I had a neighbor in Santa Ana, CA who went into the CG. My dad was a 20-year Marine, but I chose the CG and am truly glad I did. I know I saved many lives and specifically remember pulling a man from the waters of Jamaica Bay, NY, moments before he went down.
Facing a dead-end life with limited opportunities and wanting to break free from my circumstances, I enlisted in the U.S. Army in 1987 with a clear vision: to go to college and become someone meaningful. Growing up in challenging conditions from ages 5-12 in group and foster homes in Ohio, with abusive, alcoholic, and addicted parents, I experienced firsthand what it meant to have few options and little encouragement. The Army represented my pathway to transformation – not just a career, but a chance to build the foundation for higher education and personal growth. Military service offered structure, purpose, and the GI Bill benefits that would make college possible. I was determined to use my service as a stepping stone to earn my master’s degree in criminal justice and ultimately create a life of meaning, helping others along the way. The Army wasn’t just an escape from a difficult past; it was my deliberate choice to forge a better future and prove that circumstances don’t define destiny.
The Summer of 1966 was a big decision for me to volunteer for the draft. My grades in college weren’t that great, considering I had just completed my freshman year and at 19 was undecided on a major. Feeling the pressure of Uncle Sam coming to get me, I decided to pick my report date of induction rather than continue with deferments. The decision was mine alone.
My decision to join the Army was deeply influenced by the legacy of service in my family—especially my father, grandfather, and uncle, all of whom served as Vietnam veterans. Growing up, I saw the strength, discipline, and humility they carried from their time in the military. They didn’t often talk about their experiences, but when they did, it was clear how much serving meant to them and how it shaped who they were. Their sense of duty, sacrifice, and commitment to something greater than themselves inspired me to follow in their footsteps. For me, joining the Army is not just a personal goal—it’s a way to honor their legacy and continue the proud tradition of service in our family.
I was raised to love my country. My military roots go back to the American Revolution on my maternal side. I have always loved history and embraced a love of Country when I was young. Both my father and his father (who immigrated from Wales, UK) were fiercely loyal to the US. I was born toward the end of World War II, so patriotism was high, and this carried through in my education.
I joined the Navy because of my family’s military history. My grandfather was drafted into the National Guard in WWI and was one of the original members of the California National Guard 40th Infantry Division., assigned to the 115th Sanatiation Train. He served in France as a Saddler Private caring for horses and was stationed in France from 1917 to 1919. He was then discharged and returned to Colorado and then to Idaho.
I grew up in a Navy family. My dad was a career Boatswain’s Mate Chief. His brother, Roland, was a Chief Radioman who later became a Chief Warrant Officer. All my other uncles served during WWII – Jim and Harry, Army Air Corps, Mick, Navy, and Dick, USMC, WIA at Tarawa. I grew up listening to the stories and knew the military was the life for me. I also give credit to Hollywood, for I saw just about any picture that had to do with the service.
I met a fellow student at Johnson & Wales Jr. College in Providence, RI, in 1964, and talked about going into the military. He had served in the Coast Guard and highly recommended completing my military service in the Coast Guard.
Great question…I don’t think I can pinpoint any one person or a singular event that motivated me to enlist in the Marines in 1986. I was an average (okay, maybe a little below average) student in HS and decided I wanted to enlist in my Junior year as part of the Delayed Entry Program. The idea of four more years of academia at an institute of higher learning did not particularly appeal to me, despite the majority of my peers seeming excited to head off to college. Maybe it was because, like many youths, I questioned what I wanted to do with my life and what my true purpose was. I visited my local recruiter, Staff Sgt. Webster Bridges to find out more information. Unfortunately, in order to enlist at age 17, I needed the permission of my parents, who both wanted me to attend college. They made me a deal that I had to apply to at least one college before they would consider signing my enlistment documents. My mother has heard about a small military college in Vermont, Norwich University, and she insisted on driving me three hours there (one-way) for a visit. I was intrigued by the Corps of Cadets and its regimented lifestyle. However, I was still more interested in enlisting on active duty in the Corps than in pursuing a college education. I begrudgingly completed my Norwich application and short essays and continued to work with the local recruiting office on my enlistment. I was somehow accepted to Norwich, despite my somewhat lackluster HS academic performance. Truth be told, I was more interested in playing sports (lacrosse), street hockey, and other sports with my friends. In the end, I compromised with my parents, who agreed to sign my enlistment documents in the Marine Corps Reserves if I attended Norwich in the fall of 1987.
I was 33 years old and was getting laid off from Westinghouse Electric East Pittsburgh Division. I needed a place where I could get a quick pension and earn enough to pay my mortgage. My wife and I went to the Air Force recruiter and could not get my age down enough to join the Air Force. He took us to the Army recruiter. He asked what MOS I held last time when I got drafted; I told him 24D20 and helped out with Special Forces. He asked if I wanted to go to SF, and I told him I was 33 years old and couldn’t run like a teenager anymore. I asked about a 51M fireman with no luck. I asked about my 88H, and he said no, so I asked about a 91B medic, and he said no. He told me I could be a Tanker or a Mechanic on the tank. I said I was a Mechanic, and it’s a thankless job, so make me a tanker. So, I became a Tanker, 19A3, M47/M48 Tanker. I was one of the few tankers that was qualified on the M47, M48 Tank, the M60 family, and the M1 family to the M1a2 SEP. I was told by an old tank that for every hour you ride a tank, you have to put seven hours of good maintenance on it. I lived by this rule, and my tank was always ready. There have been times that Murphy has bit me in the behind, but those times are few and far between. I knew that being a tanker, I would have to spend long times in the field. I averaged about 250 days a year. I had times when I could have left being a tanker, but I stayed with it. Even when I was a 92Y, I still went and got my range card. I would still run tank ranges along with other ranges. I was the go-to guy for a quick range. My weapons card started with 120mm, 105mm, 25mm, 40mm, M79, M203, shotgun, 50 cal, Belgian, 240 m240, all types, M14, M16, M-4, 45 cal, 9mm 38cal m82a1, m67 grenade I had the long list of weapons on any weapons card. They always asked about the shotgun. I told them it’s been a while, but I still remember.
His decision to join the Air Force was influenced by his deep sense of duty, patriotism, and a strong desire to serve his country. Inspired by the values instilled in him from a young age, he sought a career that allowed him to contribute meaningfully while honing his skills in aviation and leadership.
I was inspired by John Wayne’s portrayal of the Marines, which influenced me to join after my brother Jesse, who had been ordered to do so by a judge. We were both leading interesting lives with a lot of violence involved. After he joined the Marine Corps, he looked so good in his uniform, and I knew he was an ass-kicker, so I wanted to be a part of that. Going to Vietnam was easy; all they needed were bodies in 1968. When I ended up being a Casualty Reporter for the 3rd Marine Division, that sort of screwed everything up. I was up to my ears in casualty reports on a daily basis, and the people I hung with were combat veterans I could relate to. I was able to visit alot of the battalion aid stations, like Delta Med in Dong Ha where Graves Registration was and participating in helping Khe Sanh wounded off the choppers, USS Sanctuary off the coast, U.S. Army Mortuary in Danang, 22nd Casualty Staging Facility in DaNang, Cam Ranh Bay Army Mortuary, Ammo convoys to LZ Stud and some I just forgot about. I was the guy you didn’t want to meet, as that meant you were either dead or wounded. Man, what times those were. I’ll never forget the men who touched my life, dead and wounded, and those who gave their lives for this country. I’m a lucky man, and I still thank God I’m alive to share the stories of the brave, brave, badasses I ran across in Vietnam. My head is still screwed up. I’ll see them soon. Semper Fi
