Remembering Memorial Weekend 1965

Thought for the day

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. The events of Memorial Weekend 1965 changed my life forever.

A  friend and I were going to spend that fateful weekend surfing in Santa Cruz.  After surfing for more than an hour in the cold water, I wanted to warm up on the beach.  Because I was 16 and always hungry, I decided to climb up the cliff to my car (thinking my friend and I would go get lunch).  Lunch never happened.

Half way up the cliff, with board in hand, I fell off.  I landed 40 ft. below in a sitting position.  As soon as I stood up, I knew I was in trouble.  From my lower back to my shoulders, it felt like I was bleeding internally.  Dazed, I looked up and saw people leaning over the cliff laughing.  Yeah, what would you expect from teenagers?

Don't ask me why,  but I climbed up the cliff and immediately sat down in my car.  Three hours later, I told my friend to drive me home.  By 9:00 that night, I was admitted to the Stanford Hosiptal with 3 fractured vertebrae.  For the next two weeks, I laid flat on my back, not allowed to get up.  The day before I was released, two nurses had to help me stand and walk 6 ft. to the bathroom.  It's amazing how quickly muscles atrophy.

My doctor never prescribed physical therapy, so I had to create my own.  Thankfully, I didn't have to go far because we had a pool in our backyard.  My first day in the water, I swam one lap.  By the end of the week, I could swim 10 laps.  A month later, I had my sights set on plalying water polo in September.  When the high school all-star team was announced in November, I had made first team.  

Now jump ahead to December 1, 1969 (my senior at USC).  With the war in Vietnam raging, this was the night I, along with 800,000 young men my age, would find out my new draft status.  Those whose dates of birth were among the first 150 randomly selected, would be drafted and heading to war.  Those with all other dates of birth were, for all intents and purposes, free to go about their daily lives.

Wouldn't you know it?  My date of birth, September 14, was the first one picked.  My best friend's date of birth was February 4, so his number was 210.

Armed with a medical file a foot thick, I eventually reported for my physical exam in August 1970.  At the end of a very long day, as all the others taking their physicals were dismissed, I was told to see one more doctor.  When I walked into his office, he told me he had read my file and then asked me one question:  "Do you want out?"  Basically, all I could do was nod "yes."

I'm telling this story for three reasons:  First, I knew young men my age who died in Vietnam; second, I always will honor their service every Memorial Weekend ... and remember my "good fortune" for having fallen off the cliff in Santa Cruz; and third, thank my lucky stars neither of my two sons or daughter had to face what I did. 

If you have a Memorial Weekend story you’d like to share, I'd like to hear yours.

-DF