CHAPTER 1

IN THE BEGINNING

I MUST START this part of my story with some facts about one of mybest friends, Dan. He and I had decided together to do the rightthing and volunteer for the draft in early 1967. We didn't have todo this, but it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.Many friends and people our age were being drafted, yet we wereavoiding the draft through a 2-S school deferment from our localdraft board. We were in college primarily because it was the expectednorm among our friends and contemporaries. So by volunteering,we thought of it simply as doing our rightful duty.

This was not our first experience with the military. I had been inthe Reserve Officers' Training Corps (ROTC) at Jacksonville StateUniversity, and after high school Dan had attended the TennesseeMilitary Institute—so we understood the basics of what to expect. Uponarrival at the induction center on Ponce de Leon Avenue in Atlanta, wewere herded into a waiting area and told to take off everything but ourshorts and shoes. Then we were lined up and told to follow a specificcolored line until we got to the appropriate station. Dan and I (along withall the other draftees) obeyed and waited for the upcoming tests. Pissingin a cup, checking our vision, examining our medical records, turningour heads and coughing, and the famous "butt cheek spreading" examwere all part of the fun. Somewhere along the way, Dan was directed toanother line and I didn't see him again from that point on.

Meanwhile, I was stuck in a room where we were waiting forthe swearing in ceremony. Suddenly, a no-nonsense Marine CorpsDrill Instructor (DI) came into the room and shouted, "Line up intwo rows ladies!"

We all stood there kind of shocked, and then he grabbed the guyclosest to him and said, "You're number one!"

Then he pointed to the next guy who meekly said, "Two."

Then the next guy was number one, followed by number two.When everyone was finished, he shouted, "If you're number one, stepup. Number twos stand down!"

We watched as all the number ones stepped up. He looked at themand shouted, "Ladies, come with me. The Marine Corps wants you!"

With that he marched them out the door. I stood there with thenumber twos, watching. Then a collective sigh went through theroom when the last Marine draftee cleared the doorway. Gettingdrafted into the Marine Corps was simply not in our plans. Dan andI had visited some of our friends at Paris Island when they graduatedfrom Marine Corps boot camp. We didn't feel that doing the rightthing involved any part of the Marine Corps. That just seemed likehaving to endure far more hardship than was necessary and thereforedidn't seem like the prudent thing to do.

DAN

I never knew what a truly good friend Dan was until many yearslater at one of our high school reunions. A former girlfriend of histold me what had mysteriously happened to him all those years agowhen we became separated during the induction process.

I had processed through with no difficulty, passed the physicalwith flying colors, and then found myself on a bus headed for FortBenning in Columbus, Georgia for basic training. It all happened sofast I didn't even have time to think about it. However, I did realizethat Dan was not on the bus with me, and had assumed he would beon the next bus. But after the last bus arrived, everyone was orderedoff and lined up, and he was nowhere in sight. I wondered what theheck had happened to him. This was puzzling. There was no excusefor him not to be there—or so I thought.

As it turned out, they had sent him to another area for additionalprocessing where he flunked his physical due to an old knee injuryfrom high school football. This injury gave the doctors some seriousdoubts as to whether or not his knee would hold up under the rigorsof military training.

It was a so-called "million-dollar injury." We laughed about itlater on. Many draftees would have given almost anything to have aninjury like this and were trying every way they could to fake injuriesand stay out of the military. So the personnel at the draft board andthe induction center couldn't believe that someone with a legitimateinjury like this actually wanted to serve their country. In fact, whenDan told them he wanted to serve despite the injury, the examinersjoked that he needed to have "a second-go" with the psychiatrist.

The fact of the matter was that Dan just didn't want me to havethis experience alone. We had made a promise to each other, andhe was going to keep his end of the bargain. He was directed backdowntown to the draft board where he pleaded and cajoled anyonewho would listen; they finally told him the only way he would beallowed into the military was to sign a waiver. So he signed a waiverstating that the US Army was not liable for any harm that maybefall him as a result of his bad knee. This was a paradox because hecouldn't sue the government anyway.

The bottom line is that he wanted to be there for me, and withme. Dan was a true friend. Most people can go through a lifetimewithout having a friendship such as this—someone who is willingto put himself in harm's way for you when they don't have to. Thatgoes way beyond friendship, but that's the way Dan always was withme and the way I was with him.

Prior to our induction, we had heard of something called the"buddy plan"—a way for soldiers to stay together throughouttheir time in the military. So we asked the draft board if we couldvolunteer on the buddy plan. We were told they could not guaranteeit, but they would add the request to our records, giving us a goodchance of serving together.

And that's exactly what happened; we were together for the firstnine months of our time in the Army. We went through basic training,Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) Leadership Preparation Course(LPC), Advanced Infantry Training (AIT), and Army ChemicalSchool (ACS) training with each other.

During basic training, Dan and I signed up for Officer CandidateSchool (OCS). The simple reason for this was that we wanted to giveorders, rather than take them. Plus, we figured the benefits of beingan officer far outweighed those of an enlisted man. At this point, wewere unaware that the life expectancy for US Army Infantry SecondLieutenants was rumored to be something like eight minutes in combat.

When we graduated from basic training, it was June of 1967and blazing hot. We boarded a flight for Sea-Tac Airport in Tacoma,Washington, wearing our dress khaki uniform, which was lightweightand short sleeved. Upon arrival, we discovered that the weather wasdramatically different—by probably fifty-five degrees or so—andwe were not prepared for it after the sweltering, oppressive heat ofGeorgia. And to top it off, it was drizzling rain.

We had been sent there after basic training for a NCO LPC toprepare us for roles as squad leaders, platoon leaders, and companycommanders for our AIT units. We boarded a bus, and within ashort period of time, we arrived at our new home where we wouldtrain for the next few weeks.

The class was rather small, with maybe twenty people—a miniOCS, as it were. We had a senior drill sergeant and a staff sergeant.They were both no-nonsense, hard-core, "I'm gonna kick your ass"kind of guys. And they meant it. Dan and I adapted quickly to therigors of the training; it was intense, but easy enough if you appliedyourself.

Toward the end of our LPC training, we endured a sudden andrather shocking experience, something unexpected that would testour mental ability to adapt under pressure. The Six-Day War in Israelhad recently taken place, and an officer we were not familiar withcame bursting into our classroom and informed us we were part ofan emergency airlift to the Middle East.

We were rushed back to our barracks where we were told to clearout our lockers, dump our footlockers, and place everything in ourduffel bags ASAP. All the while, our drill sergeants were screamingat us that we had to hurry. Everyone was rushing and grabbingeverything of a personal nature.

A bus came screaming to a stop next to where we were lined up,and we got on board. As the bus sped off for the airfield, a big C-130was winging its way down through the clouds. The drill sergeantcalmly informed us that we were part of an emergency airlift to helpIsrael defend itself. This was the real deal! We were told we shouldquickly make out a last will and testament and write a short note toour loved ones.

Dan and I gave each other a look as if to say, "You gotta be f--kingkidding!"

I mean, there were some guys crying and some just sitting therewith a stunned, dumb-founded look. A few actually did write letters,saying how they were about to be rushed into battle and how muchthey loved this one and that one.

We pulled up beside the big C-130 with its tail ramp down andfiled on with our duffel bags. As we sat down, the plane started to taxidown the runway and lifted off the ground. At this point, Dan and Ibegan to wonder if this wasn't indeed the real deal! But as soon as thebig plane got airborne, the pilot cut the engines and headed back to therunway. WHEW! Dan and I had been worried for a brief moment.

When we returned to the classroom later that day, the senior drillsergeant read some of the letters he had collected on the bus whensome thought they were actually flying off to war. Some would havebeen sad if they were not so funny. The worst part of the exercise wasthat we now had to put our lockers and footlockers back together.This was no simple task as we had strict and specific regulations tofollow. Everything had to be lined up just so, with everything in itsvery specific place. That's the "Army way."

After a makeshift LPC graduation ceremony where we receivedan actual certificate of completion, we boarded a bus headed forAdvanced Infantry Training (AIT). Dan and I were assigned todifferent companies, yet we were in the same training battalion.I was in Headquarters Company and Dan was in Company C.We were apart for much of our individual infantry training, butthe Battalion HQ combined some of the training where we weretogether (such as jungle warfare training).

During jungle training one platoon was matched against another.My platoon was supposed to evade capture by another platoon andreach a designated position by a certain time. My platoon successfullyevaded capture, and we reached the goal successfully. However, aswe observed from concealment, Dan's platoon was captured and wasundergoing torture. Although this was mock torture, it was all too lifelikefor me—but I resisted the desire to attempt a rescue. It was hardwatching my friend endure a hardship if I could possibly prevent it.Fortunately, the exercise ended before I could do anything about it.

Much of the AIT training was actually a lot of fun. It involvedsimulated search and destroy missions and setting up commandposts in jungle-like terrain where we created defensive perimeterswith fields of fire. Little did I know that the reality of Vietnam wouldbe nothing like this.

One very interesting side note about AIT was that we trainedwith someone who would one day become a famous filmmaker. Asyou could probably imagine, he was just a regular guy who was therefor the same reasons we were: to do the right thing. We would gointo Seattle on weekend passes together and party hardy, but nothingparticularly stood out about him. I never thought much about ituntil I started writing this book, and Dan refreshed my memory.This just points out the obvious. We are all the same anyway.

Upon completion of AIT, we were put into a holding companywhere candidates like us were waiting for OCS orders; we wereassigned to a new AIT Battalion that was just starting up, and helpedto train the new recruits, draftees and reservists. Not too long afterthis, we were called together for a meeting to discuss some breakingnews regarding our situation. I was surprised at the number ofsoldiers waiting for OCS orders.

We were all ordered to the base auditorium, and a colonel cameup to the front of the room and told us that the quota for secondlieutenants had been filled, so we had a decision to make, and weneeded to make it fast.

We sat there and listened in silence as Dan and I weighed ouroptions. We could wait and help train more draftees and reservists(which would mean we could stay the course) or we could wait forthe next OCS class to begin, whenever that might be. This couldmean, more than likely, that we would be in the Army for a muchlonger period of time than the two years for which we volunteered.We were expecting another year or so, but not something like thefour to five years it was turning into! We just were not prepared tobe in the "green machine" for that long. Dan and I looked at eachother with a blank stare as if to say, "What do we do now?"

Luckily, we were given the choice of opting out of OCS andselecting any school we wanted to attend. The trouble was, we weregiven something like five minutes to decide. The ACS seemed likea logical choice because I had gone to college at Jacksonville StateUniversity in Alabama; and Fort McClellan (where ACS was located)was just a few miles down the road. Also, this would be reasonablyclose to our hometown of Atlanta so it seemed like a no-brainer. Wesigned up, and were shipped off to ACS a few days later where wewould train to become Chemical Decontamination Specialists—whateverthat was!

Because of our prior leadership roles in all of our previous training,we were immediately put in charge as Chemical DecontaminationClass Commanders, with our own private room no less. I must say,the fact that we had signed up for OCS was paying off handsomely.We always assumed leadership roles in all of the training we took inthe Army. But, the biggest benefit to this was that we did not haveto participate in routine duty like Kitchen Police (KP), Charge ofQuarters (CQ), Fire Watch, Guard Duty, and a whole slew of othertedious chores that all recruits were required to do. We were livinglarge, so to speak.

Our ACS training prepared us to decontaminate all personneland equipment in the event of nuclear, chemical or biologicalcontamination. This was something that was very sobering indeed,especially after we were required to watch training films on radiationand the effects of chemical and biological weapons on people andanimals. We were "initiated" by receiving a chemical burn on theinside of our wrist—about the size of a quarter—that quickly turnedinto a blister. Using a vial of mustard agent, they inserted one endof a straightened out paper clip, wiped it clean with a cotton ball,then touched the inside of our wrist with this paper clip. Withina short time a blister appeared on our arms. If you blistered fromthis miniscule amount of exposure, you could imagine what realexposure in war would be like!

After graduation from ACS, Dan received orders for Germanyand I got orders for Vietnam. Again, not wanting to have me goto Vietnam alone, Dan suggested that we should go talk to thecommanding officer of ACS to see about the possibility of gettingour orders changed. Somehow, this colonel was willing to see us.Dan asked if his orders could be changed so that he could go toVietnam with me—after all, we were on the buddy plan. We hadbeen together up to that point, and we were supposed to stay togetherfor our entire time we were in the army. The commanding officeracted as if he could not believe his ears. He just stared at us frombehind his desk and told us we weren't in the Boy Scouts. Our orderswere to remain the same, and that was all there was to it. As wewalked out of his office, I asked for permission to speak; I mentionedthat I was perfectly willing to go to Germany with Dan instead. Hejust waved at us to leave his office.

Prior to departing for Germany and the Nam, Dan and I firstwent home on leave. This was the norm before soldiers reported fortheir overseas duty station. I stayed home and partied with friends,while Dan flew up to Chicago to visit with his parents. When itcame time, my girlfriend drove me to the airport to catch a flight toOakland (my departure station for Vietnam).

My parents pretty much left me alone while I was home on leave,not wanting to worry me with what they were going through. Myfather kept quiet and didn't say a word, which I now understand wasbecause of his PTSD; he didn't want to show emotions he was notyet ready to expose.

My inner knowing had worked very well up to this point, butthis knowing was about to evolve into inner guidance, and maybeeven inner—I don't know— something else.

INNER KNOWING AND INNER GUIDANCE

Before I realized I had this inner knowing, I knew that everythingwas going to work out for my life. I knew I didn't have to worryabout graduating from the right school, getting a particular jobor having the coolest friends. I knew everything was going to flowin my favor, and I trusted it. It was an innate ability within me.I was afraid to tell my friends because I didn't think they wouldunderstand, so I didn't tell anybody.

This inner knowing that all my needs would be met was putto the test in a big way when I found myself in the killing fields ofVietnam. It is well documented that the war in Vietnam was ragingin the summer of 1967, and that it had reached a fevered pitch withmore than a half million American troops there in the 1967-1968time frame.

That July, General Westmoreland requested an additional200,000 reinforcements on top of the 475,000 soldiers alreadyscheduled to be sent to Vietnam. That would have taken the totalnumber of soldiers in Vietnam to 675,000, but President Johnsononly agreed to an extra 45,000 troops, and I was one of them.

Now, you are probably thinking, "What on earth doesvolunteering for the draft during the Vietnam War have to do withmy inner knowing?"

I never knew myself until many years later. I experienced whatmany would call a bona fide miracle as a result of being seriouslyinjured in Vietnam. This would turn out to be the answer to thatquestion.

Many people use the type of experience I had, to pursue a deeperpurpose in their life. So it was with me—it just took a little longerthan most. I was agnostic at that point in my life. I didn't have aclear concept in my mind about God, religion, or spirituality, andI had no way of knowing that my experience would evolve into aspiritual purpose for me. I discovered there was an inner guidancesystem available to me, guiding me in the direction of something Ididn't expect.

When I arrived in Vietnam at the 90th Replacement Battalion,it was mid-December of 1967. The battalion was close to Ton SonNhut airbase (where we had landed), and just outside of Ben Hoa,South Vietnam—about 12 miles northeast of Saigon. I had aninfantry Military Occupational Specialty (MOS), even though thelast school I had attended was ACS. I could have been assigned to aunit as a chemical decontamination specialist, but the Army neededlots of infantry soldiers as replacements for the numerous infantryunits that permeated the country of South Vietnam. So it was anatural assumption that an infantry unit was where I would end up.I was mostly concerned that I would have to hump the bush whilekilling and avoiding being killed, since this was the type of dutyeveryone associated with this war.