The men and women who served in the military of the United States of America, or who are currently serving the country in this capacity deserve much credit. We should be grateful for them and the sacrifices they made, and in turn do everything we can to pray for and support our military personnel...
For without a strong, professional military, where would our nation be now? What would become of our future being that there are other countries that hate us and would destroy us if they could?
I served in the U.S. Military from June 1971 to June 1974. I enlisted in the Army immediately upon my graduation from high school. I took my basic training at Fort Dix, New Jersey, and my advanced infantry training at Fort Polk, Louisiana. Then, after a thirty day leave, I reported to what was then known as the Overseas Replacement Station at Fort Lewis, Washington. After about two weeks at Fort Lewis, I was sent on my way to South Korea where I served in an infantry unit.
Upon completion of my thirteen month tour in cold, rugged, but exceptionally beautiful Korea, I returned to the States with a new assignment at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Here I was retrained as a clerk typist, which has, in a way, prepared me for writing projects such as this journal. In the Army I was taught how to type, file paperwork, and organize an office. So my journal and all my letter writing is something of a carryover from my Army days where I spent my remaining eighteen months of service doing office work at the Battalion Headquarters of a basic training unit at Fort Knox.
For the most part, my time in the military was uneventful. Korea was interesting, but boring. I was in the northern part of the country not too far south of the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). We would sometimes be assigned to patrol a small section of the Zone, as, traditionally, South Korea's troops covered the remaining 95 percent of the border; and they still do.
Most often, however, my unit would go on simulated combat maneuvers near the DMZ where we had to hike up and down mountains or trudge through wet rice paddies, or we road in armored personnel carriers (APCs). We always preferred the carriers to marching. But whenever the APCs would take us, they'd only go so far. They would drop us off someplace, and we'd have to travel the remaining distance on foot anyhow. I found it amazing how the Korean people grew their rice on almost every inch of arable land.
Meanwhile the summer brought heavy monsoon rains and flooding, and swarms of mosquitoes. And the winter was brutal, and unlike anything I had ever experienced. We shivered for days when we were in the field. Bone-chilling wintry blasts by fierce winds and subzero temperatures kept us dreaming of returning to our base, and to the warmth of our simple prefabricated Quonset huts.
I was glad to leave the Army when my three year period of enlistment was completed. I was glad to go home, although I had no idea what awaited me when I returned to New York City. I left the Army with good plans and money earned and saved. But I could not see the insanity and Satanism, and the crime spree that was ahead. I hoped for a good job, a wife and a family. I ended up in prison instead. But this is another story.
Nevertheless, being that today is Veterans Day, we had a friendly and respectful gathering of prisoners, who, like me, served in one of the branches of the United States Military. In addition, with us were also three of the facility's civilian employees, two of whom were women, who are also veterans. All of us coming together inside a large meeting room to pause and reflect and give thanks on such a somber and sobering day.
Here at Sullivan Correctional Facility we have about two dozen inmates who are former members of the Armed Forces. Some of them, now all much older, served during the troublesome Vietnam era. While still others served in one of the more recent Persian Gulf wars or in Iraq or Afghanistan. Or, like me, were somewhere in between.
And it should not be surprise to anyone who's familiar with the plight of America's military veterans that many of them have or are presently suffering from some level of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Some have ended up in prison. Others committed suicide or ended up in mental institutions, or are otherwise presently disabled either physically, mentally, or both.
War takes its toll on those who have risked their lives in service of the country. Today we all stood on our feet and bowed our heads to pray for them and to give our military brethren honor and respect. We cannot forget them. We cannot forget ourselves.
D.B.
I served in the U.S. Military from June 1971 to June 1974. I enlisted in the Army immediately upon my graduation from high school. I took my basic training at Fort Dix, New Jersey, and my advanced infantry training at Fort Polk, Louisiana. Then, after a thirty day leave, I reported to what was then known as the Overseas Replacement Station at Fort Lewis, Washington. After about two weeks at Fort Lewis, I was sent on my way to South Korea where I served in an infantry unit.
Upon completion of my thirteen month tour in cold, rugged, but exceptionally beautiful Korea, I returned to the States with a new assignment at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Here I was retrained as a clerk typist, which has, in a way, prepared me for writing projects such as this journal. In the Army I was taught how to type, file paperwork, and organize an office. So my journal and all my letter writing is something of a carryover from my Army days where I spent my remaining eighteen months of service doing office work at the Battalion Headquarters of a basic training unit at Fort Knox.
For the most part, my time in the military was uneventful. Korea was interesting, but boring. I was in the northern part of the country not too far south of the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). We would sometimes be assigned to patrol a small section of the Zone, as, traditionally, South Korea's troops covered the remaining 95 percent of the border; and they still do.
Most often, however, my unit would go on simulated combat maneuvers near the DMZ where we had to hike up and down mountains or trudge through wet rice paddies, or we road in armored personnel carriers (APCs). We always preferred the carriers to marching. But whenever the APCs would take us, they'd only go so far. They would drop us off someplace, and we'd have to travel the remaining distance on foot anyhow. I found it amazing how the Korean people grew their rice on almost every inch of arable land.
Meanwhile the summer brought heavy monsoon rains and flooding, and swarms of mosquitoes. And the winter was brutal, and unlike anything I had ever experienced. We shivered for days when we were in the field. Bone-chilling wintry blasts by fierce winds and subzero temperatures kept us dreaming of returning to our base, and to the warmth of our simple prefabricated Quonset huts.
I was glad to leave the Army when my three year period of enlistment was completed. I was glad to go home, although I had no idea what awaited me when I returned to New York City. I left the Army with good plans and money earned and saved. But I could not see the insanity and Satanism, and the crime spree that was ahead. I hoped for a good job, a wife and a family. I ended up in prison instead. But this is another story.
Nevertheless, being that today is Veterans Day, we had a friendly and respectful gathering of prisoners, who, like me, served in one of the branches of the United States Military. In addition, with us were also three of the facility's civilian employees, two of whom were women, who are also veterans. All of us coming together inside a large meeting room to pause and reflect and give thanks on such a somber and sobering day.
Here at Sullivan Correctional Facility we have about two dozen inmates who are former members of the Armed Forces. Some of them, now all much older, served during the troublesome Vietnam era. While still others served in one of the more recent Persian Gulf wars or in Iraq or Afghanistan. Or, like me, were somewhere in between.
And it should not be surprise to anyone who's familiar with the plight of America's military veterans that many of them have or are presently suffering from some level of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Some have ended up in prison. Others committed suicide or ended up in mental institutions, or are otherwise presently disabled either physically, mentally, or both.
War takes its toll on those who have risked their lives in service of the country. Today we all stood on our feet and bowed our heads to pray for them and to give our military brethren honor and respect. We cannot forget them. We cannot forget ourselves.
D.B.
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