Detroit
Oct. '69
After I had pretty much taken all the necessary tests to complete my
physical, the psychologist told me that we had to report to the
Commander of the fort. When we arrived, the male secretary sent us
through to the Colonel's office. The Colonel was a big, unfriendly
looking fellow, with a gruff voice. He said, "I've been informed
that you don't like us. You don't want to be a part of this army." I
looked at the Colonel, with the army psychologist sitting by his
side, and said, "Its not the army that I don't like, it's the war in
Vietnam." The Colonel paged through the paperwork on his desk and
said, "You poor, ungrateful idiot. Do you really think you can thumb
your nose at my soldiers, the country, and me, and get away with it?
Do you think we let trash like you tell the American Armed Forces
where to get off? You may not like us now, but you'll get over it.
Do you get it, son? Do you get what I'm telling you? You are going
to join us whether you like it or not. You are what regulations call
a fraud, a son-of-a-bitch who obviously is lying to avoid the draft.
The word `obviously' is the operative word here, son, because it
gives me the power to draft you right now, to send you straight to
boot camp. Do you understand?" I looked at the Colonel and nodded my
head. "I have your draft papers in front of me. Do you want to go to
boot camp, or do you want to get back in line with the rest of the
lads, who, by the way, would rather be somewhere else also? I advise
you to do your duty and get back in line. If you follow the rules
you will have a choice in how you spend the next two years of your
life. If you want that choice, you will cooperate. Do I make myself
clear?" Once again, I shook my head, yes. "Well, what will it be
then? Do I sign your draft papers, or do you cooperate?" I looked at
the Colonel and shrugged my shoulders. "Fine," he shouted, "Consider
yourself drafted!"
I looked at the Colonel writing out my draft papers and said, "I
hope you know what you're doing?" With a look that could kill, he
stared back at me and said, "You piece of crap. What makes you so
special? Do you think you can tell America, `to hell with all the
soldiers who have made the necessary sacrifices and served their
country with pride'? Do you really think you're the exception? You
people slay me! You seem to think the sun never sets on your sorry
asses! Well, I've got news for you. There are no exceptions at this
fort. You will serve and you will obey. We have a place for people
who refuse to be drafted; and believe me you don't want to go there.
You're going to be a soldier, like it or not. Remember this,
troublemakers wind up complaining to their Commanders on the front
line. If special treatment is what you want, I guarantee special
treatment is what you'll get."
Listening to the Colonel only made me more determined not to become
part of his army. As far as I was concerned that uniform didn't give
him the right to send anybody to his or her death. I didn't want to
kill, or be killed. My muscles tensed as I blurted out, "What's
wrong Colonel, do you have a problem with other people's views? If
it wasn't for the fight against injustice, if it wasn't for the
spirit of revolutions, do you think you would be a Commander in the
United States Army today? Did the people of Boston get permission
to dump tea in the harbor? What about the abolitionists? What would
you have done to them? Shoot them for seditious beliefs? And those
damn women Suffragettes? What about them, lock'em up and throw away
the key? Sure I protest the war, but I don't protest the war because
I hate America. I protest the war because I believe America can be
made better. As far as I'm concerned not enough is being done to
eliminate poverty and hunger right here in America. Anti war
protesters are not just protesting the Vietnam War. They want an
America where institutions can be counted on to respond to human
needs, not just profits, and where the poor and rich can enjoy the
same freedoms. The bully pulpit and brute strength have made
America "top dog." That's wrong! It should be the other way around.
Top dog status should be earned by demonstrating "good works,"
honesty, and compassion. What we need in this country is more love
and less hate!
The Colonel looked down at his half filled out forms. The
psychologist, a partial smile on his face, sat quietly by his
side. "And Colonel," I said, "If I was in Vietnam, do you really
think I would become an asset to the war effort? Do you really
think I would be regular army? Believe me, I wouldn't be just any
soldier. The majority of draftees, the blacks and the
disenfranchised, do they really know why we're fighting in Vietnam?
Do they even have a clue that the bombing, the wholesale destruction
of Vietnamese forests by fire, all the killing and maiming going on,
are in the end measured in mega bucks, bucks gained by the fat cats
who profit from this war? As regular army, I want you to know that I
will do everything I can to get the word out. The `American Dream'
is dead. Not the dream-myth that we all grew up with, the one that
says, `hard work guarantees prosperity;' conspicuous consumption and
wealth keep that one alive. It's the less friendly, uglier one that
is dead. The one that sanctifies using the backs of the poor to
consolidate wealth, the one that seeks respectability by ignoring
the structural inequalities that keep the disadvantaged stuck in
their poverty generation after generation. Believe me; I will spread
the word. The system—our system—of elitism, domination, and
hierarchy is not worth killing for, much less dying for, and I will
shout it out. I may not get a medal, but that doesn't mean that I'm
not fighting the `good fight'.
The Colonel's face grimaced as he looked over at the psychologist
and said, "Get this fucker out of here. He goes to the shrink."
After I was escorted out of the Colonel's office, he called the
psychologist back into the room. When the psychologist returned, he
had a smile on his face, and he told me that I was pretty much home
free. He also told me that in his tenure as an Army psychologist,
nobody had ever gone to the extremes I had in order to get out of
the draft. He added though, attempts to get out of the draft were
becoming more frequent and more determined everyday.
I wasn't finished yet, though. I still had to get past the
psychiatrist and, according to the psychologist, if I couldn't pass
the intelligence test I would get an immediate one-way ticket to
Fort Knox, Kentucky. The third time around, however, my own
psychologist administered the test in a private room. I was still
tripping on mescaline and my stomach was upset, but I did my best,
and then sat back and waited. I was never told if I passed the test,
but I was taken to a hotel and given a next day appointment with the
psychiatrist.
On the morning of the next day, I arrived at the psychiatrist
feeling like a cardboard cut out of a man. I sat in front of his
desk answering questions. His facial expression never changed. We
touched on all the subjects the Army considered threatening. He only
wanted to know about the things I had already put in writing. He
wanted to know why I refused to sign the papers that called for my
allegiance to the U.S. Army, and why I would not take an oath
affirming the Constitution of the United States of America. On
questions concerning my Communist affiliations, I took the Fifth
Amendment. My mental health was not in question, at least for him.
This was the first time I had talked to a psychiatrist. I thought
maybe I could actually get some guidance from this guy, but when I
tried to move the conversation past the interrogation stage, I was
told, "Just answer the questions."
When the psychiatrist got enough information, the session was over.
Fifteen minutes later, I was given my discharge papers. In the eyes
of the Government, and, for all practical purposes, in the eyes of
the establishment as a whole, my bona fides now included insanity.
According to my clinical diagnosis, I was suffering from chronic
depression with schizophrenic tendencies.
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