I was ready to make a career out of the army before I got home from Viet Nam and saw the peace-time army start ginning up.  They were throwing out NCO's left and right who were good enough to get shot at and shot up, but who also had a hiccup here and there on their record and so weren't judged good enough for the "new" army. 

One example was my platoon sergeant. He’d done three tours in Viet Nam, got shot up several times, had spent months in the hospital recuperating, and was Ranger, Pathfinder and a Master Parachutist and wore the Combat Infantryman’s Badge with one star because before Viet Nam, he had been to the Dominican Republic and got shot at there as well. God knows what all other awards, in addition to being the best troop leader I knew in the service. But he and another young paratrooper had gotten in trouble for fighting in 1960, and despite all that blood and good work afterwards, did not make the cut to be retained in the post-Viet Nam army. His replacement couldn't lead a hamburger into a paper bag.

I was young and dumb and had made sergeant before my nineteenth birthday, and took all this personally, and decided I wasn’t gonna invest another ten or fifteen years of my life only to get tossed out with all retirement benefits cancelled, like his were. So, I got out and never really looked back, or so I thought. I was proud to have served but wanted no more of it. Fini Veet Nom, fini army, and good riddance, as far as I was concerned. 

Then one day in October 1983, I got home from work, popped open a beer, flopped down on the couch, turned on the TV and started clicking through the channels.  CNN came up and was going berserk because Regan had invaded Grenada.  I leapt up off the couch and screamed "I'VE BEEN LEFT BEHIND!"

Where in the hell did THAT come from? 

I have no idea.

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