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
I graduated from Erie Community College in 1968 and applied to the University of Buffalo’s School of Architecture. However, the Tet Offensive had erupted, two patrol boats of ours had been captured in the Gulf of Tonkin, and a US airbase in Pleiku had come under attack, leading the then commander of US forces, General Westmoreland, to contact LBJ for help. President Johnson could not find enough volunteer troops to send to Vietnam, so he reinstated the draft. Since I was technically between schools during summer break and not actively enrolled in school at the time, I was drafted into the Army and had to report for active duty on January 2nd, 1969.
My father was the greatest influence on my life and the primary reason I joined the Air Force in April 1974, even before I graduated from high school. I grew up in an Air Force family. I was born at Hunter AFB, Savannah, GA, in 1955, and we moved seven times to various bases before my father medically retired in 1968. My father had just reenlisted in 1967 while stationed at Da Nang AB, Vietnam, and had planned on staying in to reach at least 25 years. My dad was also a great advocate and recruiter for the Air Force. Not only did he influence my older brother and me to join the Air Force, but he also influenced three of our friends to enlist. Two attended basic training with me. In the case of my youngest brother, he joined the Navy.
I had a cousin who is a Marine. He was on Embassy duty somewhere in Germany or Austria, I believe. I was a senior in high school at the time and didn’t know the time that he was a Mustang. I still don’t know all the details. When I decided college wasn’t for me, I decided to join the service. I picked the Marine Corps because of my cousin. I asked him for some advice on boot camp. I still remember his words, “Keep your ears open and your mouth shut.” Great advice, and it worked. I do know that he retired as a Major and still lives in Orange County, California.
My dad, who had served in the Army’s 100th Infantry as part of a mortar crew, serving in the southwestern region of Germany in 1944-45, suggested that if I had to go (I had received my draft notice in the fall of 1966), then anything would be better than the Army. His reasoning was that it was better to die in a clean bunk than a dirt foxhole. Upon my return from my initial medical screening at Fort Knox, I knocked on the door of the only recruiter in town —the Navy.
In the first half of 1969, Lyndon B. Johnson was President. Robert Kennedy was shot and killed, and Richard M. Nixon announced his candidacy for President. The North Koreans captured the USS Pueblo. North Vietnam waged a major attack, named the Tet Offensive, that changed the war in Vietnam.
I had always wanted to be in the military ever since I was a child. I was sure I wanted to join the US Marines and studied them while growing up. However, that was not to be the case, as my cousin, who is nine years older than I and was one of my primary babysitters growing up, went into the Marine Corps, became a sniper, and was in Vietnam during the Tet Offensive in 1968. Upon his return, he basically threatened me that if I even got close to a marine recruiter or office, he would personally “kick my butt.”
I was born in a tiny apartment somewhere behind the screen of a movie theater in Picher, Oklahoma, on March 3, 1924. I am told that as my mother’s labor pains intensified and came more frequently, the theater owner/manager sent the patrons home and locked the doors so she could have some privacy in her travails. My father was working in the mines in and around Picher, which was booming in the 1920s, and the little apartment was the only residence they could find at the time.Despite them being similarly reserved and not the type of men to brag, I could hardly wait to visit them so I could beg them to tell me war stories. The experiences they shared with me made a lasting impression during my early childhood, which further aroused my desire to serve my country.
