First-Person America
By Kevin Josker
Tucson, Arizona—In 1972, I was part of the last military draft. A
Teletype machine was set up in the student union at the University of Buffalo, where I was enrolled, and lottery numbers were posted as they were pulled. A room full of 19-year-olds awaited their fate. I got number 364: I didn’t have to worry about being drafted.
But the next summer I joined the Navy anyway. All of my friends thought I was crazy, stupid, and ignorant. What a waste of a perfectly good draft number.
I became a radar operator for P-3 aircraft, went to the Philippines, and flew over Vietnam doing reconnaissance. I was there for the evacuation in 1975, and kept track of the desperate boat-people fleeing Vietnam. Many disappeared in the South China Sea—their overcrowded, top-heavy fishing boats swamped by the sea, or sunk by pirates who attacked at night. The boy from Buffalo turned into a man that year. The realization that I was privileged to grow up in the United States sunk in quickly when I witnessed the lengths to which people went to gain the freedom I took for granted. After our deployment, we came home to Moffet Field near San Jose. I moved off base with a couple of friends and lived in Los Gatos, 25 miles away. In the ’70s, young sailors stuck out like sore thumbs amidst our peers, and much of the country did not condone our job choice. Los Gatos was quiet and people there didn’t automatically associate our short hair with the military.
In downtown Los Gatos there is a place called Mountain Charlie’s that
had live music, and played lots of Charlie Daniels, Lynyrd Skynrd, Allman Brothers, and bluegrass records. It was our place during off hours.
One night I was standing at the end of the bar listening to the music when a girl walked up to me, said “You must be in the military,” called me a baby killer, and spat in my face.
I had heard of this happening to others, but was stunned when it happened to me. She turned and walked away indignantly before I could even react. As she rejoined her party they all had a good laugh, congratulating each other, and chalking one up “for the people.”
One of the bartenders passed a napkin to me. I wiped my face as other patrons watched and slowly receded, not knowing what to expect. Then the bartender put his hand on my shoulder, and told me to watch. Waitresses and other employees were leading the offenders out of the bar, against their will.
My roommate walked over, patted me on the back, and told me to forget it. But I never did. I felt violated, disappointed, angry, frustrated, depressed, and confused. To this day I wonder if that woman ever really understood what she did.
Twenty years later, I interviewed for a job in San Jose. I scheduled the last flight out so that I would have time to drive to Los Gatos after the interview and see if Mountain Charlie’s was still there. At 3 p.m. I walked through the swing doors, slowly soaking in the nearly unchanged sights and sounds and smells. I was the only customer.
The bartender looked at me and said I must be a ’70s patron. I laughed and said yes, how did he know? We all have the same dreamy look on our faces when we enter, he answered.
I drank a toast to old buddies and we started swapping stories. Other customers had come in and begun listening to our tale-telling when I told him the “baby killer” story. The guy to my right was offended that such a thing had happened. He moved to the stool next to me and bought me a drink. Soon other people walked up and apologized for that woman, and thanked me for my service to the country. I headed for the airport feeling much better. I finally buried that ugly episode that afternoon.
I am a wiser and better man for my experiences in the military. I know what honor, courage, and sacrifice really mean. The young Americans now returning home from a different war will be changed in similar ways. But they return to a country with a vastly different outlook, and much more understanding and appreciation, than the one I came home to.
Good for them!
This is Kevin Josker's first published article. This piece is also featured in a brand new book, In Real Life: Powerful Lessons for Everyday Living, a collection of TAE writings. See TAEmag.com for more details.
