Sometime in the late summer of 1967 I found myself at odds with the local Selective Service Office (Draft Board). Almost a year previously, I had received a notice to appear for physical evaluation at the induction station in LA. I had let my dad, The Chief, know about the notice and he said he would let them know why I wouldn't be there. But a year later they were concerned that I hadn't shown up and wanted me to know what a serious offense it was to blow off their notices. So that is how I found myself walking in to the San Diego Selective Service Office...DD214 in hand...to explain why I couldn't be at their little physical exam the year before.
I had come home from Vietnam on the 23rd of December, 1966. I wasn't a hero and didn't expect a hero's welcome, ticker tape parades, brass bands, etc. I was just REALLY glad to be home. I thought it would be cool to see my buddies from High School, have a few dates with some of the girls I knew, hang out with my buds...etc. Some of that happened. But what I didn't expect was to be treated as though I had done something wrong.
Our plane had taken off from Than Son Nhut AFB to the cheers and applause of its passengers. We were relieved and happy to be homeward bound. We stopped for a couple hours in Okinawa then spent the next 18 hours flying straight through to Travis AFB, CA. Thanks to a tailwind and the International Dateline, we landed two hours before we took off. I never knew if it was planned that way or if the tailwind we ran into made it possible for us to bypass Hawaii altogether. We had been told we would be spending a couple of hours there at Hickam, but it didn't happen. In any case, from Travis we were bussed into Oakland Army Terminal where we were fitted for our new uniforms and issued a bunch of new stuff... underwear, socks, shaving kit, new fatigues and boots, stuff like that. They altered our Class A's, applied the appropriate patches and stripes, and then called our names to dress up, get our orders and our pay, and then head for the nearest Airport. So far, our experience returning home was olive drab and khaki with no civilian interaction at all. Some day when I feel a little more generous, I will recount the indignities that began as soon as we left the gate at OAT. It was the height of the 60's; anti-war folks - hippies- were everywhere and their actions were sure strange for folks who claimed to want peace! Anyway...I got home intact, despite the efforts of our peace-loving brethern.
I had read a lot about the anti-war stuff but it still came as a shock to me. I figured that the folks at home wouldn't be like that. I was wrong. Some of my good friends who had sent me off the year before praising me for being so brave, were now calling me names and treating me like I had been a war criminal (I hadn't...that was John Kerry's bunch). I really didn't want the hero stuff, but civility would have been nice.
Anyhow, after a few months at Ft Huachuca I got out, returned home and started the job search. I got the letter from SSS and was ordered to present myself and my excuses to the San Diego office to explain or a warrant would be issued with my name on the invitation line. And that is how I wound up in that office on that day in the late summer of 1967. Here's what happened there.
When I walked in, the only other customers were two VERY large Hell's Angels. They were slouched all over the counter while they had a conversation with the girl on the other side. The two of them took up all the space at the counter. They had on their "colors" and...did I mention they were both HUGE? Another girl on the other side of the counter spied me and asked if she could help. I tried to explain over the massive shoulder in front of me that I had this letter and I had to explain why I hadn't made my physical screening appointment months earlier. She started in on the lecture explaining how serious it was for me to miss that evaluation. I told her that I would have loved to have been there but was physically unable...I had been in Vietnam at the time. Funny thing happened on both sides of the counter simultaneously...the two monsters in front of me stopped talking and turned to look at me, impressive as I was, all 150 lbs of Southeast Asian diet and exercise program, and the girl on the other side of the counter underwent an unbelievable transformation from civil-servant-disinterested-bored-no-time-for-you counter waif to caring, grateful, anything-I-can-do helper. I showed her my DD214 and we were able to clear up the little misunderstanding with assurances that this would be sent off right away to the "main office" and I would not be bothered again. As we wrapped up our business, I was met with heartfelt handshakes and back-patting from the Angels, who both showed genuine feeling for what I had been through.
Over the years I have told this to people focusing on the SNAFU that had the SSS send me a draft notice while I was in Vietnam...it is worth a yuk or two. But what I haven't spent too much time on is the feelings I had as I walked out of that office where I had initially been scared spitless of the monsters-off-the-leash at both sides of the counter. I had, in a matter of a few minutes, received from strangers (a couple of pretty scary strangers, at that) more compassion, genuine welcome, warmth and congratulations than I had from my "best friends" in the months since I had come home. What's my point? I don't know. After 42 years you'd think it wouldn't matter anymore...but somehow...it does.