In 1969 the war and the country raged. From the vantage point of a new century, it's easy to forget the passion, fear and anger of the times. The year before had seen the assassination of Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King and the police riots at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago. The war in Viet Nam was in full burn and the body count had become a staple of the evening news broadcasts. In 1969, there was the emergence of massive protests in the streets of major cities and a shift in public opinion about the war.

Young men had two choices: college or the military. Those who were able went to college. The rest either enlisted or waited for the letter from the draft board. I had been in college for two quarters after high school, but had no goals, no plans beyond a vague notion of wanting to be a photographer. I dropped out of college. That made me fresh meat for the draft. A distant cousin and no one I liked, worked for the local draft board and let slip that my name was about to come up. Getting drafted meant the Army and the Army meant Viet Nam. So I joined the Navy.

I will never forget the morning I left. At 6 a.m., my father drove me to meet the Greyhound bus that would take me to the induction center. He dropped me off and said goodbye. It was one of those rare times I saw him cry. I didn't feel so great myself. There was a group of ten who sat with the commuters on the trip to Cleveland.

We got to the Federal Building and began our first lesson in military life: hurry up and wait. It was more than a cliche; it was a standard of behavior. We filled out papers, joked nervously and were finally taken into a room where we stood for induction. After pledging to defend our country, we split up according to our destinations. There were a dozen of us heading for Navy boot camp in Great Lakes, Illinois. It was in Chicago, however, that the real trouble began.

We got off the plane and were led through hallways to a restroom so we could take a group break. Everything was done in a group and one of us (not me) was appointed "leader" for the time. I was excited to be in Chicago, even if it was only O'Hare airport. I gratefully stood at the urinal, took care of business and turned around to find - no one! At least, no one I recognized.

I ran out the door, looked right, left, and discovered I was alone! O'Hare was the nation's busiest airport and, to this Ohio boy's view, gargantuan. I ran down halls, turned corners and tried not to panic. I never found the rest of my group. I did, however, find the Military Assistance Desk and gratefully approached the uniformed man at the counter.

"I, uh, got lost"

"Yeah? Who are you?" His was not a friendly voice.

"Fox," I said.

"Fox? Boy - you're A-W-O-L!"

Fortunately I had already gone to the bathroom or I might have embarassed myself further. Absent Without Leave and it was barely my first day.

"Are you a deserter, Fox?" He seemed to hope I'd answer in the affirmative so he could begin taking me apart in front of the desk and any onlookers he could summon.

"No, sir!" I knew the lingo. "I had to go to the bathroom and when I looked around, everybody was gone."

"You had to go to the bathroom, huh?" He said this as if to remind me that mama's boys went to the bathroom and real men held it. I wisely said nothing. "Sit down on that bench. There's another bus coming at ten."

I sat down. On that bench. I sat for the next three hours as other recruits gathered. The last bus of the night finally arrived and we boarded, carrying our meager belongings and a deep sense of foreboding. The bus driver grinned as he turned to greet us and he said the words we would be hearing again and again that fall.

"Gentlemen - you're in a world of shit."

Our journey into the world of the military was beginning and there was nothing to do but go forward into the dark of a northern Illinois night.
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