Ricardo Chavira Chicano

You might want to stop reading here because I did not go to war in Vietnam. But I had quite an adventure, which included time in that nation.

Between 1968, when I was a high school senior, I went from being a gung-ho wannabe, eager to take on Vietnamese commies to a college student in fear of getting my wish.

In the intervening years, I concluded that the war was not worth risking my life. But Washington had other plans for me. Here is an excerpt from my book.

Like most young Americans, I realized the odds of coming back alive or in one piece, physically or psychologically, were very long. I’d heard of draft counselors and anti-war activists who offered guidance on how to avoid being dragooned. I found one who said my only hope was to offer a medical condition serious enough to be unfit to fight.

As a child, I had suffered from frequent and severe bouts of asthma. Thankfully, in adolescence, the illness had subsided some, though great physical effort would cause an attack. I went to see our family physician, Dr. Jorge Hoyos. I told him I wanted a letter from him affirming that my asthma made me unfit for military service. He replied that he’d not treated me for years, which was true. So, I told him that I still suffered from the illness, just less than when I was a child. This was also true.

Dr. Hoyos, a Mexico City native, looked at me for a long time. I feared he was about to refuse my request. Instead, he agreed to write the letter. In it, he described my prognosis as “poor” and stated that I would not be up to the rigors of military duty.

I reported to the induction center. A couple of hundred young men and I stood in line for the medical exam and a written aptitude test. With considerable dismay, I learned that many other potential draftees also had doctors’ letters deeming them unfit to serve. After the exams, those of us with letters went to one of several windows behind which physicians sat. They read the letters and quickly determined if we would be sent to boot camp or home.

Nervously, I handed my letter to the doctor. His expression remained expressionless when he loudly said I was “unfit for service now.” That meant I was no longer 1A but 1Y, which meant I was rejected for now but subject to reclassification. In practical terms, it was improbable anyone with a 1Y would be called back.

In 1999, I spent several days in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly Saigon. The people were friendly and inquisitive. Motor bikes jammed the streets and small businesses were everywhere.

It was hard to imagine that the United States had waged war there. My best friend, Buster Leroy Scott, came to mind. Here is a Vietnam Wall Memorial account of what happened to him:

PV2 Buster L. Scott was a crew chief and gunner on an OH-6A light observation helicopter (“Loach”) from Aviation Section, Headquarters & Headquarters Battery (HHB), Division Artillery, Americal Division. On June 3, 1970, PV2 Scott was one of two gunners/observers on a Loach with the pilot while conducting reconnaissance near a river about six miles northwest of Hiep Duc village in Quang Tin Province, RVN. At approximately 1:30 PM, they were fired on by a hostile ground force. The Loach was hit by 12.7mm heavy machine gun fire and entered into a violent spin. Scott was thrown out of the aircraft and fell 200-300 feet. The helicopter crashed and the two injured crewmen were not recovered until early the following morning after they were picked up by a U.S. Navy CH-3E Sea King. At the time, Scott was reported missing in action. His remains were later recovered. Scott was posthumously promoted to Private First Class.

Buster was a poor, large family. They lived in the projects. He and I shared many of the same interests and rites of passage. Once, we rescued his sister who a crazy boyfriend was holding prisoner.

I don’t consider Buster a hero. He was a victim of war that we should have never fought.