Russ was from Minneapolis, married, and from what his brother told me years later, very intelligent in a calculus kind of way. But he had his problems, 'specially when it came to being in the Army. Could've been a case of depression, a fear of going to Vietnam, against the war and somehow was drafted into the infantry. Whatever the reason I knew him as a quiet man who had the ability to come up with a beer or two at the EM Club most every night even though he had little or no money. Gettin' tippled on other people's money seemed one of his talents. Another asset was his affability, easy to like with nary a bad word for anyone.
We agreed to get together on leave before heading to Vietnam. And we did. That afternoon I came to appreciate the man's tolerance for alcohol. I showed up at his apartment mid-afternoon with a quart of Southern Comfort to go with the beer in his refrigerator. Russ never said if he liked what I brought 'cause he was too busy puttin' it down to get a word out more than now and then. We, I s'pose it wasn't a fifty-fifty kinda we more of seventy-thirty kind of we, polished the bottle off but seein' as how he was still thirsty, Russ suggested we head to a local hangout, a workin' man's bar name of Pearson's, Home of the King-Sized Drink. While Russ continued with what he seemed to do well, I payed a visit to the men's room. There my body ejected as much excess alcohol as it could through my mouth and nose; never a pleasant experience even if the floor around the stool had been dry.
By that time I was ready to head home and sleep for a day or two. The problem was we'd invited his wife and Lois to meet us after they got off work. Which they did. And the three of them had a fine time while I sat in the corner of the booth doing my best to stay awake.
During our afternoon's drinking and babbling Russ said he wasn't going to Vietnam. At the time I paid no attention 'cause he was drunk. Probably would've written it off even if he wasn't. At one time or another the thought of not going must have passed though most of our heads. My friend David Magnuson, who'd done a tour in Vietnam with the Marines, told me to head straight for Canada when he heard I was in the infantry.
Also, during AIT, one of the trainees went on a hunger strike for some reason or other. I don't know if any of us knew exactly why. And considering how bad the food was, we figured it was just an excuse to not eat in the mess hall. More or less he was shunned by the whole company even though some of us quietly agreed with him, each in our own way. His strike went on for a week, then he was gone. Poof!
At one time or another the idea had also passed through my head, so when Russ said he wasn't going, what could I say? Probably something stupid like, "Me too."
But, in the end, I went and Russ didn't. Didn't find that out for twenty years until a cocktail party conversation with his brother Dennis. Between those two times an article in the paper caught my eye. On a back page story that would've normally have passed by unseen, I saw Russ' name. He'd died with his daughter in an apartment fire. That he was living in an apartment at an age when most of us were homeowners got me wondering where his life had gone.
His brother filled me in on the missing years. Russ had remained AWOL for some time. Whether the Army caught up with him or he turned himself in, I don't recall. Regardless, Russ refused to serve in Vietnam, was court marshaled and spent six months in the stockade. Time up, he still refused to go to Vietnam. Six months more. At that point the Army offered to change his MOS to Intelligence but still send him to Vietnam. Again he refused and ended up finishing his two year hitch in the stockade. The story as I recall it may not be perfectly correct but is close.
Of the men I served with, Russ returns to my thoughts more often than any other. No matter which side of the fence you sit on, it's obvious that the circumstances we faced during the Vietnam war caused many tragedies, Russ' among them. His name is not on the Wall in Washington and never will be. But, in my mind, Russ was a casualty of the war.
During our afternoon's drinking and babbling Russ said he wasn't going to Vietnam. At the time I paid no attention 'cause he was drunk. Probably would've written it off even if he wasn't. At one time or another the thought of not going must have passed though most of our heads. My friend David Magnuson, who'd done a tour in Vietnam with the Marines, told me to head straight for Canada when he heard I was in the infantry.
Also, during AIT, one of the trainees went on a hunger strike for some reason or other. I don't know if any of us knew exactly why. And considering how bad the food was, we figured it was just an excuse to not eat in the mess hall. More or less he was shunned by the whole company even though some of us quietly agreed with him, each in our own way. His strike went on for a week, then he was gone. Poof!
At one time or another the idea had also passed through my head, so when Russ said he wasn't going, what could I say? Probably something stupid like, "Me too."
But, in the end, I went and Russ didn't. Didn't find that out for twenty years until a cocktail party conversation with his brother Dennis. Between those two times an article in the paper caught my eye. On a back page story that would've normally have passed by unseen, I saw Russ' name. He'd died with his daughter in an apartment fire. That he was living in an apartment at an age when most of us were homeowners got me wondering where his life had gone.
His brother filled me in on the missing years. Russ had remained AWOL for some time. Whether the Army caught up with him or he turned himself in, I don't recall. Regardless, Russ refused to serve in Vietnam, was court marshaled and spent six months in the stockade. Time up, he still refused to go to Vietnam. Six months more. At that point the Army offered to change his MOS to Intelligence but still send him to Vietnam. Again he refused and ended up finishing his two year hitch in the stockade. The story as I recall it may not be perfectly correct but is close.
Of the men I served with, Russ returns to my thoughts more often than any other. No matter which side of the fence you sit on, it's obvious that the circumstances we faced during the Vietnam war caused many tragedies, Russ' among them. His name is not on the Wall in Washington and never will be. But, in my mind, Russ was a casualty of the war.
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