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Two Years and a Wake-up

By Joe Miller

Sixty years ago, in March 1966, I was headed to my final duty station, after eighteen months of "overseas" duty. One year in Taiwan and one and a half years on board the USS Ticonderoga (CVA-14). Looking toward April 3, 1968, when I was due to be discharged after seven years of active duty. Could hardly wait.

In August 1965, while I was stationed on board the Ticonderoga, the Secretary of the Navy launched a Retention Task Force to determine why personnel were not reenlisting. I decided to write a letter, giving my reasons, which included the fact that I was thousands of miles away from home while my wife would be giving birth to our first child. That was not going to happen again.

My final duty station was Helicopter Training Squadron 8 (HELTRARON-8), located at Ellyson Field just outside Pensacola, Florida. This meant I could have my family with me: my wife, Linda, and our daughter, Lisa, whom I first met when I got back to the States in February. She was three months old by then.

As a Yeoman Third Class (E-4), I was first assigned to the base personnel office. As I was already opposed to the war in Vietnam, I placed anti-war cartoons on my desk, which irked the Chief in charge of the office. He could only warn me not to be "too liberal." Soon, I was shifted to the Administrative Office for the base Executive Officer, Commander Christon. That is where I worked for the rest of my time.

During my time at HT-8, I saw many young Navy and Marine pilots complete training, with many of them heading off to Southeast Asia. My carrier duty experience gave me a good idea of what they were in for.

Most of our instructors had wartime flying experience, so the place was also a hotbed of war stories. At each month's personnel inspection, Air Medals were handed out like penny candy to officers and enlisted alike, and all the commendations sounded very similar.

I was never too impressed with any of this, since I was too steeped in my personal reading about war, racism, poverty, and dissent. I had changed a lot and learned that I had a lot to learn!

At times, some of the instructors would come to our office. My desk was the first thing they would see, with anti-war photos and cartoons under the glass top. I would get stares, but no comments. This surprised me.

There was some kickback, however.

Every six months, we would receive performance evaluations added to our records. Your most immediate supervisor wrote the evaluations, and they could influence your advancement in pay grade. Since I was the only military person in my office and my immediate supervisor was a civilian, he could not "evaluate" me.

At the time this evaluation took place in 1967, I was already a Yeoman Second Class (E-5), serving as the Squadron's Forms Control Petty Officer.

My immediate military supervisor was a Yeoman First Class (E-6), the Executive Officer's Assistant. My civilian boss told me that this person would often visit my office while I was at lunch to check the titles of books on my desk. Here is his evaluation of my performance:

"Petty Officer MILLER is very capable of performing any duties assigned. However, his lack of initiative in performing his military duties and his overt interests in non-military activities is very obvious. He spends all his spare time reading books and publications concerning world situations, thus devoting only the very minimum of his daily schedule to his professional duties. His military behavior leaves very little to be desired as he constantly acts in the highest traditions of the naval service. His leadership and supervisory ability suffer from his lack of interest in his professional duties. His military appearance is always exemplary. Petty Officer MILLER has a very highly 'self-centered' personality and rarely assumes any role other than 'speak only when spoken to.' Petty Officer MILLER has an excellent command of the usage of the English language both orally and written." [from Report of Enlisted Performance Evaluation, NAVPERS 792, May 16 1967]

Apparently, while wearing the uniform, I was not supposed to care about "current world situations" even in my "spare time." In my mind, I was already a civilian, just going through the motions until that magic date of April 3, 1968.

I had already taken the ACT in preparation for entrance into college. The reenlistment counselors no longer bothered to contact me. I was known to be "lost."

I was subscribing to any and all underground newspapers. I often received them late, a little dog-eared…it seems the guys at the base post office had to enjoy them first. I sent money to SDS, joined the American Servicemen's Union, and wrote a letter to the local newspaper defending Bobby Kennedy's stance on the Vietnam War.

That last thing seems to have gotten me some attention from the FBI and military intelligence. I was fired from a part-time job at the local Sears after they visited the store in response to fellow workers' complaints about my anti-war talk. I joined the local chapter of the ACLU...just in case.

I was ready for 1968...my family was ready. Then, we got an extra gift. The Navy decided to grant two-month "early-outs" for anyone scheduled for discharge in early 1968. We began packing up.

On February 3, 1968, I went to the base and signed my discharge papers. Then I picked up my family, and we headed to the train station for a nearly 24-hour ride to Chicago. Even writing that now, I still get a bit choked up. Those seven years changed me significantly.

Joe Miller is a board member of VVAW.