RA 5

by

"MadMan" Lloyd Madansky

 WARNING!!!

This book contains harsh language, slang, racial slurs, violent situations, sexual
situations, profanity and other things that some my be offended by.

I have chosen to include these terms, not to shock or to offend, but, to be accurate
in my presentation of the story I am telling

If your are easily offended by the above, or just easily offended, period, please
take my advice and

DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT READ THIS BOOK

APOLOGY

To any and all who believe they have been misrepresented or disrespected in any
way, I apologize to you in advance.
 DISCLAIMER

Any similarities between the characters in this book and persons, either living or dead, is
intentionally coincidental.

All events herein, are, at best based on my memory; at worst, on my imagination.

All quotes from my military records are accurate, with the exception of
identifying information.

All cities and locations are reasonably accurate. At least they are to the best of
my memory 40 years later.

Most base camp and unit information is altered a bit. I don't know why I did it, I
just did. Those how have been there will know what is what.

All slang and derogatory terms, racial or otherwise, accurately reflect the
language used in that time and place. That is my only intent for using them.

All thoughts, feelings, motives and all else related herein are as true and accurate
as this subjective mind is capable

INTRODUCTION
RA 5! RA 5! What's a RA 5, anyway?

Simply put, a RA 5 is a draftee who, once inducted into the Army, enlists for a
third year. The reasons why anyone would even consider this, much less do it, are
many. My reasons will become clear upon reading this book.

What this book is NOT about:

A supporter of the Vietnam war who enlisted and had heroic exploits on the
honorable field of battle, in order to halt the spread of Communism throughout Asia, and
then the entire world.

A Green Beret, Navy Seal, Special Operations, or a member of any other highly
trained, fighting company.

Anything that most war books are about.

What this book IS about:

A 19 year old Jewish kid whose parents were passing for non-Jews, and who grew
up in "Conservative, Lilly White" Burbank, California.

His opposition to and protest of the War in Vietnam.

The choices he made upon being drafted.

His 2 years and 7 months in the U. S. Army, including a year in Vietnam.

Those he met and servied with from Basic Training through Vietnam, and what
happened to some after.

His sanity, or lack thereof, before, during and after Nam.

Those 10 GI's in support duties, such as clerks, cooks, mechanices, repairman, and
a thousand other jobs, who are rarely mentioned.
 Life in a base camp, traveling throughout Nam, and living in the Central
Highlands.

The effects of Military Training on such a one as me.

BUT . . . first and foremost, IT'S ABOUT WAR!

"What did you learn in school today, dear little boy of mine?
I learned that war is not so bad
I learned about the great ones we have had
We fought in Germany and in France
And someday I might get my chance
And that's what I learned in school today
That's what I learned in school'

By Tom Paxton, of whom Pete Seeger said:

""In a small village near Calcutta, in 1998, a villager who could not speak English
sang me What Did You Learn In School Today? in Bengali!"

Chapter I

The Draft And What Followed

BACKGROUND - I was a Vietnam War protester and had been since 1964. I carried a
school deferment until 1966 when I quite college and went to work. Six months after I
started working I received the "Greetings, your friends and neighbors..." draft letter from
good ol' Uncle Sam. I had done everything except leaving the country or go to jail. In
L. A. drug use was usually not considered a reason to NOT draft.

I reported, with my best friend, Steve, to the Draft Board for the physical and induction.
The physical was a joke. If you were breathing and your heart beat and you not more
than 100 lbs. over weight, they took ya. While in line after being sworn in, they had us
count off my 10's, with every 10th one being to the Marines. I thank G*d to this day
that I was not number 10. Oh, I did have one friend that was 4F'ed due to drugs, but he
reported under the influence of over 1000 mics. of LSD, along with so many other drugs
I could not even list them all. It took him months to recover. It was still shorter than the
2 years and 7 months I served.

Two Years and Seven Months??? The draft was only a 2 year commitment, where did
the 7 extra months come from, one might well ask? Well, my first day at beautiful Fort
Ord Fort Ord was filled with tests; medical, dental, mental and aptitude. I did
my best, with my limited understanding of psychological testing, and scored low on
many of the talents for infantry . . . That is, except for code recognition. That made me
a prime candidate for radio school. I did not like the image this turn of events formed in
my mind. I saw myself romping through the swamps with a radio on my back and the
antenna sticking up in the air. Looked like a sign saying, "Shoot here first."

All thought of the right or wrongness of the War were, at that moment, replaced with
thoughts of how to survive. Being a radio man did not seem like the best survival job, so
I enlisted for a third year in order to secure a less dangerous job. The one I found was
MOS (military occupational specialty) 45H20, Small Missile Repair. I took it. I had
seen many of the new reports from Nam and never saw one person fixing a small missile
in any of them. I thought it was a good choice. Little did I know that I already had a
skill that was very desirable to the Army. Typing. Live and learn, I always say.

BASIC TRAINING or "where the incompetent make the unwilling do the unnecessary
or the ungrateful" - In 1966, Fort Ord was under meningitis restriction, which translates
into barracks restriction through out Basic, all windows open at all times, no passes, and
no access to any part of Fort Ord for the duration of training. Combine that with a 1st
Lt. company commander wanting to be Capt. and a Community Fund Drive
competition, and you get a real circus. Every couple of days a cake with milk for an
entire platoon was auctioned off. No money, no problem, he took IOU's, which were
redeemed by him in the pay line. When it was time to start rifle training, our CO sold
one-way tickets to the rifle range, on a flat-bed trailer, for $ 0.50. So, the choice was (a)
march with the drill sgt.'s to the range (a couple of miles), or (b) pay the fifty cents each
way and ride. You would think that this is a no brainer, but the military will fool you
sometimes. This was one of those times.

To digress, my Drill Sgt. was Sgt. Moore. Sgt. Moore was a soldier, not a lifer. He
must have been in his forties and he could out run any of us, do more push-ups, you
name it. he could do it. I could not help but respect him. Ok, back to the story . . .

The first day the rides were offered, everybody went. As the trucks pulled out, I saw the
look on Sgt. Moore's face. I can't explain it, but, that look said, "This ain't right!" to me.
It was not right in that he believed that his job was to prepare us as best he could, for
Nam, and the truck thing was undermining his ability to do just that. My bud, Steve,
and I talked about it and the next day we were the only two to march to the range. Sgt.
Moore double timed us, until we were out of sight and then we slowed to a nice leisurely
pace the rest of the way. That is, until we came within sight of the rifle range, then it
was back to double time. I can't tell you what all we talked about on that "march" but I
know that I learned allot that day. I think Sgt. Moore did to, after all, Steve and I were
the biggest hippies in the company. By the way, I found out that the rest of the company
had to do calisthenics from the time they arrived until we showed up. There were no
more truck rides after that, but our company H-3-1, raised more money for the
Community Fund than any other and our CO became a Capt. . . . Or, at least that is how
I remember it.

ADVANCED TRAINING - From Fort Ord I went to Aberdeen Proving Grounds for
training in my chosen MOS, good ol' 45H20, Small Missile System Repair. If Basic
was the joke, thisENTAC missile was the punch line. I took on an extra year to repair
the testing equipment for the ENTAC missile. That's right, the testing equipment, and
on a missile the Army hasn't used in years, and it was a critical MOS. On top of all this,
there was a two month waiting period before my class started.

One of the things I had heard since my first day in the Army was DON'T VOLUNTEER
FOR ANYTHING. The first day we fell in, I saw guys painting the rocks lining the
parade field white, the sky was cloudy and snow was beginning to fall. Just then, the
1st Sgt. came out of the orderly room and asked if anybody knew how to type. Looking
around, I didn't see any typewriters outside and I didn't see any hands being raised, so I
raised mine. He called me in, took me to a small office and sat me at a desk with a
typewriter on it; gave me a sheet of paper and opened a TM (Training Manual) to a
random page and told me I should report to his office when I have finished typing the
page. I had taken typing in Jr. High and had found it a handy talent. I could type up to
40 words per minute, but for this, I wanted it to look good so I loped along at about 20.

When I went to the Sgt.'s office the first thing he asked me was what was wrong. I told
him that nothing was wrong, I was finished with the page. He tore the page and the TM
from my hands, looked at them both for a minute and then asked me if I would consider
being the Morning Report clerk until my school started. If I said yes I would be treated
as one of the cadre and pull no KP, Guard Duty, Inspection; I would have a weekend
pass every weekend from Friday nite until Monday morning, or I could paint rocks. It
was a tough choice, but I decided to be a Morning Report clerk. They were so happy
with my work I made E2 before my school started, and after the school was over I made
PFC and worked as the Supply Clerk until I got orders to Ft. Lewis. The 1st Sgt. even
tried to get my MOS changed to clerk/typest but couldn't do it because my chosen MOS
was critical. Live and learn, I say.

During my time at Aberdeen I visited my mother's cousin in New York City. During the
day on Saturday we went to all the art places. Cousin Janet knew the bus and subway
routes and we had no trouble getting around. Saturday nite we went to Greenwich
Village and, at three different places saw The Fugs, Frank Zappa and Howlin' Wolf. It
was the best time I had had there, except for the week long visit of my girl friend.
Another observation about back East was that weed was almost nonexistent in the area
of Aberdeen. This poor ol' Hippie from LA had to suffer with 3.2 beer on base, darvon
and Carbono Spot Remover. I do not recommend this combination and am lucky to still
get a rational thought now and again.

The best thing I took from Aberdeen was my, soon to be, best bud throughout the rest of
my tour in the Army, Sam Corbin. We had the same MOS but my school started two
weeks before his. Still, we lived in the same barracks and enjoyed tormenting the "red
necks" by playing LP's of Zappa, Dylan and a collection of Fugues. My Dylan record
was Nashville Skyline with Johnny Cash. That one really shook up a lot of Country
Western fans.

With Spring in the air and orders in my hand, I was off to the West Coast, although a bit
further North than I was use to. Next stop, Ft. Lewis, Washington.