Arrival at boot camp. "We were....required to give up all weapons, obscene literature, pornography, etc....I almost had to give up my "Catcher in the Rye." Aug. 28, 1962. Some guy plays a harmonica.

August of 1962. He is off to the Army, waiting in a USO in Chicago's Union Station, shipping out for Louisville and basic training. He hears others saying goodbye:

"Oh, my boy, take care of yourself and here are some cookies I baked this afternoon. Now don't let those awful looking black boys take them from you...Remember, son. We love you...in spite of everything. We forgive you....keep your hand on your wallet."

He is resigned to having to live through these next two years. Viet Nam is nowhere in sight.

It is November of 1962, and I am planning to meet my lover in Louisville, KY. I am 19 years old. We must assure my mother of chaperonage. He finds a girlfriend of a friend who lives in Louisville with whom I can stay - or pretend to stay, and he asks that I assure my mother that he would not have asked me to come could he not assure I would be in the "best of company." The army is driving him batty, with its nonsensical rules and regulations, and he tells me he feels almost "barbaric" in the methods of adjustment he has to employ to stay sane. And this is a peacetime army. I think. On the verge of Viet Nam, but it is not on our horizon at this time.

Letter from Mom, October 1962. One brother playing football, my sister on a Luther League Retreat, another brother taking dance lessons at the Y, Mom and Dad going to see some picture on the South Seas at the Lions Club, a care package on its way to me, Aunt Dee making a nice wool dress for herself. "Isn't that a horrible mess down at Oxford, Miss.? How can educated people be so blind beyond a certain point!"