Busted part 2

In 1971 most teenagers wanted nothing to do with VietNam. The war was still going on strong and enough families had to deal with dead or maimed sons. Soldiers who fought and came back to the States were vilified, spat upon and considered child killers. Plenty of demonstrations had taken their toll on the country. By the time I got out of High School, most teens wanted nothing to do with signing up for the military. I was no different, but I had nowhere to go. I knew I would flunk out of college and I feared the draft. If my draft number came up low, I would be forced into the service and dragged into an unpopular war. My parents had been harrassing me about seeing a recruiter for quite some time, so to get them off my back I went to a Coast Guard recruiting station. There were two men who tried to tell me how wonderful it was to be in the service. They told me about all the benefits and opportunities and on and on. I knew they were exaggerating everything, but they did say that the Coast Guard was not in VietNam. In fact, the Coast Guard gave all their ships to the Vietnamese years ago. That caught my interest. I could join the Coast Guard and get out of Wisconsin, not worry about the next four years and avoid getting drafted into the Army. 

 Unfortunately, before I could be accepted in the Coast Guard I had to pass a multiple choice test with 70% or better. I had two chances to pass. The first day I went I got a 68%. The second day I handed the test to the teacher and he graded it - I got a 66% which meant I had failed and would not be allowed into the Coast Guard. But strangely, that day the teacher had decided to give 3 answers to anybody with 66% or 68%. I passed with the lowest possible score. 

 I officially joined the Coast Guard in the summer of 1971. Boot Camp started in August 1971. I flew to Cape May, NJ, met John, another long haired guy who joined me as we travelled to the base. During our first couple of days we all got a kick out of the people who had long hair, because we all got our hair cut down to the scalp. Only one other guy had longer hair than mine. John and I spent the first week working in a Dental office cleaning up for them, boot camp didn't start for me until the following week. Toward the end of the first week John and I got caught stealing paint thinner as I mentioned in my last blog. He was thrown out of the service and I was to be placed in 2 extra weeks of Boot Camp in the Red Belts - designed to break even the strongest of wills. 

 I walked out of the Commander's office rather disappointed. I had hoped I would get kicked out and was geared up for that. I also told the Commander all about my drug life. But something happened to change everything. The next person I was sent to had more authority than the Commander of the base, because he wanted to put me into a company immediately and keep me out of Red Belts. He called the place where the next company was being formed... they had just finished. So I worked dish detail with the exiting company for 16 hours a day for one week. After one week of dish detail I was placed in a company and began 10 weeks of chaos. People around me complained about being in the service, "I'm going to kill my recruiter. This isn't what they told me." But I never bought half the stuff the recruiters told me, so I was not caught off guard. In fact, I expected it to be difficult for the weeks I was in Boot Camp. What I didn't expect was being threatened constantly with Red Belts. 

 Every day I saw the Red Belt camp running around the base being punished about something. Even in the torture of Boot Camp they stood out as the place nobody wanted to be in, and I most certainly did not want to be in there. Worst of all whoever went into Red Belts had to stay extra weeks in Boot Camp. During Boot Camp whoever gets 30 demerits is put into Red Belts for at least a week and I kept building up demerits; I didn't shave one day - demerits. My shoes were not up to speck - demerits. I was caught not being at full attention - demerits. I amassed 33 demerits and yet the Drill Sergeant never said anything. The Drill Sergeant was a young Mormon Priest. Sure, just about every Mormon male over the age of 12 is a priest, but I didn't know that then. I guess Mormons like to give out blessings like the Patriarchs of Genesis; at least it seems that my Drill Sergeant liked to. So on the last day of Boot Camp as we all graduated in our nice new uniforms the Drill Sergeant went one by one telling everybody how cool they were. "You have been a strong man, and you will lead well into the future." he told one guy. Another was complimented in a different way until all of us received some sort of compliment/blessing. When he came to me he said, "You gave me heartburn." That was all he said. 

 Something was going on in my life that was very weird; my Math teacher (Mr. Hiken) letting me get away with fireworks in school, my History teacher giving me an undeserved passing grade and now my Drill Sargeant overlooking my demerits. Until that year, I didn't get away with things like that. It was weird, almost like I was being led by something bigger than me...led to where, I didn't know, nor did I think about it at the time.