Uncle Sam Wanted Me? 

     I took off work and drove to Harrisburg for three days including the drive. The tests were not formidable, and the interview seemed friendly enough. One catch: I would need to gain 15 pounds. 

     It was fall 1961, and Russians were bent on interrupting my career, which had only begun. Guys as old as 22 were getting drafted. (For young readers: When the government wanted you in the military, they sent a letter telling you when and where to show up for the bus.) 

     Now where was I? Oh, in early December, I opened my mail. Draft notice! What would Uncle Sam want with a 6-foot, 130-pound Remington Ranger? 

     Remington typewriter, that is.    

     I told our Uncle I was expecting a decision by his Air Force, and he kindly delayed me one month. Most important, I avoided frostbite so many guys suffered at Ft. Knox early that January. 

     January 22, 1962. Yours truly, then 145 pounds (thanks to bananas), road the night train from Pittsburgh to Ft. Knox along with two fellow employees of our newspaper, and a few other guys I knew. 

     Three weeks later, Dad called me to say the Air Force - not aware I was learning to march and carry a rifle at the same time - accepted my application. I could immediately leave KP and 4 a.m. wakeups and show myself in Texas on April 1. And serve four years. 

     I thought hard for five seconds - the cook in our division was really good. Besides, I never could get a model airplane to fly. About half the guys in our barracks were headed to the infantry. I returned home on leave weighing 170, unable to button the top of a dress shirt. 

         Jimmy