By Norman Cain, July 11, 2019 — On a blistering August morning in 1965, I found myself with approximately 42 young men at 501 Vine Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. At that time the army induction center was housed there.
The 17 and 18 year old inductees were anxious, full of smiles, talkative and displayed an air of machoism, but I who had just reached the age of 23, and who had become a member of a con-veterans objective group, did not share the enthusiasm of those several years younger than me.
My attitude had nothing to do with being unpatriotic. I did not believe in the Vietnam War. Around 9 PM we took the traditional arm forces oath and were given instruction to report to 30th Street [Train] Station. Our transportation fees were provided.
The largest guy, who was at least 6’4” and weighed approximately 230 pounds of well-distributed weight was placed in charge of the group, a position he substantiated by punching a guy in the face, a message to the rest of us: “I am the boss.”
During our 45 minute wait before boarding the train to Fort Jackson, South Carolina, some of the guys had breakfast and some entered the bar for drinks. I just sat quietly on a bench.
I had sat on the various benches within the station awaiting trains to take me to daily 2 month trips to South Carolina during my formative years through late teenaged years to spend 2 months on my grandfather’s farm. This trip is still one that I take periodically. I also sat on those benches awaiting trains to take me to my college in Blue Leff, West Virginia, between 1960-1964.
Then were weekend journeys with my family to Washington and New York since my father worked for the Pennsylvania Railroad. Those trips were free. Also, I often visited the station to use the bowling alley that was there in the 50s and early 60s. But now, I was on a bench in the station awaiting a train to take me to an unwanted adventure: the Army.
But sitting on a bench at 30th Street Station this time was different. I was not happy to go to the Army. I sat pondering my future. I had no idea that while in the Service I would get into trouble in disputing a LT Chen of Rev. Martin Luther King being a Communist, be the victim of constant discrimination, be sent to the Republic of Panama, [become] a military policeman, spend 2/3 of my active duty as a member of my batt, low basket-ball team, and get married to a Panamanian National.
Each time I visit 30th Street Station, I recall that day in early July when I awaited the train to my destiny and wondered what my destiny revealed.