Good evening, 919 Gang. All this talk about military service got me to thinking about some of the people I knew in the Army. Snooping around today, I learned that our company commander died a couple of years ago.
His name was James Tate III, but we shortened that and called him Jimmy 3. No, never to his face. I could drink beer with some of the lieutenants, and we could go on picnics with our wives, but they were ROTC products. Jimmy 3 was Regular Army, and he played it by the book. We understood and respected that. He was slender, at least 6-feet-2, and he was Black. That alone made him memorable because he was the only Black officer in the entire battalion.
He did two tours in Vietnam, earned a bronze star and retired as a lieutenant colonel. In retirement he worked as an intelligence analyst in the Pentagon.
Here’s a salute, Col. Tate.
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OTTO KREISHER writes:
I know you are getting tired of the subject but thought I'd contribute a thought on Vietnam and the draft. I dodged the draft by the sneaking tactic of enlisting in the Marine Corps at 18. I was in boot camp at Parris Island when I got a letter instructing me to report for my induction physical. I showed the letter to my DI and asked what I should do. He said I should send them a letter telling the Draft Board to commit an unnatural sex act. I chose instead to ignore it and nothing ever happened.
As for Vietnam, I guess I could be called a dodger, although the Navy gave me a medal for being there. As a bombardier/navigator in a Navy attack jet I engaged in one so-called "training" mission into South Vietnam along with much of our carrier air group, dropping bombs on a geographical position. I have no idea what was there that was worth thousands of the taxpayers' dollars in ordnance. But there were no secondary explosions and nobody shot at us. Then we were told to forget we were there, because it was 1963, about two years before the Tonkin Gulf resolution that authorized offensive action in Vietnam. They sent me a "you were there" medal years later.
After that cruise I was transferred to the training squadron at Whidbey Island and was still doing that when my former squadron conducted authorized strikes into Nam. If had stayed in the Navy another year I could have joined a squadron that would have gone back to Vietnam. But the reports back from men who were bombing either North or South Vietnam complained of bombing targets where some enemy activity had been reported days ago, but by the time a strike was authorized by the White House - which virtually everything had to be -- there was nothing at that spot. Pilots and bombardiers said they could see targets worth hitting or were being shot at from unapproved locations and couldn't respond. That didn't sound like either a sensible way to run a war, or something worth risking your life for, so I left active duty to go to college at Missouri - I was a commissioned officer without a day of college, which made a military career a tough road.
After years of studying Asian history -- which apparently no one in the Johnson administration bothered to do -- it became obvious there was no reason we ever got involved in a shooting war in Vietnam. The "domino theory" of that time held that we had to prevent Vietnam from becoming a part of the Chinese communist bloc. That ignored the fact that Vietnam had been fighting against Chinese intrusions since the 14th century. Within two years after South Vietnam fell to North Vietnam, the unified nation fought another war against China, and defeated them.
If we had refused to get involved militarily in Vietnam after the French were defeated in 1954 (we had promised Ho Chi Minh that if his troops helped us defeat the Japanese in WWII, which they did, we would not let the French back into Vietnam after the war) we probably could have had within a decade or so much the same situation we have today -- a "communist" Vietnam, which is moving slowly toward some democratic political system and a free economy and leans toward the West because of their fear of China. And we could have saved 58,000-plus American lives and half a million Vietnamese.
I lost friends and former squadron mates in Vietnam and at times I feel guilty I didn't reengage. But it was an unnecessary war and my participation wouldn't have changed that.
MICHAEL BURGE writes:
We seem to have reached an interesting point in our conversation over military service and the Vietnam War in which there are only two options. Anyone who was draft eligible and entered the military (and note we are talking only about males here) chose the right path. Everyone else was a draft dodger. Strictly black and white. No gray.
In one sense this is understandable. The Vietnam War has scarred the generation of baby boomers who came of age during that war and who faced moral choices about our involvement.
I have to say my experience was shaded with many more tones of gray than recent posts have allowed for. A vast palate of gray tones.
I graduated high school and was admitted to college, for which the government gave me a 2S deferment. My parents expected me to go to college (both attended but neither graduated) and I had always intended to go. The government, in fact, wanted its college-age generation to go to college because it wanted an educated population. Hence the deferment. Suffice to say I didn’t ask for the deferment and was not about to refuse it.
I had very bad allergies and asked my allergy doctor if they were severe enough to qualify me for a deferment. This was not unprecedented. My father, a World War II veteran, was rejected for flight school because of allergies. My doctor, also a World War II veteran, said no but he offered me a letter that would qualify me for such a deferment. Such letters were common at the time. A recent president was given such a letter and a medical deferment for, of all things, flat feet. I did not accept my doctor’s offer. I may not have agreed with the war, but this course struck me as the most morally repugnant of all my options. After all, this was lying, wasn’t it?
I should mention here that I opposed the war and considered applying for conscientious objector status or going to Canada, but I did not think I met the criteria for conscientious objector status and I considered going to Canada disloyal. So I rejected those. These were not easy moral choices, and I don’t judge those who took those routes.
When I reached my third year of college I began to question my future and considered signing up for the Air Force. My father talked me out this. He wanted me to complete my college education and I did.
The year I graduated from college, 1972, the Selective Service System announced that it would draft up to number 185. My number? 185. I spent the rest of that year with a 1A classification and expected to be called. The year ended and my number was not called. I was rather surprised that on Jan. 1, 1973, I was not celebrating the new year in a uniform. I also had to get busy shaping a career.
I don’t know if you call all of that draft dodging or, even, draft avoiding. Many young men were either called or not called to service strictly by the luck of their birth date and, let’s be honest, the color of their skin. Either way, I got lucky. It was never my desire to join the military and I’m glad I was not forced to do so.
And I want to add a wrinkle here, because sometimes we forget that military service is not the only form of public service.
In 1978 I joined the Peace Corps, serving in Kenya, East Africa. I won’t delve deeply into my experience but I feel compelled to point out that when I went to Kenya the reputation of the United States in Africa was very low, and for good reasons. The contributions of thousands Peace Corps volunteers in Kenya over many years have helped restore our country’s reputation there.
There are hundreds of ways to serve your country. I believe that some form of mandatory national service would make our country a better place, because it would teach our citizens the importance of helping others and would enrich our national experience. But that’s a new topic and I dare not mention it. Forget I brought it up.
WAYNE MITCHELL writes:
Although I read the 919 Gang email every day and appreciate it, I almost always stay out of the sometimes-lively discussions. At age 75, I’m content to sit on the couch, pet my dogs and plan trips (mostly cancelled) for Jenny and me to take. But I was stirred to write by Dana Wilkie’s post about those who, without a legitimate reason, avoided the Vietnam War draft. She makes an excellent point.
As a child of poor parents who was fortunate in fourth grade to move to a house with indoor plumbing, I was even luckier to attend journalism school at the University of Missouri. As an in-state resident, it cost hardly anything at the time. Shortly after graduation, while working at The Kansas City Star, I married my college girlfriend and headed to Disneyland for a honeymoon. As soon as we arrived, my mother called to say a notice had arrived from the draft board, telling me to report for service.
I didn’t want to go in the Army. I was not athletic, could not run a mile in high school and had never fired a gun (nor did I want to). I was scared to death, but on induction day I showed up. It never occurred to me until years later that some young men whose families knew politicians or draft board members avoided service.
I hated my time stationed near the DMZ in Vietnam, but I survived it. For years after returning home, I downplayed any mention that I had served in Vietnam. But when friends would suggest going camping, I would tell them I tried it for a year and didn’t like it. I still don’t. And since my Army discharge, I haven’t fired a gun or had one in the house.
The upside of going to Vietnam was that it changed my outlook on the world. I liked many of the Vietnamese people, especially the children. And I evolved from a Midwestern kid who had never been anywhere to someone who truly appreciates other cultures, other religions and other traditions.
In the last few years, I’ve even been open about my Army service in Vietnam. I readily accept the 10 percent veterans’ discount at the home-improvement store. But until I read a recent Miss Manners column in the Washington Post, I couldn’t think of what to say when someone tells me, “Thank you for your service.” Her advice: “I was just doing my duty.”
JONI HALPERN writes:
I was browsing through the entries in last night’s 919 Gang, and it occurred to me how wonderful it is to read the thoughtful, insightful, sometimes angry, often funny contributions of people writing from their hearts. It is hard to build a truthful forum in which people can share so much without pulverizing each other’s self-worth with gratuitous judgments. As I grow older (and older), I realize how much we need each other. It is almost as if we are kind of invisible to ourselves until we see ourselves in the lives and experiences of others. Perhaps it is a way of checking our self-perception, which can get so out of whack at times. We read the thoughts and feelings of others, and we feel a resonance in ourselves. We understand better who we are.
It is a good season to remind each person who shares themselves in the 919 Gang that they are important to all of us, that they add to our understanding of the world and ourselves, and that even when they disagree, the lengthy trail of further discussion on difficult topics helps all of us gain tolerance and wisdom.
It is so easy — and so common — to adopt a feeling that we do not matter much in the buzz of empty and disharmonious voices that surrounds us. But our own truth — shared at the risk of misunderstanding or even judgment — enriches other people’s lives and helps each of us connect to a better understanding of our own humanity.
Thanks for sharing.
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RICK DAVIS writes:
Some of those Copley Empire alumni with dogs or cats (past or present) should relate ...
Tuesday morning, I said farewell to a faithful companion -- Cosmo, a 13-year-old Lynx Siamese cat who, because of failing health, had to be euthanized. Experiencing that ordeal, I was reminded of Union features columnist Michael Grant (who passed away in 2019 at age 76)... and especially one eulogy piece that Michael filed in late 2007 on the passing of his old dog Barkeley.
About Barkeley (who was 15) and the emotions felt inputting him to sleep, Michael wrote: "When you decide to love, you agree to grieve. It's a hard deal, but still not too bad. Love renews and theoretically could go on forever. Grieving fades, in a ratio to the time spent in love, a ratio that actually has been measured by social scientists.
"Last week, we took shovels out to the windy corner of the lot -- she loved the wind in her face -- finished our work there, carried her to the vet, she went to sleep, we carried her back home and laid her in her place on the corner, facing the wind. I hate it that she is gone. But I love it even more, that she was here."
That's well said in my view. Revealing and eloquent in that folksy West Texas style that Michael consistently delivered to readers.
I will miss Cosmo,sure. Then again, a quote about pets found on the internet tells us...
“When the cat you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure.”
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DAVID FARMER writes:
I heard years ago that some residents of Baltimore pronounce it Ballmer. Now, I've discovered a new sound (to me) for Philadelphia. On the radio, I heard a city councilman there call it Pidelphia.
There seem to be hundreds of U.S. cities and towns where the residents say their names in ways you wouldn't expect. For example:
Cairo, Ill., is pronounced Kay-roh; Delhi, New York, pronounced Del-high; Lima, Ohio, pronounced Ligh-ma; Palermo, North Dakota, pronounced PAL-er-mo; New Prague, Minn., pronounced New Prayg.
They're all evidence of the American refusal to take other countries seriously. And we may do the same thing even if we're in another country:
In Hungary, Budapest is booda-pesht. I didn't know that until I visited the city. Australia has some surprises, too. Brisbane is pronounced Brizbn. Canberra is pronounced Canbra. Assissi, Italy, is not ah-see-see; it's ah-see-zee. In Port-au-Prince, Haiti, the last word is pronounced Prance. In England, Nottingtham is Nottingum. In France, Aix-en-Provence is ex-on-provahnce.
Readers of the 919 newsletter probably know most or all of my examples, being a well-traveled lot. I'm just offering some reminders.
REBER: I defend the rights of the many people I know from Lima, Ohio to pronounce their town’s name any way they like. Who is better suited to decide its pronunciation? And I don’t buy the bit about not taking other countries seriously. If I do a six-nation tour of Europe (a bad idea, by the way), am I required to master all those languages? No, I’ll apply the speech patterns I have been working on for decades, even if it gets me in trouble. I remember a chewing out by a cab driver in Dusseldorf because I didn’t pronounce Hilton the way a German would. If you want to appreciate how tricky this can be, consider the town of Salzburg. Spelled the same way in German and English, but pronounced very differently.
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