I joined the Navy, first to avoid being drafted into the Army and being sent to Viet Nam, a place from which I was sure I would return in a box. My secondary goal was to learn photography, something the recruiter assured me was probably not a problem.

Anyone joining the military had to fill out a form which listed more than fifty organizations which were to one or another degree considered to be subversive. The only one I could lay claim to was SDS - the Students for a Democratic Society. SDS wasn't particularly democratic. They were one of the more strident anti-war organizations and there had been a small chapter at the local community college. I explained that my involvement consisted of going to two meetings and deciding that I didn't want to be a part. I neglected to mention that my main objection was that they were too unorganized. That was the extent of my perfidy - two meetings and out.

I was sitting in class one day, listening I believe, to a lecture detailing the differences between destroyers and aircraft carriers and submarines (size had a lot to do with it). There was a knock on the door and a senior recruit entered. He conferred for a moment with the instructor who looked at me, pointed and told me to go with the messenger. Once again, despite my quest for invisibility, I was conspicuous by my presence. I gathered my things and left. My escort told me I was going to talk to someone with Naval Intelligence. Wisely, I said nothing containing the word "oxymoron".

I was led into a small room containing a wooden desk, a chair and a nervous appearing junior grade officer. He motioned for me to sit and proceeded to ask me about my feelings about the war (I didn't like it), the Navy (Glad to be here, sir!) and, oh, how about this SDS thing? I explained again, as I had before that this was a youthful indiscretion, that, while I was against the war, I didn't care for the radical ways of SDS. Finally, the Question - "What we want to know is - will you follow orders?"

Will I what? Follow orders? You mean as opposed to being thrown in the brig and being beaten every day by the Viet Nam-crazed marine guards? "Sure. I mean, yes. Yes, of course. I will follow orders." That was all he wanted to know - will I follow orders. And he was willing to take my word for it, too. Had I been bent on trying to destroy the system from within, I would have answered the same. No further proof was asked, however and I was free to return to my Naval education.

Some weeks later, after all the aptitude testing was done and specialty requests made, assignments came back telling where each of us would be going after boot camp. Some people were to be medics, some to be cooks or nuclear submarine specialists or sonar operators or radiomen. One guy in our company was already assigned to be an arranger for the Navy band in Washington, D.C. Some may even have been headed for photography school. I scored lowest in mechanical aptitude, a result that has been borne out many times since. So the Navy, in it's wisdom, decided to make me an aircraft mechanic, specifically, an oxygen system and ejection seat mechanic. I was to be sent to Memphis, Tennessee to learn to play with exploding chairs.

What happened to photography school or any of my other interesting choices? Those all required a security clearance and I couldn't get one. Why? Because I had been to two - count 'em, two! - SDS meetings at the corner junior college and I was a threat to national security. Not so much a threat that I needed to be discharged, however. In fact, when it later became convenient for the Navy, I was given a clearance to handle Confidential and Secret messages. That was no problem.

But once again, in a world where anonymity is valued, someone in an office somewhere knew my name. So much for keeping a low profile.
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