Читать книгу The Ultimate Pursuit - Carl D. Smith - Страница 7

It was 1972, the Vietnam War was in full swing, and the protests were in high gear. President Nixon was in the daily news, there was talk of impeaching him for the Watergate scandal, and the universities were continuously in an uproar. It was the age of “flower power,” “free love” and the mellow “hippies” with long hair who smoked grass and took LSD. On the other side of things was “the establishment”: the military with their crew cuts and the rednecks with their bumper stickers that read, “America, Love It or Leave It.” I was not really in either one of these groups but I did have somewhat long hair, I liked to surf and had smoked my share of weed. I thought it was normal; everyone else I knew smoked it too including some of my friends’ parents.

One day, I realized I was going to graduate from high school very soon and what was I going to do then? My father addressed me one afternoon on the subject as I was walking out of the house. Casually he asked, “Carl, what are your plans after you graduate?” I said, “I would like to go to college.” My father replied, “You know your brother is going to college and he has been there for two years; I don’t think I can afford for you to stay here at home and go to college too.”

This caught me off-guard, and I was deeply hurt. I felt what I did many times before—that my father favored my older brother over me. This confirmed that my dad was more interested in Calvin’s life than mine. I tried to hide the shock and hurt on my face. All I could say was, “O.K., then I will figure out something else.” A couple days later I found myself down at the Armed Forces Recruiters office. I walked in and right past the Army, Navy, and Air Force offices to the Marines. I heard that the Marines were the tough guys; I thought I would belong with them. It was lunchtime and the Marine recruiter was out of his office.

The Navy recruiter noticed me when I had walked by and he stepped out into the hallway. He asked, “Would you like some information on the Navy since the Marine recruiter is not around?” I said, “Sure, O.K.” He gave me some tests and interviewed me; I told him about my work experience; we talked about my scuba diving and work as a delivery and set-up person to hospitals and homes with medical supplies. He seemed to be interested in the scuba diving license I had, and my wrestling background. (I took the “gold” medal in junior high for the San Diego County Division).

The recruiter tried to talk me into the Navy Seals, but after he explained what extreme training the Seals had to undergo, with hell week, etc., I decided to go in a different direction and enlist for four years. I was guaranteed a Class A school after basic training in San Diego. The schooling was to become a Hospital Corpsman and the training would be at Balboa Naval Hospital in San Diego. I wanted to think about it some. Interested in his reaction, I went home and told my father that I had joined the Navy. He looked at me and said, “Oh, that’s good Carl. The Navy is a good choice.” I figured the Navy must not be too bad, so I went back in a few days and joined. When you graduate from training, you are the equivalent of a paramedic. The Hospital Corpsmen were the ones they were sending to Vietnam to go out in the jungles where the battles were taking place.

Corpsmen are the field medics; the only downside was that out of every ten Corpsmen sent there, only two would come back alive— not very good odds for an 18 year old to consider. The Corpsmen did not even carry a weapon, and according to the Geneva Convention rules, could not be shot at; they only rendered first aid to the wounded. Of course, it does not work like that in war; the enemy usually does whatever it wants. Hospital Corps School had difficult classes such as nursing, physiology, anatomy, first aid and more.

I was learning new things and it felt good to be acquiring skills I could actually use. It was a big change from high school which seemed like a bunch of requirements, but no real life skills.

The problem was, I was in Naval Corpsman School only 25 miles from where I had grown up. I was drawn back to my friends and familiar town of Escondido when I was off-duty. I had a Triumph TR4 sports car that could really move. Before the 15 freeway was built, I could be back in Escondido in 20 minutes. The Old Highway 395 had some straight-aways I could cruise at 95-100 mph.

When I should have been studying, I was partying instead. It was like I had one foot in the past and one in the future, and it was tearing me apart. I had said my goodbyes to everyone. I was in for four years, but here only two and a half months later I was connecting with my old friends. My inner struggle was I wanted to be with them, but I couldn’t because I had a completely new life to live. I have to let go of the old and get busy with the new, the Navy.

I had one roommate back on the base whom I barely saw. One day I came back to our room and his belongings were all gone. I went to the office and asked where he was. The officer on duty told me he had been killed in a car accident. The officer on duty had his personal belongs packed up for the family. I was shocked.

The partying and the reality of what I was doing started to take a toll on me and my classes. One morning, they informed us that we would be greeting a few POWs (prisoners of war) that day. We were all assigned different positions around the hospital. I was out front. Three long black limousines pulled up and out came 10 or maybe 12 men in Navy dress uniforms. It was some of the POWs who had been released from Vietnam, and they were coming into Balboa Naval Hospital for treatment. They had been on the verge of starvation and I could see that even with their jackets on they were the thinnest people I had ever seen. They moved slowly as if every step hurt, and I am sure it did now that we know the suffering they went through for so many years. To see these men up close caused me to understand that life had some very stark realities.

I began to fall behind in classes and really wanted to just be in the regular Navy—whatever that was, whatever that meant. I requested to speak to the captain of the base to ask for a transfer. I stood before this seasoned captain in charge of the entire Balboa Naval Hospital Center and pleaded my case. He was not happy with me, but said that if I really did not want to take care of the men’s medical needs, then I should be assigned different duties. He looked in some book, called someone on the phone and said, “Sailor! Pack your sea bag; you’re shipping out to Guam!” I remember thinking, Guam, where is that?