Memorial Day weekend is always tough for me. I'm not a veteran, but the emotions that well up amaze me after all these years.

In 1964, while seniors in high school, we started hearing about the growing conflict in Vietnam. We were party animals, we were the original baby boomers, we knew of no enemies in Vietnam. In fact, we had no idea where Vietnam was. But the thought of being drafted was ever present in the back of our minds. My solution was simple, I planned to join the Air Force shortly before being drafted. I looked into it as early as 1965. In the meantime my high school buddies and I were holding down menial jobs to make sure we had plenty of beer money. In 1965, one of our classmates, Richard Crawford, had been killed in Vietnam. He had joined the Marines.

Well, the time finally came in 1966. I got my notice to take the draft physical. As we gathered that evening at the poolhall, we found that a number of us had all gotten the same notice. We decided that the night before our physicals we would go out and get really drunk. So, five or six of us purchased cases of beer and drove to a secluded area in Godfrey, a regular hangout for many of us. We talked about the draft and what we would do. Some of us were definitely heading for the Air Force. The Air Force offered a variety of technical training areas, and the chances of seeing combat in Vietnam were virtually zero. The only downside, you would be in for four years. But Ray Morales and Alan McAfoos would take their chances with the draft. For the life of me I couldn't understand their choice. All they could say was that it was two years rather than four, and they'd take their chances. It was an eerie evening, wondering what the future held.

The next morning, seriously hungover, a bunch of us hopped into Ray Morales' 56, canary yellow Chevy. It was a beauty. We drove to Edwardsville where a bus took us to St. Louis for our physicals. For some reason, I remember that the building was at 12th & Spruce streets in St. Louis. We were herded through a variety of tests. The surprise came when I walked up to a doctor and he said, "turn your head and cough". As I did he squeezed my nuts. What a job. We were given a sheet of paper and asked to fill out out police records. I was the last one done, and my friend Dave Meyer always joked that I was the only one who had to raise his hand and ask for more paper. Then there was the eye test, etc., etc. At the end of the day, an Army representative met individually with me. I remember his words, "I don't know how bad you want to get in the Army, but your right eye is slightly lazy and your vision is not that good. Is it correctible?", he asked. I was shocked, of all my friends I was the strongest, toughest, and one of the smartest. "No", I said. He told me that he was going to have to reject me. My only thought was that they must have been totally focused on boys who could shoot a rifle, and my "shooting" eye wasn't up to par. I was elated, forget the Army, I didn't even have to think about going into the Air Force. I was classified as 1Y.

Different guys went different directions. Ray, Alan, and another classmate, Lemoyndue Jarrett were all drafted and sent to Vietnam together in the infantry. After basic training they came home on leave and we got to spend some time together. Just prior to being sent to Vietnam, they came home on leave one last time. I remember sitting at the kitchen table in my parents' house, and I heard a knock at the front door. The angle the door was opened allowed me to see a dark complected boy in the reflection of the glass. I thought it was Ray's younger brother Mario. To my surprise, when I got to the door, it was Ray. We chatted about twenty minutes, and he left. He only had a couple days before he would be sent to Vietnam. Ray, Alan, and Lemoymdue were sent to Vietnam in September, 1966.

On Memorial Day weekend, 1967, I was perched at my usual spot, the Forkeyville Night Club drinking a beer. Some girls I knew were about 10' away from me and talking with great animation. Something was up. I moved over and asked one what was going on, and she blurted out that Ray Morales had been killed in Vietnam. It amazes me how that is seered in my mind 33 years later. I was devastated, and think about him to this day. I was a pallbearer, and his brothers, especially Joe, remain close friends. One of the saddest ironies was that when the representative from the Army knocked on the Morales door, his youngest brother Mario was getting dressed to go to his senior prom. Alan and Lemoymdue were wounded in the same battle. Alan was sent home. Lemoyndue was not. Lemoyndue was killed in July in Vietnam.

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