"Saving Nephew Max." (Red Baron)

...It was mysteriously coincidental that after my blog yesterday having to do with WWII not being a "good" war that my step-nephew Max, a student at Buffalo University called and said he would like my answers to "about 50" questions regarding my experiences in that war. In one of his classes--perhaps history, if they still teach that, the assignment was to research and write a narrative about that war. And since I was a good source of information, I told him to start the questions. Well, about an hour and a half later, he had finished when I realized that there was a lot more definitive information in my autobiography that related to the themes he was working on. Such themes as to what the country felt like after Pearl Harbor; was there any racial or gender discrimination in the military; was there a policy about gays such as "don't ask, don't tell"; why did I enlist. And so forth. So, I am going to publish in my blog some excerpts from my book that I'm hoping will help him succeed with his project. For those who have read my book, this will serve to "re-enlighten" you, and for those who haven't, I believe you will find this of interest. Of course, after I finish I will most likely lose sleep and suffer flashbacks tonite.

..."Dulce et Decorum est, pro patria mori." Horace, the Roman poet said it first about 8 B.C. Translation: "It is a sweet and glorious thing to die for one's country."...Wilfred Owen, in a poem thus titled in Latin, conveys the realities of war, and the deceptiveness and ignorance of those promoting its nobility. It is indeed a blatant lie. However, none of this was known to me, nor important to my mindset when the United States was attacked and then when President Roosevelt declared war on Japan and Nazi Germany. To me, our entrance into the war seemed like a glorious and unique life opportunity to get away from my mind-numbing and humdrum work life and become a national hero on the world stage! What red-blooded American teenager wouldn't aspire to that? After all, my life was like the Bee Gee's lyric in the song, "Stayin' Alive...I'm goin' nowhere."

...In 1941, I was barely out of high school when I decided I would like to get into the conflict. But going off to war and leaving mom for the first time is distinctly not the same as leaving mom and going off to college, although if the truth be told, both have some similarities--such as drinking beer and getting homesick. But the dissimilarities are glaring. In college you may have two or three roommates in a nicely furnished dorm room...in a barracks you have a hundred or so roommates and a distinct lack of privacy, especially in the showers. In college, you go to a few classes during the day, socialize with the co-eds, maybe go to a football game on Saturday, and then party the night away; but on a military base you have a 5 a.m. wake up call to the debilitating blare of a bugle (God, I hate that instrument), and then you go to fitness drills and/or march all day and into the sack at eight.

...In college you have the wisdom of a professor to inspire you; in the Navy you have a Chief Petty Officer whose solitary aim is to humiliate you, prove you worthless, and whose knowledge of Shakespeare or Milton or Keats might fill the bottom of a thimble lost in a dark hole in space. In college, you have your "spring break"; in the military, a break is most likely to occur on a diabolical obstacle course with rope climbs, burned hands, and high insurmountable fences.! Of course, none of these differences occurred to me at the time. And my aim of being a "court stenographer" after high school did not work out. All I heard in the summer of 1942 was that many of my friends were rushing in great haste to recruitment centers to enlist in the armed forces. Those of us who had reached the age of 18 had to register for the "draft"--or conscription as some called it.

...But I didn't want to wait around to be drafted because I did not care for the Army's uniforms which were a lousy color for a redhead--olive drab--and besides they looked very itchy. Being drafted meant that the government could send you to any branch of the service that required more manpower. I wanted to be a sailor--not only because I had heard that you can have a "girl in every port", but the uniforms were a little tighter and you could display your physique in a more interesting fashion, and in a uniform of my favorite color--navy blue.

(...to be continued)