Ostomy Memories of ROTC

FOR AWHILE, BACK IN THE SIXTIES, I attended a small, land grant college with mandatory Army artillery ROTC (Reserve Officers’ Training Corps).  I was so resistive to the regimentation that I nearly flunked out.  “You will be forward observers in Vietnam,” one trainer told us, “with a life expectancy of about 23 minutes.”  Encouraged by that bit of news, I left school and, instead, almost died on a civilian operating table instead, earning a 4-F selective service rating with an ileostomy.  I was vociferously opposed to the Vietnam War, much to the chagrin of some of my more conservative classmates, as well as my own family members.  “You’re a communist,” sneered my mother, who wouldn’t have known a communist if she’d read Marx instead of playing canasta.  Even today, I have to laugh when I see Republican politicians calling Democrats communists, a term they stupidly equate with being a liberal.  John Kenneth Galbraith knew about these things:  “Under capitalism, man exploits man.  Under communism, it’s just the opposite.”  In any event, ROTC was a military feeder, dressing gung-ho college kids up in spiffy uniforms to later become second lieutenants in the armed forces.  I found the uniforms totally obnoxious, the heavy wool outfits, the dumb cap, the upper-class officer assholes giving me demerits because my brass wasn’t shiny enough or my hair wasn’t sufficiently trimmed to military specifications.  In the end, the ileostomy saved me from the short life expectancy of Vietnam service, my mother figured out that I wasn’t a nasty communist, and instead of my name being carved into the Vietnam Wall, I get to look at it when I visit Washington, and cry.   

Don't ask me why, but the Vietnam War fascinates me. I watch documentaries from both sides on it as much as possible. &zwj

If you'd like to do some reading on the Vietnam War, I highly recommend these books:  A Bright Shining Lie, Neal Sheehan, and Reporting Vietnam, Books One and Two, by various combat reporters.

Hi Henry, when I was a freshman in high school, I took ROTC as an elective instead of phys. ed. I figured ROTC was all indoors and we would get to target practice and march around with M-1 rifles. Boy, was I wrong. The first semester was book learning and PT - pushups, running, and marching in formation outside in the parking lot during winter. The second semester wasn't as bad, as we got to play with guns and in the final week, we got to target practice with .22s to earn a marksman medal, which I managed to lose. The instructor confronted me my sophomore year for not signing up but taking gym class instead and called me a lazy dropout.

Hello HenryM.

Your post puts me in mind of the late 50’s when I joined the local Civil Defence unit. It was an interesting experience as they didn’t call it ‘Dad’s Army’ for no reason, I think the average age of my fellow defenders was about 75years. Thus, it was a surprise for them all when such a young teenager was keen to join up. What was most interesting was that nobody questioned my motives for joining, they simply accepted the fact and made me feel welcome.
What surprised me was they quickly and collectively decided that I ought to be part of the ‘intelligence’ section. This suited me fine as I got to play with all their electronic equipment, and they were only too pleased to have me literally ‘run’ their reels of telephone lines across the countryside when they had ‘exercises'. (That was their equivalent of mobile phones in those days). 
I also got to drive their 4x4 Landrovers off-road (for nothing) which was the basic reason I had joined them.  I couldn’t afford my own vehicle at the time and driving tractors was simply not the same as a military Landrover.
The beauty of the ‘Dad’s Army’ was that they were all way past viewing discipline as an important factor in ‘civil’ defence, so I had no problems on that front, and they were all just a jolly bunch of ‘old-soldiers’.
I lasted about 3 years, until the government decided that they were going to pay us for our services. (It had all been voluntary up to then).  Having never had much ‘trust’ in government, I deduced that the payment of a pittance was so that they could, and probably would, view us a ‘reservists’ for the main armed forces. I never told them, but It had been a conscious decision of mine at a very young age that I would never go to war and certainly would not be prepared to kill another human being. So, I declined their ‘kind-offer’ of money and was obliged to leave the organisation. 
Sometime later, at the local rugby club, I happened to be saying that I would love to jump out of an aeroplane but could not afford to do it privately. I was immediately accosted by one of my fellow players, who said he could fix me up with a free ‘sky-jump’. It sounded too good to be true (as they say), so I checked him out and it seems that he was in charge of the local SAS group, and the ‘free’ jump would have entailed joining his unit. I never did get to jump out of an aeroplane! (But I have managed to walk off quite a few, so that will have to suffice!)

Best wishes

Bill

Living with Your Ostomy | Hollister

It's a war that has always fascinated me, which is why I'm here in the first place. Father abandoned Mother, so I was raised as an only child. I have four sisters, but adding the oldest to the mix wasn't in his plan. Also, in school, they would get right up to Korea and stop, and not discuss Vietnam at all.