The Courage to Surrender. John Hayes W.
Next came the physical testing. I was pulled from the line before finishing. “Take your folder to see the Army doctor so he can check out your knee,” the sergeant told me.
“Sit up on the table,” said the doctor. “Your paperwork indicates your right knee has possible cartilage damage. What happened to it?”
I swallowed deeply before I described my bad knees. “I dislocated my right kneecap playing basketball as a sophomore. I wore a brace on that knee and continued to play high school football, basketball, and baseball until I graduated. During those years, I blew out my right knee four more times and my left knee once. I needed crutches after each occurrence.” It may have seemed like I belabored the point, but it was the truth. “During my senior football season, my family doctor drained my knee with a syringe each week, and wrapped it real tight so I could play in Saturday’s game.”
The Army doctor pulled, pushed, and twisted my knee. Then, he explained, “in addition to insufficient cartilage, you probably have damaged ligaments.” His evaluation concluded that my knee was unstable, so he checked the box “unqualified for military service.”
Uncle Sam put the fear of God in me at the induction center. Although my knee saved me, my half-hearted plan to go to college became a firm commitment. Before classes began, I received my second letter from the Selective Service with my draft card stamped “4F.” I had a medical deferment!
~ ~ ~
Throughout that summer, I joined Sam for our after-work regimen which included swimming in a nearby lake to feel refreshed, drinking beer to forget the day, and sharing joints to float through the night. He told me tales of his college exploits and, at the end of the day he reminded me, “No one cares what you do.”
My summer job as a draftsman gave me valuable civil engineering experience for my college major. I chose a community college which was close to home and less intimidating than the larger universities that had accepted me.
The weekend before classes began, we packed up the car and Dad and Mom drove me to my new home which was a room in a boarding house. As we unloaded, Dad appeared anxious to leave, Mom cried for both of us, and I felt claustrophobic in the little room waiting for my three roommates.
Civil Engineering courses were difficult and required a pile of work outside the classroom, so I was confined to our little room every night. Soon I dreaded studying, and became jealous of my roommates who had less homework and were able to go to the bars most nights.
“Hey, take a night off, you work too hard! Come on, we’re going out for a couple beers,” they’d say, but I would decline and put my head down to study, fearful of flunking out.
At times I wanted to quit school, but I felt trapped. “Where would I live? What would I do? What would Mom, Dad and Uncle Sam do to me for failing?”
After a few weeks of studying and getting poor grades, I decided to take a night off and went with my roomies to the College Tavern.
As was usually the case when I socialized, I felt shy and self-conscious. To escape my fear and insecurity, I used alcohol to gain enough confidence to ease into the crowds and enjoy myself. As I squeezed to the bar, I became engulfed in the joking, loud talking and friendly gestures. The excitement hit me like an adrenaline rush.
I felt a little tug and turned to see a pretty blonde coed in a booth next to me. “Have a seat,” she said. My sophomore roommate elbowed me into the booth next to her. We laughed as she topped my mug from the pitcher on the table. The cold draft beer went down smoothly, and each swallow gave me a craving to guzzle between taking breaths. The alcohol surged through my body which loosened my fear of letting life happen.
I was a people pleaser. I would usually compromise my life in order to be accepted. That night, I was admitted into the college drinking crowd, and it felt right. My need to fit in was satisfied. I had walked into the Tavern with two friends, and left with a dozen.
~ ~ ~
Drinking became my escape from reality, and then drugs would take me to a comfort zone away from the world as I knew it. I could stop thinking about my responsibilities and the expectations which ruled my life, and could let go of the pressure to achieve.
The coed said, “Let’s go to my place for a couple beers.” Without hesitation, I left with her to spend the night. As we left hand-in-hand laughing through the parking lot, I felt as though I was skipping like a little kid. I felt so loose it was like a wave of total freedom had been poured over me like a warm blanket.
I remembered that night as one of the best times of my life, but was unaware that I had taken yet another step into the maze of alcoholism.
The next morning, I woke up not knowing where I was or how I would get back to the house. Later in the morning while Sandra slept, there was a knock at the door. I did nothing until Rob, my sophomore roommate, yelled, “Hey, John, come on. I’ll take you back to the house.” Fortunately, he saw me leave with Sandra the night before and knew where she lived. This was the first of many mornings in my life when I awoke in a strange place not sure of what happened, where I was, or how I’d get home.
As we drove back to the house, I was in a panic. “Shit. I’m not prepared for classes today!”
I knew it would be humiliating because everyone always did their homework, every day. I felt like all the other kids in engineering must be smarter than me because they always knew what was going on, and I just barely understood that shit!
“I just can’t study more than I already do and, if I fall too far behind, I will never catch up,” I whined.
“Take it easy,” he calmly said. “Just cut the classes.”
That “cut classes” advice brought an end to my studying for that trimester, and I became a regular at the Tavern. Sam was right. No one really cared what I did.
On October 15 and 16, 1965, anti-war demonstrations were being held across the nation, fueled by people who were openly opposed to the Vietnam War. The peace movement didn’t slow the war machine but, instead, fractured the country based on views of the war. People were either Doves or Hawks and there was no middle ground. Vietnam could not be swept under the rug.
I did not participate in rallies, but I did listen to the messages of peace in the lyrics of protest songs and related to the anti-war movement in a big way.
My resentment toward the power people grew as they secretly ramped up our involvement in Vietnam, in spite of the slaughter of our teenage soldiers. Although I detested the war, I felt detached. I was preoccupied with my new life and secure with my “4F” classification.
As the war continued, I secretly questioned if I should go to `Nam. I waged an internal “fight or flight” battle within myself as I listened to guys who went to war wishing they hadn’t, and to others who hadn’t gone wondering if they should have.
In the final analysis, I assumed I would just be another dead soldier.
~ ~ ~
Throughout the first trimester, I cut classes frequently and fell deeper into the hole of academic failure. I kept sliding along with the predictable bad grades, and I became depressed and confused as to how I should proceed with my education.
I went home on weekends because I needed more drinking money than the weekly allowance that Dad was sending me for food. While I was home, I would spend my nights at the College Inn, my bar of choice. The Inn’s atmosphere was a magnet that attracted college kids from New York and Vermont, packing the place 365 days a year.
The more uncertain I was about my future, the more I drank. I pitied myself, since I had no one else to blame. I assumed everyone was looking down on me as a failure and did not accept me. The notion that I would only be accepted if I achieved good grades was carried from childhood when a hit in Little League made Dad proud, and a strike-out was deemed as failure.
Before the end of the fall trimester, I was flattered to receive an invitation to pledge the “cool fraternity” on