I wore a little round "Make Love Not War button" on my shirts from 1963 until 1972. It had the original peace symbol, the one that came from the British anti-nuclear movement. It was first displayed on signs on a march that included MLK in 1958.
I like “Imagine”. Joined the Navy at 19. I was completely lost and a bit out of control. Just a soul wandering. I couldn’t commit to anything and had no self-discipline. The Navy helped turn me around. I surely didn’t know I would end up seeing Vietnam and combat. Anyway you never know where life will take you. Love trumps hate and have a good day.
I am an “old fart”. During Viet Nan, I was fortunate to have a higher draft number, 235, and a college deferment, 2S. Despite that, I went to our local draft board the first part of December that year and dropped my deferment, which immediately made me 1A. But three weeks later a new year began, I was then placed in a new draft group because it showed I had been able to be drafted with my 1A status during the first draft call ups the previous year. What that meant and why I did it in the first place was that our county’s draft quota had already been filled the first year I made myself eligible. Our county’s obligation had stopped at 180. With new year, it meant they had to go all the way through 366 numbers (leap year added a day) and back up to my number 235 before I would could get called up. It meant at that time they would have called up over 250,000 draftees to get to my number. And as my draft board lady said, “If numbers need get that high, no one’s deferment will do them any good and all able bodied men will be going. In other words we can all bend over and kiss our ass goodbye.” So I was in a pretty safe place with the draft, all legally done. I had many friends go, however, and some close friends came home physically damaged, and one mentally. Later I worked with one that was a “tunnel rat”, one of the worst assignments ever. He had to crawl into tunnels looking for the enemy and hope the tunnel was not booby trapped. He claimed he had to go in a few times and pull out bodies after explosions took their lives. He was a mental case for the rest of his life.
In 1972 Nixon pulled the troops out, one of them my brother-in-law, a Navy helicopter pilot. His stories are for another time.
So when you used the term “old fart”, it triggered this memory from my youth because I am one. Today I honor all people who have served and continue to serve. It is their choice to do this. It was not for my father, or his two brothers during WII. My father served in the European Theatre. Came back in one piece but never talked about his experience. His older brother did not come back, having died in a plane crash in England. His younger brother never got out of the states.
But when the war was over, my dad came home and made love and fathered three children.
Thank you, Old Coach, for the memories. I was born in England in July between VE Day and VJ Day 1945 so am now 78. Your story reminded me of my darling Mum who lost her beloved fiancé when his plane crashed on a practice flight early in the War. She married my father, another dashing airman, perhaps a bit too soon thereafter. My sister was born in October of 1943. Mum kept a picture of Windham close by for the rest of her life (even after a subsequent divorce and remarriage) and I recently found his letters to her.
After my mother and father had both passed we found letters my father wrote to my mother during his two years in the service. Considering he was 18-20 years old when he wrote those, we were never told of them. But later when discovered, we were allowed to see a different side of my father that we never saw of him while we were growing up and into our adulthood. My father never, well very rarely, talked about his experiences while in the service, unless it was a more “fun” side of the war. He kept it to himself. He once said concerning guns, “I fired rifles during the war; I don’t need to do that again”. And he never did. One of those fun things, though, was very soon after he arrived in Belgium he asked his commanding officer if he could take one of the company’s truck to England to see his brother’s grave near Alconbury (not sure which American cemetery it was). He was told that he could but if he had an accident, or was caught doing this, his commander said he would disavow any knowledge of his plan. His fellow company members found out what he was doing and where he was going, and upon realizing he was going through France, they gave him a pile of money to bring back as much cognac that he could buy on the return trip. He saw his brother’s grave, shed a lot of tears, turned around and returned to his company. With a truck load of Cognac. Instant hero to his company, even though he himself did not drink. He ended up being the designated driver most nights out on the town. The only story I heard him share about his experiences.
Again, thank you for the story. Hope that message about guns can be passed on. Asha Rangappa’s Freedom Academy Book Club selection “Gun Country” goes into detail about America’s problem. Scary reading.
I wore a little round "Make Love Not War button" on my shirts from 1963 until 1972. It had the original peace symbol, the one that came from the British anti-nuclear movement. It was first displayed on signs on a march that included MLK in 1958.
https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/evolution-peace-sign-vetra-stephens#:~:text=The%20peace%20symbol%20debuted%20on,to%2DAldermaston%20march%20in%201958.
Thanks for the memory. “Give Peace A Chance” eh?
I like “Imagine”. Joined the Navy at 19. I was completely lost and a bit out of control. Just a soul wandering. I couldn’t commit to anything and had no self-discipline. The Navy helped turn me around. I surely didn’t know I would end up seeing Vietnam and combat. Anyway you never know where life will take you. Love trumps hate and have a good day.
I am an “old fart”. During Viet Nan, I was fortunate to have a higher draft number, 235, and a college deferment, 2S. Despite that, I went to our local draft board the first part of December that year and dropped my deferment, which immediately made me 1A. But three weeks later a new year began, I was then placed in a new draft group because it showed I had been able to be drafted with my 1A status during the first draft call ups the previous year. What that meant and why I did it in the first place was that our county’s draft quota had already been filled the first year I made myself eligible. Our county’s obligation had stopped at 180. With new year, it meant they had to go all the way through 366 numbers (leap year added a day) and back up to my number 235 before I would could get called up. It meant at that time they would have called up over 250,000 draftees to get to my number. And as my draft board lady said, “If numbers need get that high, no one’s deferment will do them any good and all able bodied men will be going. In other words we can all bend over and kiss our ass goodbye.” So I was in a pretty safe place with the draft, all legally done. I had many friends go, however, and some close friends came home physically damaged, and one mentally. Later I worked with one that was a “tunnel rat”, one of the worst assignments ever. He had to crawl into tunnels looking for the enemy and hope the tunnel was not booby trapped. He claimed he had to go in a few times and pull out bodies after explosions took their lives. He was a mental case for the rest of his life.
In 1972 Nixon pulled the troops out, one of them my brother-in-law, a Navy helicopter pilot. His stories are for another time.
So when you used the term “old fart”, it triggered this memory from my youth because I am one. Today I honor all people who have served and continue to serve. It is their choice to do this. It was not for my father, or his two brothers during WII. My father served in the European Theatre. Came back in one piece but never talked about his experience. His older brother did not come back, having died in a plane crash in England. His younger brother never got out of the states.
But when the war was over, my dad came home and made love and fathered three children.
Thank you, Old Coach, for the memories. I was born in England in July between VE Day and VJ Day 1945 so am now 78. Your story reminded me of my darling Mum who lost her beloved fiancé when his plane crashed on a practice flight early in the War. She married my father, another dashing airman, perhaps a bit too soon thereafter. My sister was born in October of 1943. Mum kept a picture of Windham close by for the rest of her life (even after a subsequent divorce and remarriage) and I recently found his letters to her.
After my mother and father had both passed we found letters my father wrote to my mother during his two years in the service. Considering he was 18-20 years old when he wrote those, we were never told of them. But later when discovered, we were allowed to see a different side of my father that we never saw of him while we were growing up and into our adulthood. My father never, well very rarely, talked about his experiences while in the service, unless it was a more “fun” side of the war. He kept it to himself. He once said concerning guns, “I fired rifles during the war; I don’t need to do that again”. And he never did. One of those fun things, though, was very soon after he arrived in Belgium he asked his commanding officer if he could take one of the company’s truck to England to see his brother’s grave near Alconbury (not sure which American cemetery it was). He was told that he could but if he had an accident, or was caught doing this, his commander said he would disavow any knowledge of his plan. His fellow company members found out what he was doing and where he was going, and upon realizing he was going through France, they gave him a pile of money to bring back as much cognac that he could buy on the return trip. He saw his brother’s grave, shed a lot of tears, turned around and returned to his company. With a truck load of Cognac. Instant hero to his company, even though he himself did not drink. He ended up being the designated driver most nights out on the town. The only story I heard him share about his experiences.
Again, thank you for the story. Hope that message about guns can be passed on. Asha Rangappa’s Freedom Academy Book Club selection “Gun Country” goes into detail about America’s problem. Scary reading.