Chapter Thirty-four: Dodging the Draft
The war was moving from simmer to a rolling boil as I prepared to take the oath of enlistment in the United States Air Force for a four-year hitch.
I reported to the Air Force assembly area three weeks after graduation and joined with forty other enlistees.
Most of the men there were in their late teens. Several were in their 20s, and one man with prior service was pushing 30. As I scanned the crowd, I soon realized I was one of the youngest ones there.
We boarded a bus and drove west to Springfield, Massachusetts. Upon arrival, the Air Force quartered us in a motel while we waited to be sworn in the next day.
Our entire mob occupied nearly every room of the motel. Soon after we arrived, someone passed the hat to collect money for booze. After a quick liquor run, our room became the open bar on our floor.
It was July 6, 1966, and up until that day I had been a squeaky clean 'Preacher's Kid.' My experience with alcohol consisted of a single sip of beer at a wedding reception. I hated the taste, so I crossed beer off my list of beverages.
Our bartender, a man named Tony offered me a beer. When I declined, he offered me a double shot of Johnny Walker and Coke.
I thought the taste was delightful, so I chugged it down and asked for another. Tony told me that I was free to mix my own, and there was no limit. Like a kid in a candy shop, I sat next to the bar and wolfed downed half-dozen mixed drinks in a row.
All was well until the dinner arrived. I stood up to get a slice of pizza. As I was standing there, the floor rose up and smacked me in the face.
I woke up as several guys were carrying me off to bed.
The next morning on July 7, 1966, I joined the other men enlisting in the Air Force. We were gathered together in a large room of the Springfield Armory. My memory of the event was every bit as fuzzy as my tongue. However, I do remember my oath.
I, Dennis Nathan Randall, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice.
So help me God.
I focused on the words and did my best not to fall over, or throw-up as a world-class hangover twisted my head and stomach into knots.
When I called home to report that, I was now officially in the Air Force. My stepfather told me that my draft notice had just arrived in the mail.
I had done it! I had dodged the draft by joining the Air Force. My enlistment was my middle finger salute to my draft board. As far as I was concerned, they could go to hell.
Tomorrow we would all be flying down to Lackland Air Force Base in Texas to begin basic training. At least that was the plan.
At the stroke of midnight, 35,000 airline workers went on strike in the largest labor action in aviation history. Along with several thousand others, our flight was stuck on the ground. Thus, the first week in the Air Force began with an unplanned vacation as we sat in the motel while officials scrambled to arrange transportation to Texas.
I had just learned my first lesson in being an enlisted man: Nothing ever goes according to plan.
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When I decided to join the service, I saw it as an escape from my mother's control. I was running away from home at government expense.
I also saw enlistment as an opportunity to establish a new identity free from the influence of my family and Joyce’s abuse. It was a chance to meet girls and perhaps, you know, get lucky. It would be another two years before I finally came of age and lost my virginity to a woman who was only two years younger than my mother was. That’s a story for another time and maybe another book.