Blog 449 – 10.29.2016

There was a beautiful melody some years back called The Leader Of The Band. It was a son’s tribute to his father. One line said, “He tried to be a soldier once but his music wouldn’t wait.” I, too, tried to be a soldier once.

I graduated high school in June of 1968. I wanted to go to college and study to be a writer. My parent’s wanted me to attend a technical college and learn a trade. So I came up with the bright idea of joining the Army where they would teach me a trade and also provide money for college when I got out. I, in my youth, thought this would be an easy sell to my folks.

When I shared my plan with my dad he said that it was a fine idea. There was only one catch he said. I was only seventeen and a parent would have to sign for me to join. Dad said he would not so I would have to wait till my birthday in late November. Then I’d have nobody to blame but myself if I had second thoughts. He was right. I would have blamed him. He had been in the miliary during war time and he knew the loneliness and pain of being away from family and loved ones all the while they were worried about you.

My mom was surprisingly reserved about the whole thing. So I waited till my birthday and then went downtown to the court house and signed up for a three year hitch in the U.S. Army. I picked the longest school they had available starting after eight weeks of Basic Training. I was told to be at the bus station Monday morning for the trip to Knoxville where if I passed the physical and other exams I would be inducted into the Army.

My folks accompanied me to the bus depot and my girlfriend, later my first wife. Mom was still quite calm. I would learn later that the doctor had told her when I was a child that I had a heart murmur but not to tell me about it and to allow me to do anything I thought I could. Was she ever surprised when I called her from Knoxville saying I was on the way to Fort Campbell, Kentucky for Basic. But the real surprise was on me for Army life, Basic Training, Advanced Individual Training, an eleven month tour in The Republic of South Vietnam, and my last ten months at Fort Bragg, North Carolina was much more than I signed up for.

My dad always said of his Navy days during his war, WWII, that he would not take a million dollars for the experience but would not go through it again for ten million. I am glad and grateful that I tried to be a soldier once. And saddened that so many of my brothers on both sides did not live to tell their tales.

Your friend and fellow traveler,
David White