A time to remember
In the Spring, when new life is bursting forth in nature, we observe Memorial Day-a day for a special remembrance of those who gave their lives in order that others might live.
In the days when a draft was used to man the military, many of my contemporaries had chosen to volunteer when they came of age so they could choose the branch of service in which they would serve. My two older brothers had signed with the Air Force. Joe made a successful career and served twentythree years before he retired. Pete followed in Joe’s steps and served four years.
I was not drafted nor did I volunteer. I was too young to be called up during the Korean conflict. But as the hostilities in Vietnam were heating up, I received my dreaded “Dear Sir” letter informing me my draft number had been drawn. It was late in 1957 and I was in my third year of college. I would eventually be ordained to Christian ministry but had not looked into the possibility of an exemption.
As much as I dreaded being drafted, I had taken the attitude that I would not try in any way to avoid it. At the scheduled time, with scores of other young men, I spent hours in the hands of disinterested personnel as they administered shots, and thoroughly examined our physical condition.
I had a glimmer of hope when three medics pulled me out of line to re-examine and discuss an injured knee that had not completely healed from a second surgery earlier in the year. However, the content of their conversation was unknown to me. In a few weeks, I breathed a sigh of relief when the letter came with the information I would be classified as 4-F (physical exemption) and would not be inducted into service. Later I would be re-classified to 1-Y, which no one seemed to understand, and finally to a ministerial exemption upon graduation from seminary.
When I was serving in my first pastorate word came of the death of a young soldier in Vietnam. For various reasons, his family held a special place in the hearts of our family. Out of respect for his service to our country and appreciation for his father’s ministry in my life, I had driven my father and uncle 200 miles to attend his funeral.
Some months later his father told me the full story of his son’s service. He had been greatly talented and could have succeeded in any field he might have chosen. But in a day when young men were burning draft cards and fleeing to Canada, he had chosen to serve his country as a soldier knowing that in all probability he would be sent to “Nam”.
He wanted to be one of the best so he enlisted in the 82nd Airborne. During his training, he injured his knee in a practice jump. The injury was severe enough to disqualify him from service and allow him to return to civilian life. But he chose to go through weeks of painful rehabilitation to be able to continue in service.
He had been in Vietnam for three months when he was killed in a helicopter accident. He had actually survived the crash but died when the helicopter exploded as he tried to rescue his pilot. His story deeply touched me as I thought of the similarity of my injury to his. I had a haunting feeling that lingers that he had died in my place.
“Scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die. But God commendeth his love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:7,8)
