BY TERRY CUMMINS
Local Columnist
NEW ALBANY —
Back in the old days all able-bodied men had to fight for our country. Women with able bodies couldn’t use them, because fighting was considered un-lady like. But times have changed, and now women have able bodies and minds and are on the verge of bypassing men, who seem to have stagnated. It’s only a matter of time until a woman becomes president. Hillary and Sarah are waiting in the wings and perhaps even someone named Bridget or Candy.
But back to war. Since 1940 our country has fought several wars and sometimes two at once, which is now the case. From 1940 through 1973, the military was manned by a compulsory Selective Service draft. Every able young man was required to give at least two years of military service to his country. Since 1973 our armies have been composed of volunteers. But had the draft continued, there wouldn’t be nearly as many kids running wild on the streets and in prison. During the draft, those in college, who maintained a satisfactory academic record, could be deferred until completing their education. I remember being called before the local draft board because of receiving a grade of D on a semester transcript. I explained that the professor was on another planet and it was his fault. They explained that if I received another grade below C, I’d be on another planet and graded on my ability to dig foxholes.
Many veterans do not want to talk about their experiences in the service, not wanting to re-live the horrors of war. Others don’t want civilians knowing what they actually did in service. Well, you do what you’re told, right? Now that it’s been 52 years since being honorably discharged, I’m prepared to talk.
In 1956, three weeks after receiving a college degree, I was inducted into the U.S. Navy for two years and was transferred from a class in Shakespeare to a class in swabbing decks. After boot camp, I was assigned to the U.S.S. Talbot County, which was an LST, landing ship tank. They’re the largest flat-bottom ships in the Navy, and ride like a bucking bronco. You’ve seen the war movies. An LST rams a beach, and when the large doors opened at the bow, tanks roll out firing at the enemy. What made it exciting was the enemy was firing back at the ship.
It was a dreary December day when I moved into my spacious new home. The valet escorted me to my room, which was about the size of two bathrooms containing 16 bunks stacked five deep. Mine was on top and so close to the ceiling I had to scrunch my body to turn over. My worldly possessions were stored in a locker about the size of a double suitcase. If we wanted to write a letter or read, the only place to sit down was on the deck or in the galley where our gourmet cooks prepared delicious Navy beans everyday. War is hell.
The first lesson learned in the military is to follow orders. If you’re ordered to get yourself killed, you say, “Yes, Sir.” Skip the, “Thank you.” But after a month of sea duty, mostly anchored at a dock, the Pentagon ordered me off the ship.
“Seaman Apprentice Cummins, you’re ordered off this ship to temporary additional duty. Your country needs you to play basketball.” What was I going to do, argue the point or disobey the order?
I packed my duffel quickly, saluted the flag when departing the ship and checked into Barracks 3308 at the naval base at Little Creek, Va. The barracks were reserved for athletes. During a particular athletic season, football, baseball and basketball players were transferred to the base and willingly performed their duty in protecting our country. Little Creek is the headquarters of the Amphibious Force of the Atlantic Fleet. During the remaining 18 months of my obligation I was proud to serve as a Phiblant Gator.
All women and men who have been in the military have stories to tell. The stories of those who fought the battles are laced with sacrifice, bravery and courage. For all, the characters you meet, the bizarre situations you’re in and the adjustment to the military “way” is vastly different from civilian life. Military life is, you-have-to-live-it-to-believe-it kind of experience.
I remember the time when Louie Armstrong helped get me out of big trouble. (To be continued next week).
