Reluctant Soldier Boy, Part 4

The Return

When the court martial finally happened, I was sentenced to six months.

I went to the stockade immediately in my tee shirt and jeans. Rev. Sherk had counseled me to put the stockade uniform on because prisoners were not considered soldiers. I had my own notions and decided to stay in my civies.

That lasted a short time after being ushered into the stockade Commandant’s office, where I received a real reaming out. I was threatened with being sent directly to “the hole” - - solitary confinement. Rev. Sherk’s advice about the uniform came to me. I said, “Yes Sir” and went off to my new lodging in the stockade barracks with the other prisoners.

     A half year in the stockade seemed like a long time to me at twenty something years old. Routine was helpful. Up early for breakfast; shaving with razor blade seconds; writing and receiving letters from family, friends and support people; writing letters for other prisoners to take their cases to Senators and Representatives, working for Mess Sergeant Cimo, going out on work detail, making new friends….time marched on.  My relationship softened with the Commandant after our chilly start and Sergeant Cimo became a friend.

Some of the guys were offended by my CO stance. One day a couple of them threatened to give me a thrashing. As they walked toward me in the barracks. I thought, “Okay, now you are going to pay for it.” But when they got close, they turned and went out the door. There were no other threats during my time in the stockade. One of the prisoners was court-martialed and waiting to be sent to Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas, for a long sentence. He had been a scoutmaster on base serving a troop of officers and noncommissioned officers’ sons. He was charged with sexual abuse within the troop. Of course, he was frightened about his future confinement. I wrote letters for him and tried to support him in other ways.

     I  have a humorous work detail story. Once we were marched to a vacant lot with large stacks of logs. Our job was to move one stack to another location in the lot. And…..move them back. Good work! As I recall, my hemorrhoid issue took me off this kind of detail and  helped me to get assigned to work for Sergeant Cimo. The most inspiring thing I received from a friend was the annual mantra that comes to me each year on May 1. “The first of May, the first of May, Out door fucking starts today.” I have held on to that chant for all these years. 

     I was released in May of 1966. I had hoped to be out in time to go to a Bob Dylan concert in El Paso but missed it. During my time at Ft. Bliss and in El Paso Johnny Cash was photographed coming across the border and kicking a camera out of the hands of a news photographer. That was in Johnny’s rowdy years. My release and discharge came 84 days into the sentence. I was given a general discharge “under honorable conditions.” The day I left the stockade brought some emotion. Sargeant Cimo teared up, and saying goodbyes to friends was heartfelt. The entire time in the Army was 19 months. Would I do it again? I would not enlist, of course. The decision to go CO was right for me and gave me direction for education and life view.

Once back in my home town of Goshen, IN, I had to face uncles who had fought in Europe in WWII. That was difficult. Former high school mates were offended and I received some offhand remarks. A former high school math teacher, Mr. Kastner, shared while I visited the campus that he had heard good things about me! That felt good. After the time at Ft. Bliss I enrolled in Goshen College and immersed myself in Anabaptist history and theology. The Anabaptists, or re-baptizers, were the 16th century forerunners of the Mennonites, Amish and Hutterites. I took this path for many years.

Thanks for reading the tale of my military experience and taking a stance of conscientious objection. Next week I will begin a series about the last month of my brother’s life, entitled 27 Days.