for a crime, but I was not convicted.”

“And what was the crime, and did you spend any time in jail?” Lieutenant asked.

“It was assault and battery. I spent some three weeks in jail waiting for the trial. They dropped the charges, and I was released.

The lieutenant directed a sergeant to accompany assault-and-battery man to be further interviewed by some other officer then addressed our group telling us, “Now I will be swearing you all in as a group. Just repeat the oath, and when I get to the part that says ‘name’, just state your full name."

I, (NAME), do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.

The oath was completed, and the lieutenant announced, “Okay, men, you are now soldiers in the United States Army.” He then walked out and left us with what I learned later on was a Specialist Fourth Class. The Sp4 provided us with a schedule of events to take place including a time and place where a bus would pick us up early that next morning to transport us to Fort Polk, Louisiana, for the start of our next new adventure – Basic Training.


 

. . . On the Draft


“I think how veterans are treated in our country is an abomination. We don't have the draft any more, which is why so many soldiers come from working-class - rather than middle or high-income families. Those wealthier families aren't affected, so they're not agitating for change." - Laurie Halse Anderson, American Writer

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