The Metta Way: the Western Path of Lovingkindness

Now, about serving my country! Here it was, late December of ’66, and I’m back in Jersey with my parents, not feeling too great about my academic achievements to date. After much discussion and little blame cast, they suggested that I enlist in the armed services and ‘get my head straight’, as Dad so succinctly put it. I naturally thought of the Navy because my dad had served two tours a decade apart, served in WWII, and I had all his naval stories embedded in my cells from so much repetition! But to my surprise Dad recommended the Army, as it was a three-year enlistment, not four years like the Navy. I bet Dad had serious concerns about my staying power, and I think they wanted me out of the house as I was a disappointment. So, we went to the Recruitment Center in Morristown, the county seat, and I enlisted. There was a new cadre forming at Ft. Dix, NJ, so I reported there and started another great adventure in my life. Of course, our household was very patriotic, Dad and Uncle Eddie being in WWII on the front lines and oceans; I was not at all political or anti-anything at that point. I knew little of Vietnam or Indochina except we were stopping communism (more on that later!) Basic training was all that I thought it would be and so much more! I remember standing in countless lines waiting for the haircut, linens and blankets, inoculations, and interviews. My hair was already buzzed, but no matter; “you’re in the Army now”; shut up and wait or hurry up and wait. When we were settled in our decrepit barracks (reactivated from WWII) at days end after an awful dinner we were called to attention, everyone standing at the end of their bunks. I knew how to stand at attention from NROTC, but most in our platoon and company were college draftees and didn’t know and thought they didn’t care. Then down the center of the barracks, followed by another sergeant and a corporal, marched the meanest and ugliest-looking drill sergeant you could imagine; he was built like a pile of bricks with a weathered face and had few teeth. He stopped in the middle, snapped-turned to stare at us with eyes dripping with derision, and boomed out in a voice that we all had no problem hearing: “I’m your mother now but I won’t be wiping your delicate little butts. You will maintain your own cleanliness of body and assigned barracks space, or you will be begging for your mother! Your heart may belong to Mama, but your ass belongs to me.” This was Master Drill Sergeant Bagwell; he was a huge Alaskan Aleutian native, and as we found out later from the sergeant, Sgt. Bagwell’s tribe had members and summer fishing encampments on both Big and Little Diomedes islands in the Bering Strait. Big was Russian and Little was USA, and this was the height of the Cold War. As his tribe went back and forth and neither would accept the nationality status each country attempted to pin on them, Sgt. Bagwell was ineligible for US Citizenship, even though he was from Little and had served tours in Korea and Vietnam. He cut his teeth (and lost them due to loss of his traditional diet) on the incredibly harrowing Korean War Battle of the Chosin Reservoir, earning two purple hearts and a Silver Star, as he got wounded on two consecutive days when the battle was too intense to extract the wounded. He earned another Silver Star in Nam, although I never heard the story of that episode. It was traditional for foreigners who enlisted and served to be offered citizenship: Sgt. Bagwell was not. I hope this idiocy has changed, as he was a true warrior and hero!