I'd just graduated flight school and was on my way to Viet Nam. I was on a 2-week leave before being sent over and staying with soon-to-be-wife at her apartment on Parnassus...just above the Haight.
Having been pretty much of a f**k-up for the last number of years since coming back from Japan (first stop - Menlo), I was feeling pretty good about having turned things around and earned my wings and a Warrant Officership. Actually, I am really quite proud of having accomplished something worthwhile. Then two things happened:
- Wanting to show off my achievements a little, I drove down to Menlo one afternoon. It was during Thanksgiving break, so there wasn't much activity. I did run into Mr. Cunningham, however, who'd been my English teacher and dorm master in Patterson Hall. I told him what I'd done...finally made something of myself, and then stood quietly awaiting his praise for having finally gotten a grip on my potential. He looked at me and said "Well look...can't you defect to Canada or something?"
- Several days later, I went out to SFO to pick up a guy I'd been in flight school with who was flying in to spend a few days "partying" in SF before we both shipped over. He was wearing his uniform because it was a requirement to fly under orders. On the way back to the apartment, we drove up Haight...remember, this was November of '67.
We pulled up to a boulevard stop sign and there was a hippie in full regalia sitting on top one of the big blue postal boxes. He looked in the car....took a hit off the joint he had and said "Go kill some kids, Marine"....
Puzzling times. Not ever forgotten, of course. Not a "fun story"...sorry, Phil
