The sound of the Huey

If I was to draft a list of my closest friends—in Saipan or elsewhere—of those holding U.S. passports, a majority would be military veterans or members of the reserves. There is a common element of character that unifies those who served.

Think about it: When you’re 18, or 22, or whatever, and you’ve got a choice between being a cubicle worker or becoming, say, an M-1 tank commander, it’s a profound choice. For a select minority of people, adventure is a true calling. And, fortunately, many such people have decided to call the Commonwealth home.

Had I wanted to be a doctor, or a dentist, or a minister, or an attorney, I don’t know if I would have considered the military, since I would have had a clear professional path to follow after my schooling. (Of course, these professions are all well-represented in uniform, too.) But most of us average folks find (or found, since I’m an old fart now) the after graduation phase of life to hold the threat of turning us into generic desk-bound nobodies, slithering like reptiles to make a buck, then living vicariously via the television set, and that’s a fate that I just couldn’t face.

On the few occasions when I’ve had a hand in corporate hiring decisions, I’ve always given resumes with any military service a top-of-the-pile placement. That’s not just patriotism at work, it’s a matter of sound management. After all, any preening little punk can have his daddy send him to a diploma mill, but daddy can’t earn your PFC stripe for you. I think Saipan has plenty of examples of this to consider.

There are some things you just can’t forget. I remember when I was a high school sophomore, bored nearly to death on a warm spring day, in class. I was probably drooling on myself, or maybe snoring, when I was stirred by the distinct, and unique, whop-whop of an inbound Huey helicopter. It turns out that the Army or the National Guard (sorry, I forget which) was flying a copter into my school’s athletic field on a recruitment drive.

Talk about a contrast: The dynamics of the helicopter vs. the tomb-like stillness of the classroom. It was an oasis of action in a desert of institutional boredom.

I made a beeline for the classroom door, whereupon the teacher told me I was too young for the recruitment drive and to sit back down at my desk, whereupon I told him to cram it, and off I went to the copter. Hey, once a truant, always a truant.

I lied about my age to the recruiter, of course, just so I could crawl over the Huey, and I got a little tour of the machine from the crew chief. There is nothing in the world cooler than a Huey helicopter.

This comes to mind today because there’s a little bit of griping in some commentary circles that the Armed Forces are being bad guys for recruiting in schools. Well, I’m very happy that the Armed Forces dangled that helicopter in front of me, because it put a tangible face on the specter of adventure. My pals feel the same way. Something had to motivate us. And it was the military that did so. Thank goodness.

Looking back on things, the best times I’ve ever had were when I’d fly a chopper to the exotic wilds of the Commonwealth’s Northern Islands. If it hadn’t been for that Huey in high school, those adventures would never have been on the menu. That recruitment drive was the most important element of my high school education, and, perhaps not surprisingly, it didn’t come in the classroom, or from a teacher, but from an NCO who probably wasn’t even 30 years old yet.

That’s a fact to be saluted, not derided.