1968

Prologue

Fort Collins, Colorado.

January 13th, 1968.

It’s Saturday morning, I woke up to the sound of the alarm clock next to my bed. I got up, interestingly, full of energy for it being 7:00 in the morning. I pulled on a pair of blue jeans, a T-shirt, and went down the wooden steps that led right into the kitchen, where Ma was brewing coffee and had eggs in the skillet. She didn’t know where I was going today. Dad was sitting at the counter, poring over a newspaper, waiting on the food, that same disgruntled look on his face he got whenever he read the newspaper. I walked over and sat down next to him, leaning forward to get a glimpse of the headline. 20,000 Dead in Vietnam. “All the goddamn commie newspapers are the same, reporting these bullcrap numbers.” he murmured under his breath. He’d had a special type of hatred for the newspapers lately, he was under the impression that they were being controlled by the communists, and I believed him. Looking at the newspapers, they never cited where the numbers came from, because they were fake numbers, according to my father at least. Ma never talked about it, she’d hated the war from the very beginning of it, and really all she said concerning it was that it was horrible and needed to end. She set down two plates in front of us, eggs and toast, Dad finally setting down the newspaper. Small talk ensued as usual, the topic of this morning being the neighbors, whom my parents had a bone to pick with, for no real reason. Judy and Paul this, Judy and Paul that, at least once a week. This time, they’d taken a luxury vacation to Florida. “Who in their right mind would want to go to Florida for a vacation? I’d rather go back to the Ardennes than go to Florida,” came Dad, in his uniquely gruff voice, and Ma in her very dainty, feminine voice, “It’s all hot and sticky, I could never.” Finally, after a lull in the conversation, I spoke up. “I’m going out soon, need me to get anything?” Ma, without a second's hesitation replied, “We’re out of milk, and I’d love it if you went by Rob’s and picked up a dozen eggs.” Dad didn’t say anything, he didn’t know where I was really going either. “Yes ma’am.” I said, the ‘ma’am’ coming mostly out of habit. I quickly finished my breakfast, picking myself up and washing my dish, somewhat eager to get out of the house. Dad noticed. “Son,” he said firmly, just as I was about to walk out the door. I turned around to face him, to find him staring at me with a flat expression that betrayed nothing. “Don’t do anything dumb.” I nodded, a quick “Yes sir,” and I went out the door, heading for College Avenue.

Walking down the street, I got to where I was heading, but standing in front of the door was a relatively small group of dirty long haired hippies standing in front of my destination, holding up anti-war signs, all of them silent, looking at me. I took a tentative step forward, and they stepped aside, clearing the way to the door, seemingly because there was a policeman across the street, watching them closely. I opened up the door, a ding of a bell, and stepped into the building, a dingy, one room place with poor lighting and a single ceiling fan that sounded like it needed some lubrication. It was completely devoid of human life, save for an overweight man in a uniform sitting behind a desk, his eyes fixed on me, apparently waiting for me to speak first. I ran my hands over my shirt, trying to smooth out the imaginary wrinkles as I walked up to him at the desk. “I’d like to enlist.” He arched an eyebrow at those words, and slowly reached for a file folder, pulling out a form and setting it on the desk in front of him. “You’d be the first one in three weeks,” he said, clicking a pen and positioning it over the paper. “Name.” I nodded quickly, his words not exactly inspiring confidence, but I pushed on with it. “William Moore, sir,” I said slowly, watching his pen scratch the paper, “You got an ID?” he asked, I was already pulling it out of my wallet, and slid it across the desk to him. “Just turned 18 a week ago, you’re going places.” he said, commenting on the information on the ID as he continued to fill in the form. He looked me over for a moment, before checking a few more boxes. “Any medical history I need to know about?” I shook my head, I was a relatively healthy boy, got all my shots every year since I was 7. The man slid the paper over to me, “Sign the bottom of it, next to my signature.” He said, getting up from his chair and walking over to a shelf with neatly folded clothes on it, taking a pair off the shelf and walking back over to the desk. I still hadn’t signed the form. “Having second thoughts?” he asked, not really a question, but more of a statement. “No sir.” I said, jotting my signature down onto the paper. He nodded, a solemn nod, and quickly took the paper back. “Welcome to the Army, these should fit you. Wear it proudly.” he said, sliding the uniform across to me. It was all olive green, both the shirt and the pants, the shirt with black lettering, ‘U.S ARMY’ stenciled into the fabric. I looked up at the recruiter, and from there we went over everything else I needed to know.

Dad didn’t have anything to say about it. Ma was broken for a few days, and despite my best attempts to reassure her, it didn’t do anything. A week later, I had to get on the bus to head to Basic. I left that morning, Ma didn’t want to talk to me.

Dad shook my hand and said, “You’ve become a man,” and that was the last thing he said to me before I left.